Letter to The Oyster
Crazy Legs Conti has a beef

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I am writing to you, the Boston based so-called "The Oyster" with umbrage and malcontent. I find it grossly offensive that you have named this new Beantown venture solely to mock me.

You see, I, Crazy Legs Conti, was once known as "The Mollusk King".

I ate thirty-four dozen oysters in one sitting at the Acme Oyster House in New Orleans. Then, after eating 459 oysters on the Late Show with David Letterman, I was called, "The Baron of the Bivalve."( Letterman only ate three) I ate fourteen dozen New Orleans oysters in ten minutes to capture the speed record and later I would increase my totals to twenty dozen in ten minutes with great relish, but no condiments. I was the World Oyster Eating Champion and my name was synonymous with those fleshy grey oblongs. Men were envious of my oyster capacity, while women focused on my oral dexterity. I had oyster groupies. Asked about the natural aphrodisiac power of the succulent oyster, I often replied, "It is only an aphrodisiac under three dozen, anything over that and one's stomach sticks out further than another certain body part.” My oyster eating skills were praised in every city where competitive eating went. The International Federation of Competitive Eating showered me with trophies and plaques. I possessed the coveted Championship Oyster Belt that made Pro Wrestlers’ avert their gaze from his muted phlegmy hue. Even a song in my honor, was composed addressing the defeated oyster:

"Hey Mr. Oyster/You better swim on down/Hide beneath your brothers or dress up like a clown/He’ll shuck you while you’re sleeping, he’ll suck you while you dream/cause Crazy Legs The Oyster King has come to New Orleans”

I was the second coming of Neptune himself but replaced his battered trident with my own custom line of autographed oyster spork (available in plastic, wood, and coming soon - pewter at www.crazylegsconti.com and wherever quality sporks are sold). ESPN, Sports Illustrated, MTV came calling. Photo shoots in FHM with Porn Stars and beautiful women (not to mention Isaac from the Love Boat, Weebil Knevil, and Buffo the World's Strongest Clown). On streets across America people would cry out, "You’re the guy who eats oysters". I ate five dozen in a minute much to the disgust of the hosts of The View. I demolished a heap as Al Rocker's stomach unbuckled on Good Morning America. The president of the Louisiana seafood board called me personally to say that my Letterman appearance had caused a spike in the world oyster market. No Oyster was safe from my welcoming esophagus; like an intestinal pied piper marching those slippery discs to the icy depth of my ocean-like stomach. I dyed my goatee deep sea blue to fool the oysters into thinking that they were returning to the womb. My stomach was a beacon; welcoming the oysters home. I was a low-tide food God until…I lost my title.

A one hundred pound woman named Sonya Thomas ate 46 dozen in ten minutes to not only obliterate, demolish, and eradicate my title...but she lapped me. One expects to be lapped in the 4000 meters, but not in oyster eating. This petite unassuming gal would adopt the moniker, "The Black Widow". Indeed, her venom had stung me where I lived on Oyster Glory Mountain. Shucked of my title, I was a shell of my former self. The King was dead, long live The Oyster Queen.

Not content with oysters, she out ate me in Maine Lobster, crab cakes, and crawfish jambalaya thus demolishing all ocean based records I possessed. She moved on to the meats of the world capturing titles in Vienna sausage, bratwurst, hamburgers, pulled pork, and turkey. And now on Thursday she will challenge me again (and I will fail) at Ned Devine’s for the GoldenPalace.com World Corned Beef and Cabbage Championships. I can only hope that she is allergic to vegetables.

And thus, by naming your publication “The Oyster” you have done what no food could ever do…turn my stomach.

So I implore you, I beg of you. I have but one record safe from the Black Widow’s bite…effective immediately please change your name to: “The French-Cut String Bean”. That is all. See you Thursday at Ned Devine’s.

Eat All You Can,

Crazy Legs Conti

Visit Crazy Legs Conti at http://www.crazylegsconti.com

03/15/2006   |   Permalink