Oh, teenage French oysters, you were too fast to live and too young to die. Why, oh why, did you not get the message that “true spawning waits“? Did you not know that each release of gametes is like a precious rose, and with every billion sperm or eggs you cast into the water column, a delicate petal is plucked? But it doesn’t matter now, teenage French oysters, because you got a virus and now you are DEAD.
That’s right, teenage French oysters. You got Oyster Herpes Virus Type 1, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, you gorged yourself on the spring plankton bloom. Your parents would have been grateful for even a microliter of plankton, but you decandent spineless spawn wasted all that hard-earned energy on developing your genitalia!
Now is a 13-month-old oyster ready for that? NO! You’re supposed to “Do the right thing, wait for the ring!” (Not having hands, fingers, or precious metals is no excuse, you two-valved strumpets.) And you have paid, oh yes, you have paid. You are sinners in the hands of the angry French, and truly, “it is a great furnace of wrath, a wide and bottomless pit, full of the fire of wrath, that you are held over in the hand of that God, whose wrath is provoked and incensed as much against you, as against many of the damned in hell.”
Repent, all you lewd lamellibranchs! Hold in your gametes, turn away from phytoplankton blooms! It’s not too late to be fried in a buttery pan instead of FRIED IN BRIMSTONE!