If you are like me, when you read about an unusual animal you imagine that creature as a middle-aged bourgeois.
I am Carapidae. I live in the ass of a sea cucumber. I spend my days composing anti-triclavian poetry in iambic pentameter and writing letters of outrage to radio and television companies. My three sons are all named Joseph. The oldest has a successful business. He supplies the scaffolding that restoration companies must hire. He does very well for himself. He owns a leisure boat. We… I mean I. My wife died a few years back. I don’t hear much from the middle son these days. He’s got a Pakistani wife and lives in the midlands. We never really got on since the ‘incident’. Little Joseph is still in school. He’ll finish this year. After that, god only knows, personally I have my doubts. I think he’s a bit poofy. He’s always hanging around that Billy child, and you know what he’s like. All in all, I haven’t much to complain about. The Lord has been generous to such a humble creature as myself. It could always be worse. I could be the sea cucumber with a fish up my ass.