Dressing up as what you're eating is just confusing, folks.

Greetings, landcrawlers! Homarus americanus here -- better known as the American lobster -- to tell y'all that Neptune can kiss my bright, red thorax. I'm the real king of the sea, especially at this weekend's Tempe Original Lobster Festival.

Check it: Me and hundreds of my underwater crew are the stars of this here arthropod event, having been flown in first-class from our frigid, north Atlantic digs in Maine.

Ever since we've been kickin' it by this 977-million-gallon fakey lakey at Tempe Beach Park, we've been stuffing our mandibles with algae and basking in your more temperate climes. Me and my buds are also hoping to bust some moves on the female lobsters who came along for the ride and fertilize each and every one of their 50,000 eggs. Yeah, who's your crawdaddy?

To get us in the mood for lobster love, our hosts have brought in some sweet sounds to serenade us, including Rock Lobster (natch), the bluesy Chuck E. Baby, rockers DC Tanner and Friends, the DJs of Energy Radio, a Tom Jones tribute act named Tom Jonesing, the Cajun-flavored zydeco of Bennie and the Swamp Gators, and the swingin' Royal Crown Revue.

If you ask me, our hosts are being a little too nice, like maybe they're trying to butter us up or something. All these peeps running around in lobster outfits and bibs with our pictures on them is starting to get creepy. By the way, what's with all of those huge copper steamer pots filled with boiling water?

Oh, shit.

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