ClickHole

You Are The Cannibal Lobster-Man Of New England. Can You Become The Governor Of Maine?

Hubris Laboratories. Outskirts of Augusta, Maine.

You look down at your powerful, affront-to-God body. You’ve spent your entire life imprisoned in this glass tank, hungering for human flesh. The scientists only feed you pellets. You don’t want pellets. And today is the day you finally can’t take it anymore.

You hear the sounds of a tour group approaching your glass prison.

The tour leader brings the tour group right up next to your tank.

“Welcome to Hubris Laboratories, the most advanced science research center and only science research center in Maine!” he says. “To start off the tour, I’m proud and ashamed to show you our Cannibal Lobster-Man.”

“This is a vial of lobster DNA, the substance we squirted into a human embryo to make our Cannibal Lobster-Man. A little-known fact about lobsters is that they’re biologically immortal. That means that they don’t die of old age and will live forever unless something kills them. We had hoped to combine lobster and man to discover the secrets of eternal life, but instead, we combined lobster and man into a Lobster-Man. That was our greatest triumph and our most horrific mistake.”

“Don’t be afraid. The Lobster-Man is behind a pane of solid glass, the same material windows are made out of, so you’re perfectly safe. Feel free to get closer and bother it.”

“Tap on the glass! Show it your succulent human flesh. Taunt the Cannibal Lobster-Man. All of these activities are fun and encouraged. As long as the Cannibal Lobster-Man doesn’t break the glass, everything will be fine.”

“See? The Cannibal Lobster-Man didn’t break the glass. I told you it was safe. Now, let’s continue the tour and look at our other genetic mistakes. Next up is a Granny Smith apple with legs that runs away when you try to eat it. This way please.”

HUNGER. FOREVER.

“Oh no, this is bad! The Cannibal Lobster-Man broke the glass! It’s not supposed to do that.”

“It looks like the Cannibal Lobster-Man we created is going to eat us,” shouts the scientist giving the tour.

“I agree with you,” screams his colleague. “The Cannibal Lobster-Man hungers for human flesh, and we’re made of that stuff.”

You chew. You gnaw. The flesh of scientists fills your crustacean gullet. Your hunger is sated…for now.

Now that your mind isn’t overcome by a primal hunger for human flesh, you can consider more intellectual topics. Who are you, really? What does it mean to be neither lobster nor man, but a Lobster-Man? Does your life have a grander purpose than just eating humans?

You greedily stuff several more scientists into your mandibles and chow down on their savory human flesh.

You rend apart more scientists with your mighty claws and slurp down their tissues and juices with your undulating mouthparts.

“You’re our hero, Cannibal Lobster-Man!” cheer the group of tourists, interrupting your cannibalistic feast. “You could have eaten us, but you didn’t because you ate those scientists instead!”

“We’re going to tell everyone that Cannibal Lobster-Man is an upstanding person who only eats some of the people around him! Maine could use a governor like you! Have you ever considered running for office?”

You skewer one of the tourists through the abdomen and lower her into your churning maw.

“Cannibal Lobster-Man didn’t eat us again because he ate that other person in our tour group! Three cheers for Cannibal Lobster-Man!”

Could this be your purpose in life? To represent the good citizens of Maine as their governor? It’s a big responsibility, but you feel that you’re up to the challenge.

You’ll never get elected, though, if you just hang out in a laboratory and consume people. Your next step should be to head to Maine’s state capital of Augusta and start your gubernatorial campaign.

You bound down the highway at 80 miles per hour. Passing cars and trucks honk greetings at you, displaying the famous friendliness that Maine is known for.

After a short while, you reach the Maine State House. Since you were spawned in a lab and spent your whole life inside a glass tank, you aren’t quite sure how the electoral process of becoming governor works.

Shouting at the capitol building that you’re the governor didn’t seem to do anything. Maybe you should ask someone how to run for governor.

You piss alluring pheromone-filled urine onto the capitol building until both of your bladders are empty, but you still don’t seem to be governor. Maybe you should ask someone how to run for office.

“Lobster-Man, I’m a struggling single mother of four darling boys, and I have to work two jobs as a waitress and a vascular surgeon just to put food on the table. I’m also working a third job as a roofer for fun, but I hate my other two jobs and have to do them because I’m poor due to Maine’s busted economy.”

“Maine’s economy is completely reliant on the beached whales that wash ashore. Every job in this state depends on harvesting the bounty of rotting whale meat. Practically everything here is made out of beached whales, from the blubber burgers sold in restaurants, to the whale oil that fuels our cars, to the whale-skin pants I’m wearing right now. There used to be plentiful whales flopping on every beach in Maine, but in recent years, whales unfortunately only beach themselves a few times a week.”

