You have got to love scorpions, at least somehow, somewhere, sort of, in a sense. They look so unique and dignified, such elegance and grace; nothing else looks quite like the scorpion (not
quite...). They appear ever prepared for only the most genteel of dances, the most dignified of entertainments. A night at an aristocratic ball with the best of society, perhaps. Or a lavish yet refined feast with only the most sophisticated of company, full of elevated discussion on the most cultivated of matters. Port and cigars at the
gentlemen's club? What's that you say? Nocturnal walks in the countryside? That's nice! To poison and butcher wild animals so that you can suck out their insides?
Oh...
That sounds... great.