I once knew a guy....

... who confused pistachios and mussels. The guy would refuse to eat pistachios that were sealed shut. He would throw them away with a look of complete disgust. "Kill you, they can", he would announce. Needless to say, a few days after enjoying a mussel starter in some semi-glamorous restaurant, he was violently sick and died. He had insisted that the ones that did not open whilst being cooked were the tasty ones.

Before he died, I sat at his bedside in hospital talking about the good times we had. We had once kidnapped a pair of Brazilian Tapirs from the zoo and exposed them to a drink and drug fueled night out in town. The more extrovert of the two (we had named him Urkle) was taken to the red light district where he had paid for sex. The other one (christened Spangleton) had enjoyed a coffee by the Thames after we had failed to get him into St Paul's cathedral. It was a good day.

My friend had loved life but his utter stupidity had meant that he was to have no more fun days out in the company of underrated and unloved animals. He died in pain, calling out for Spangleton.

I should probably tell you that my friend was called Stanley Fuckwort. He falsely feared pistachios.