“I wonder if I’m a cooked lobster, or a wild lobster?” the Quicks Hole lobster thought to himself one hot August afternoon. It was late enough in the afternoon that the lunch crowd was dying down. The Quicks lobster was taking a breather after the hours of lunchtime paparazzi shots.
“I mean I feel alive and well, but I am red, the color of a freshly steamed lobster, waiting to be buttered or bisque-d. Am I even a lobster though? It seems to me that the ones the fish market keeps bringing don’t have quite the same legs as I (He’s a grammatically correct Lobster, an English major before his acting career, but that’s a story for another day). Plus they don’t have this unicorn horn thing either. And at times, I feel a bit saucy and spicy, like I have a Cajun flare, like I’m almost a crayfish. Perhaps I’m even a new species! A hybrid, I’m the best of the best! Part lobster, part crayfish, part unicorn, part awesome!”
The lobster was caught off guard when a family approached him and began to pose. “Hold that thought,” he said to himself, “it’s show time!” He sucked in his stomach, flexed his claws, lifted his chin… and felt a sharp pain in his right claw. “Holy crab!” He winced in pain. He looked over and saw a little boy holding on to his arm, “Nothing new.” He thought to himself. He looked further up his arm and that’s when he saw it, a crack.
“Uh-Oh” he thought to himself, “this is not good.” His arm was so sore, and he could see that the wound went deeper than his exoskeleton. “Protective, ha!” He laughed bitterly. “This exoskeleton is useless!”
“I’m sorry Mr. Lobster!” The little boy said.
“Yeah you’re not sorry yet!” The Quicks lobster was about to bend down and even things out when the valet ran over.
“Drop anchor man, it was an accident!” The valet said. “It’s going to be fine, I’ll fix it for you.” The family apologized to them both and the little boy promised the lobster he’d bring him some clam cookies to help cheer him up. The family walked away looking worried.
The valet looked at the arm. He felt around the wound. He compared it to the right arm. “What’s the diagnoses doc?” The Lobster said.
“This doesn’t look good.” The valet replied grimly. “I think we’re going to have to amputate it.”
“What!? No! You can’t! I need my arm! It’s my best feature!” The lobster wailed, tears running down his shell. “I’m nothing without that arm!” Before he could say another word the valet snapped his arm clean off, right along the crack. “OW!” The Lobster yelled, doing his best to give the valet a good kick in the shins. (It’s hard to do so with tiny little legs.)
“Get over it.” The valet said. “Maybe we’ll get you a Captain Hook claw or something!”
“Oh ha ha very funny! You’ll get me a new arm more like! Or even fix up that one!” The lobster demanded. “I can’t do my thing without my arm! Who wants a picture with a broken – inside and out mind you – lobster?”
“Relax,” the valet said. “Now you’re even more um, unique, if that’s possible…” He muttered the last bit.
“What was that?” The lobster said. The valet started to walk away.
“Oh nothing! My shift is over now, but I’ll see you Wednesday!” The valet replied as he hurried away.
“Wait! You can’t leave me like this!” But it was too late; the valet was out of sight.
“I’ll Sort this out with him Wednesday…” The lobster thought to himself. “But at the moment, I have more important things to pounder. Now the problem is, what do you call a one-armed, uni-horned, half lobster, half crayfish?”