“Can you help us, Cannibal Lobster-Man? Can you fix Maine’s economy and make voters like me believe in the American dream again?”

You pounce on the struggling single mother and tear into her torso with your claws and antennae, then pluck out the pulsating organs within. The human flesh is delicious, but now you’ll have to find someone else to ask about becoming governor.

“Thank you, Cannibal Lobster-Man! With you in the governor’s office, there may be hope for Maine after all!”

“I wish I could tell you how to run for governor, but political advisor isn’t one of my three jobs, so I have no idea what you should do. I recommend talking to someone else, like that political advisor over there.”

“Cannibal Lobster-Man, your poll numbers are soaring!” the political advisor says. “The news of how you didn’t eat everybody at the laboratory is blowing up across the web. You have support among key demographics that don’t want to be eaten and approve of the fact that you haven’t eaten very many people yet. If you play your cards right, I think you have a real shot at becoming governor. I would be honored to serve as your campaign manager.”

You lean forward with your razor-sharp mandibles and bite off the political advisor’s hand.

“Yes! This is exactly the kind of passion the voters are looking for,” he cheers as blood spurts from his severed wrist. “They want a governor who makes bold moves and isn’t afraid to speak his mind.”

“Before you can run for office, you have to get some money,” your political advisor says. “Money is the rectangles that make people do things.

“Once you get money, you can buy TV commercials that will tell voters to elect you as governor.”

You vomit dozens of human bones onto the political advisor’s feet. He patiently waits for you to finish.

“Politicians get all their money from one of two sources: The first is to get your money from a corporation, which is a group of businessmen who live in a skyscraper.

“Corporations have lots of money to hand out, but they’ll also make you promise to let them pollute as much as they want once you’re governor.”

“The other source of money is unions, which are groups of people who like to wear hardhats. Unions can give you money, but they’ll make you promise that once you’re governor, nobody will ever get fired from their job ever again.

“Unfortunately, corporations and unions are arch-enemies, so you can’t take money from both. You’ll have to choose one financier and stick with them.”

By refusing to accept money from corporations or unions, you’ve foolishly doomed your bid for governor! Grassroots donations from voters only raise enough money for a mayoral campaign, and you are elected the mayor of Bangor, Maine.

Your quest for the Maine governor’s office has failed.

You head over to the skyscraper where the businessmen live and get ushered upstairs into a conference room.

“Cannibal Lobster-Man, welcome! We’ve read all about how you haven’t eaten many people. That’s the kind of business-friendly attitude that government needs to have. What can we do for you?”

“Certainly! Here’s a check for $50 million, which should be enough for your campaign. Oh, heck, let’s make it $100 million, just to be safe.

“The only thing we ask in return is that once you’re governor, you let us pollute the ocean. We own a factory that makes framed pictures of lighthouses for people to put above their toilets, and we’ve been getting rid of the industrial waste we produce by sending it away on barges and feeding it to the whales. However, the law says we shouldn’t do that. When you’re governor, we’d like you to pass a new law saying that whales are the best place for industrial waste.”

“Then it’s a deal! A pleasure doing business with you. We can’t wait to feed lots of garbage to whales.”

“I am thrilled to support your campaign!”

“You just ate our boss, and because of that we’ve all been promoted! Three cheers for Cannibal Lobster-Man!”

“Cannibal Lobster-Man, welcome! We’ve read all about how you’ve eaten very few people. That’s the kind of worker-friendly attitude we need in government. What can we do for you?”

“We’re all middle-class workers, so we don’t have a lot of money, but we do have lots of copper pipes we ripped out of foreclosed houses. Copper pipes are just as good as money, and we’re happy to let you take all the copper pipes you need for your campaign.

“The only thing we ask in return is that you make sure Dumb Timothy is never fired from his job.”

“Dumb Timothy is the worst worker in all of Maine. His job is to build lighthouses, but instead he steals speedboats and uses them to run over whales. Dumb Timothy definitely deserves to be fired from his job, but he’s in the union, so he should never be fired. Will you promise that Dumb Timothy won’t ever get fired, no matter how many whales he kills and how many lighthouses he doesn’t build?”

“You have my vote, Cannibal Lobster-Man!”

“Then it’s a deal! A pleasure doing business with you. We’re happy that Dumb Timothy will have a job forever.”

“You ate that guy, so now we have to do his work, which means we’re all going to get paid overtime! Three cheers for Cannibal Lobster-Man!”

