Lobster!

                                                                                         

              

              I have of late been plagued by a horrible dream. My skin, once firm and manly is now soft and sponge like. I can no longer feed myself. The very surface of my skin burns with a fire all consuming and were it not for the pieces of moistened clothe that envelope me I feel I should surely burst into flame.

                 This is, obviously hell, compounded and made immeasurably worse by the knowledge that I have had no forewarning, not hint, nor suggestion as to how I got here.

                    The torture people push little carts from victim to victim.

                      “Mai Tai?” They say, “Mimosa?”

               Were I but certain that these potions would bring instantaneous suicide I would down them in an instance, but my fear, founded in experience, is that these monsters would like nothing more then to extend the agony they have imposed on others, and on me in particular.

                    And it hurts. Tears well up in my eyes. Mother what have they done to your child! Rain, rain Flibbertigibbet! This must be my punish for the sins I never knew I committed!

                   The horse eggs break my teeth. How the cold dark sea calls to me. Were I once again, again a lobster these pains would matter not.

            Oh! Happy days of bygone youth, of youth bygone by golly in my cold atlantic home.