"I dote on mudbugs," Huey said. "Gimme some butter dip." He pulled his pajama sleeves up, reached out with nutcracker hands, and wrenched the tail from the carapace with a loud bursting of gristle and meat. He flexed the tail, everting a chunk of white steaming flesh. " C’est bon , son!" He stuffed it into his mouth, set his teeth, and tore. "That GOOD or what! Gonna BODY-SLAM them Boston lobsters! Bring me a menu. My Yankee friend the Soap Salesman here, he’s gotta order hisself somethin’. Tell the chef to put some hair on his chest."