You had your hand, where?

Admittedly, I don't cook with shrimp that often. Once in a blue moon or blue vein, it seems. I am making a Rachael Ray recipe, jambalaya pasta. I didn't put the name in quotation marks because she had a lame name for it and there is only so much of her that I can stand. She doesn't have the smile of Giada or the sexual vibe of Paula Deen. My husband and daughter are big fans but not for the same reason. Mia loves "Ray" crackers. You can't find a box that doesn't have "Ray" on them. My husband thinks she is hot. I guess if you think that a flat chest, wide hips and a propensity to call soup, "stoup" and sandwiches, "sammies," is hot than "Ray" is your gal. Ok, so back to my shrimp story. I like them and will eat them. Cleaning them is another story. First off, I got them out of the bag and they still have their little legs. Slimy, but they had to use them once or twice, so the thought of my yanking them off and discarding them is a little sad. The little guys aren't known for being the most attractive sea creature, I'm betting. Next, is that horrible, disgusting, blue vein in its back. I know, Alton Brown, told me what it is, and that it can't hurt you. Truth is, do I want to eat what the shrimp ate? Nope. So, with not a lot of time, I set out to remove what I fondly call the "shrimp chute." This is not a nice process. I have already cut the shrimp in half, very dumb, because now I am going to have so much chute that it will be everywhere! There were 24 shrimp in that bag and I am wearing 48 pieces of nasty, blue, stringy shrimp stuff all over my hands and my white T shirt. Smart. All the mess doesn't stop there, I have to dice chicken later. My hands should need a good scalding after this meal.