The following Lobsterfest™ entries were transcribed from voice memos taken on a smartphone late Saturday night on the back patio after four beers and half a bottle of white zinfandel:
• Today you rest. Tomorrow, you dive headfirst into a punchbowl greased with olive oil mayo and your favorite crab chunks shaped like the Star of David. What, you're not Jewish? Then the cross or crescent, then. Can't we all just get along for one day with lobster on Lobsterfest™ at Red Lobster®?
• There's this guy named Yuan. I guess he's Chinese or something, but he has this amazing electronics shop on 8th Street. Everything from motherboards to cable connectors, Yuan's got them all. He will personally meet you at Red Lobster® and reserve a table for you so that when shit gets hot at Lobsterfest™, you're guaranteed a table (provided you sit with Yuan- that is the only part of the agreement that you must honor). The only thing Yuan asks is that you not refer to him as "your friend," because he's pretty cagey that way. LOBSTERFEST™!
• Lobster shells ground up make for pretty good mulch. Or for a pretty terrible lubricant. WE DO NOT JUDGE at Lobsterfest™ at Red Lobster. WE HONOR ALL LIFESTYLES™.
• We know some pretty good college a cappella groups that would love to serenade you and your date when you're drenched in butter and lobster au jus. But we won't send them to your table because we're above cheap gimmicks like that. Keep this shit real.
• A-E-I-O-Lobster. New vowel, fuckers.
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