It takes four legs to really tap dance well, you see.

Okay, I was wrong. There isn’t a crab living in my chest. What do I know? I’m no doctor.

Crabs are too pinchy. What I’ve got is really more like a small, grey octopus. But not a healthy one. This is kind of like a half-decomposed, zombie ghost of an octopus, with little gray bits of soft tissue peeling off of it as if it were still underwater. And it thinks my lungs are its long-lost brothers, and so it’s giving them a big hug and a squeeze. I kind of wish it were a crab, because at least crabs are delicious. But this stupid grey ghost octopus is nothing but gross. I really can’t wait to cough it up.

Sorry, was that too crude of a visual? I meant, I can’t wait to open my mouth, unfold my tongue like a long, red-carpeted stairway, and have the octopus tap dance it’s way out of my body with it’s little top hat and four little canes.