The Triumphant Return of Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster

Back in May, I attended a wedding at NYC and got properly shitrocked.

And whilst drunk, I had the presence of mind to write a few Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster entries. Here they are now, copied from my phone and unedited:

You show up at a ranch decided type place and then you decide that somehow the big gigantic lobster giant lobster thing is going to get you. Then you realize you’ve had the power to defeat it all along. And then you think hey, this is just like one of those things that makes it like lobster fest at red lobster at red lobster time stop.

You’re caught in pretty much a sling type hammock device but you realize that the only way to get out of it, is to order more lobster. And when you order more lobster, you realize that is so delicious, they don’t realize or care, they were in this type of position. That’s one way, to realize that you’re in the lobster fest at red lobster daikon pop

You wearing 24 silver skirt type vans types of shit so then you realize that just because it’s happening you don’t really know what you’re doing, what is this. You got it but then what is going on,? That’s when you realize, that hot legs in a short skirt is nothing match for lobster fest at red lobster.

Nobody Better Lay A Finger On My Lobsterfest®

Editor's Note: EADJ has been posting the latest and greatest Lobsterfest® offerings for years now, and only fairly recently has it become mandatory for the writer of these entries to be inebriated.

So last Saturday, Andrew got drunk and wrote this latest entry. No typos have been corrected, although we have added a "®" to every mention of Lobsterfest®.

Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster continues its relentless siege on the fools who resist attending its succulent suckfest. Here now are the latest developments in lobster-delivered-all-up-in-your-face technology:

• You bring a lobster into the shower. You shower on it, seeing just what disparate drips of water drip down beneath your nether regions. Whichever drips happen to hit the lobster, you must take bites of said lobster immediately. Taste the sensation! And that's just a Russian-roulette-esque way to enjoy Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster.

• Find a Tony Roma's ”A Place for Ribs" near your chosen residence or place of business. Eat ribs copiously, showing your teeth and letting your food pieces gleam with importance. Contemplate how this activity still does not compare in any way ro LOBSTERFEST®. From there, head to lobsterfest® and just eat your fucking face off.

• A man and a woman walk through a hybrid Target/Subway/Pier One Imported Goods parking lot. A group of dancing lobsters, which includes a woman who matriculated at Harvard, an ex-rockette, and someone who used to date Tim Teufel, appear and gather in a way that makes you appreciate how much you tip a belly dancer. Everyone's here! Hope you've enjoyed another way to enjoy LOBSTERFEST® AT RED LOBSTER.

• Redman and Method Man show up and debate amongst themselves just how many cheese muffins they can steal. U-God shows up. He stuffs his face and starts speaking in crumbs (spitting crumbs everywhere, hitting everyone in sight). While making the call without any regard, Martin Scorsese just goes up and says yes, then drives away in his fully-loaded Lexus. Hello! And goodnight, lobster fans. Stay here and stay for the tastings.

Ain't No Time To Be Guffin' 'Bout No Lobsterfest®*

Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster rages on like a humming tumid erection in a sophomore's pants. And we at Red Lobster have not stopped inventing new, exciting ways for you to succumb to the onslaught of obscenely plentiful lobster tail, mainly because we're afraid that once we stop, our lives essentially lose meaning. Here are the latest machinations from our laboratory of crustaceanism:

• We design a plasticine, protective fiberglass shell for you and your family to wear on your backs like lobsters. You'll conduct your day as usual, but now with the benefit of an exoskeleton to protect you from predators. And once you spend a week in your shells, you can appreciate how effective the exoskeletons are and then come to the restaurant and eat the everloving shit out of those stupid lobsters that didn't stand a chance against MAN! LOL! Stupid lobsters! HUMANS FUCKING OWN! That seems to indicate a sort of way to enjoy lobster at Lobsterest® at Red Lobster, but we could be mistaken.

• We fashion a gigantic slingshot from the crossbeams of our building. You sit in front of the slingshot as we load a bale (like of hay!) of lobster meat into the slingshot, pull it back as far as we can, and then ask you if you want a baleful of "THE MEAT." If you say no, we all act disappointed, disassemble the slingshot and sigh really loudly for the rest of the day. It would somewhat appear that that would be a way to enjoy lobster at Lobsterest® at Red Lobster, now that I think about it.

• You've heard of "CSI," right? Well, we'd do our version of it, but instead of murder victims, it would be people who couldn't decide what to have for dinner. Every episode would end with one of our "cops" suggesting that you should maybe have the lobster. See, that's the way we solve mysteries in OUR CITY. That concludes this special encore presentation of an episode of "CSI: Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster!"

• We email you a coupon, and you delete it. That's a cyber-way to download lobster.doc at Lobsterfest®.com at http://www.RedLobster.geocities.org.

• We sprinkle lobster with crab meat. And with every bite you take of this concoction, you can't tell where the lobster starts and the crab ends. This forces you to re-evaluate everything you know about seafood, taking you on a vision quest to find your spirit animal, which by all accounts (and pretty much beyond our control) turns out to be a llama. See, that's no way to enjoy lobster at Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster, is it? No.

• We vomit butter into your lap. You get really angry and threaten to sue. It's then that we introduce you to Jillian, who's been working here for about 3 months. You fall in love with her, but it turns out she's actually a cardboard standee of actress Ellen Barkin. I don't know what the fuck that just was, but it sure damn counts as enjoying lobster at Lobsterfest® at Red Lobster.

• Your friend Terry swings by our restaurant and doesn't tell you he's there. Then when you find out about it later, you get all mad because you were just down the street and he didn't bother to call you over. But it's all good, because he has that seven bucks he owes you for the time you spotted him when you guys when to see "Green Lantern." Terry's co-worker Paul even wrote down on a whiteboard:
"LOBSTER + LOBSTERFEST® X RED LOBSTER = PLEASE FORGIVE TERRY."

* I honestly wrote this entire entry drunk off Bud Light Lime, which for me these days only takes about 5.

Don't Tell The Wife

PIctured above, 14 of the 18 scratches on the car explained.

Let's Tie Some Decorative Yarn Around the Ends of the EADJ Mail Sack!

From Emily Kane in Chicago, an email with photos entitled "blue frog #2 SUCKS:"

"I thought you should know that the 2nd blue frog, which opened up on Hubbard just east of State, does NOT measure up.

captured via camera phone: huge, douchebaggy river north sports bar with pathetic attempts at infusing the beloved kitsch factor."




You see, the original Blue Frog on Erie & Lasalle was a shit bar. It was a hole in the wall with random patrons that happened to have some board games lying around, and they just happened to serve great burgers with tater tots. Now, to expand that into a "brass 'n fern" type place where bachelorette parties come to do melonball shots and some floor traders come to cheer on their favorite college lacrosse game– that's an abomination.


The fact that they've hung some dusty board games from the ceiling of this nice place to copy the original bar shows you how incongruous it really is.


Weak.

Oh the Horror.

(pictured above, an Easter-themed version of one of those anti-drunk driving films)

The Scourge of Backwards Devil Horns, A Photo Essay

The following are excerpts from the most recent issue of "Wassup" magazine. Or something.




Tragic.