A story of crabs

So, I have indefinite proof that my parents think I'm a complete retard.

To start, some background info: I am Chinese-Canadian (In case you didn't know...) and about 5 years ago, during a vacation trip to China with my family, I was extremely sensitive about eating animals that had been freshly slaughtered by a family member (chickens in particular), and my parents would always try to trick me into thinking it was bought dead. They remember this. However, I've gotten much less sensitive and bitchy about it over the years (as I try to be realistic).

On that note, Chinese supermarkets often sell live crabs so you can have it fresh.

TL;DR version: i r ex-PETA bitch/tree hugr n chinkz r inhumane 2 crabz.

Anyway, so my parents went to buy groceries while I was getting my haircut today, and when we got home I noticed there was a live crab in the sink (They usually die on their own after being left there for a while). A few hours later, I walk into the kitchen and see my father trying to pry the shell of the crab off.
Me: "Is it alive?"
Dad: "No no no, it's dead already."
Me: "But...it's moving..."
(Its legs are scrambling and its claws are flailing around)
Dad: "No, no it's not." *starts banging it against the table*
Me: "I don't really care, y'know."
Dad: "Oh. Well it's alive then."
Me: "Huh, not anymore."
Dad: "Actually, it usually doesn't die until we cook it."
Me: "WHAT! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF SOMEBODY DID THAT TO YOU?!"
Dad: "It's dead."