No, no, no. Yes, the rice is good. I’m not saying it isn’t delicious. But can we talk just one more time about what I saw on the credit card statement. $1,000 is a lot of money to be spent anywhere. Let alone at a gentlemen's club. And frankly, I’m not quite sure I fully believe your story.

Are you honestly telling me that a literal shrimp came into our home, fried all of this admittedly delicious rice, stole your credit card when you went to get more beer from the garage, and then spent hundreds of dollars on champagne and private lap dances?

Ok, let’s just… Can we start from the very beginning again? So first you met a crustacean down at the beach and the two of you “really hit it off.” Let’s unpack that a bit. How does one hit it off with a shrimp? I see. You were boogie boarding at the beach, you momentarily ducked your head under the water and noticed a “pretty chill” shrimp hanging out with a hermit crab and decided to strike up a conversation. Ok, yeah, so… What did you and the shrimp talk about then? Could the shrimp even talk? Or was he just putting out a cool vibe and you were both on the same wavelength?

Ok forget it, let’s just get to the dinner and strip club part. So at this point, the shrimp invited itself over, and despite having no hands or higher brain function, it turned on our oven, grabbed a wok from our pantry, heated two tablespoons of sesame oil, trimmed and sliced green onions into quarter-inch pieces, cooked up four cups of rice, and served you dinner? I have to assume it climbed onto your head and Ratatouille’ed you into performing the manual duties of cooking, because I can’t imagine a three-inch tall shrimp was able to lift the tongs or butcher knife alone.

And then, after all that was over, it turned out the bottom feeder’s hospitality was in fact a ruse to enter our house and steal our money to fund its depraved sex addiction?

I’m not stupid, alright? I am almost certain that invertebrates are not capable of cooking Asian fusion.

I can’t believe you’d lie to me about all this, and that you’d thought I’d buy it. What else have you lied to me about? Maybe it isn’t even true that you can’t work because you were diagnosed with a severe case of Ligma. Who knows?

Listen, if you want to go to a strip club and have strange women grind their asses on your crotch, then at least have the decency to tell me the truth. Please, don’t insult me by concocting an insane story about a culinary-skilled prawn making it rain down at Show ‘n Tell.