Friday, 5 May 2017

The Story of the Lobster and the Crab

Nothing much happening in the world of smut-comedy writing today, so I’m going to pass on this cautionary tale, as told to me by a wise man.

The Story of the Lobster and the Crab

The red lobster stood beside a large, algae covered rock, enjoying the feel of a warm current swooshing up the back of its shell. Beside it, the crab scuttled side to side, noisily tip-tapping its claws against the gravel bed.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” the lobster snapped, tired of the crab’s incessant pacing.

“I’m bored,” the crab replied. “Why don’t we go and do something fun?”

“Look, it’s my day off and I’m taking it easy,” the lobster chided. “Sometimes it’s okay to just put your feet up and do nothing.”

“You’re a boring old fart, you know that?” The crab clicked its pincers and ran around the lobster in a circle.

“So go find something to do. It’s not my job to entertain you.” The lobster rolled its eyes and turned its back on the crab.

“Fine.” The crab ducked behind the rock and fetched out the toy remote controlled car it got for its birthday.

“Oh, come on. Not that fucking thing again.” The lobster despaired as the tiny, red car raced around between its legs.

“You told me to entertain myself,” the crab pouted.

“Right. That’s it.” The lobster snatched the remote control out of the crab’s pincer and threw it against the rock.

“You son of a bitch,” the crab screamed.

“Next time it’ll be your fucking legs I break.” The lobster waved its mighty claw in the crab’s face. The crab ran away and sulked, while the lobster went back to enjoying its peace and quiet.

Before long, the crab grew bored again, and it picked up the remote control to see if it still worked. Unfortunately, the red car lay lifeless, its tiny wheels refusing to turn. Heartbroken, the crab took the back off the device and fiddled with the wires to see if it could be fixed. It put everything back together and switched it on. Heart pounding, it pushed the lever to make the car go. The car refused to move, but strangely, the lobster jolted forward six inches.

“What the fuck?” the lobster yelled.

The crab grinned as it realised that somehow the remote’s radio wavelengths were being picked up by the lobster’s deedlybompers. “Check this shit out,” it cried as it made the lobster do doughnuts and a funky breakdance.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” the lobster screamed.

Just at that moment, a fat, high-flying, New York banker stuck his pudgy face up against the glass. “I want that one,” he exclaimed, pointing at the animated, dancing lobster.

“Very good, sir.” The stuffy maître d took the lobster from the tank and tossed it in a pot of boiling water. The crab – who never had any fucking business being in a lobster tank in the first place – wound up getting slung out the window and eaten by seagulls.

The End

There. I think we can all learn something from that.

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