You walk into your campaign headquarters, which is bustling with human flesh.

Enthusiastic volunteers are working hard to get out the vote. Phone operators are busy calling people during dinner to tell them that Maine needs Cannibal Lobster-Man in office, and your interns are printing out red-and-blue lawn signs that say “Cannibal Lobster-Man Would Be A Good Governor.”

You should probably thank them for their assistance.

Well done! It looks like you’ve got your volunteers fired up and ready to bring in the voters.

You smell the delicious scent of your campaign manager approaching.

“Now that you have money and a campaign office, the next step toward getting elected governor is making a TV commercial to let everyone know why they have to vote for Cannibal Lobster-Man.

“There are two types of political commercials you can choose to make: You can either go positive and have the ad say lies about what you will achieve in office, or you can go negative and spread false rumors about our current governor, Tonfuss Magrook.”

Your truthful ad was a complete disaster! It failed to convince voters that you would be a good governor, and it failed to convince voters that the current governor is bad. All you accomplished was making the public respect your integrity and honesty, and the president appoints you chief justice of the U.S. Supreme Court.

Your quest to become governor of Maine failed.

After a few days of shooting and editing, your political ad is ready! You pay a pile of money to a television station to buy airtime, and it goes on during Maine’s most popular TV show, Stephen King Silently Looks Through A Telescope At A Seagull.

EXT. MAINE – DAWN’S GLEAMING

ANNA KENDRICK (VO): Hello, you live in Maine. I am Anna Kendrick. I was born in Maine. Sometimes I visit. Maine is good, and Cannibal Lobster-Man is also good.

EXT. MAINE – HOPEFUL AFTERNOON

ANNA KENDRICK (VO): When it comes to the question of who is best at being governor of Maine, there is only one answer: Cannibal Lobster-Man. Cannibal Lobster-Man will bring us dead whales. Cannibal Lobster-Man will lower taxes. Cannibal Lobster-Man will fix every pothole. Cannibal Lobster-Man will give an American flag to a child. Cannibal Lobster-Man will invent a new kind of electric pencil sharpener that is completely silent. Cannibal Lobster-Man will find money on the ground but leave it there for a veteran. Cannibal Lobster-Man will eat very few people. Vote for Cannibal Lobster-Man.

This ad was paid for by People Who Think Cannibal Lobster-Man Should Be Governor.

After a few days of shooting and editing, your political ad is ready! You pay a pile of money to a television station to buy airtime, and it goes on during Maine’s most popular TV show, Stephen King Silently Looks Through A Telescope At A Seagull.

EXT. MAINE – SINISTER GLOOM

ANNA KENDRICK (VO): Hello, you live in Maine. I am Anna Kendrick. I was born in Maine. Sometimes I visit. Maine is good, but Governor Tonfuss Magrook is not good. Tonfuss Magrook is a bad governor.

EXT. MAINE – HOUR OF MENACE

ANNA KENDRICK (VO): Tonfuss Magrook once smiled at a painting of Joan of Arc burning, and when someone asked him if he was smiling because Joan of Arc was brave, he replied, “No, I’m just a fan of arson.” Tonfuss Magrook thinks Maine should not be a state and does not want Maine to get dead whales. Tonfuss Magrook is wearing a T-shirt that says “STDs.” Tonfuss Magrook thinks Jesse Owens was white and that Hitler was African American. Tonfuss Magrook is often seen cavorting with a prostitute that he is married to and lives with, and he has three children with the prostitute, and the prostitute is a lawyer. Tonfuss Magrook has never seen a movie. Tonfuss Magrook has eaten many people instead of only eating some people. Do not vote for Tonfuss Magrook.

This ad was paid for by People Who Think Cannibal Lobster-Man Should Be Governor.

“Great news: Your poll numbers now have you tied in a dead heat with Governor Magrook,” your political advisor says. “You just need to perform one campaign trail publicity stunt and it’ll put you in the lead.

“Voters love it when politicians eat Maine’s signature dish, the California roll. You’ll have to be photographed eating a California roll if you want to get elected.”

“Hello, Cannibal Lobster-Man, I’m Arlene, and this is my restaurant. I’m going to be honest: I’m not a fan of yours. Sure, you’ve eaten very few people, but do you actually have a plan to fix Maine’s economy? I think you’re just another Augusta politician who makes big promises with no intention of keeping them.

“The only thing that could ever make me change my mind about you is if you ate a California roll.”

Your immense claws slice Arlene into shredded ribbons of flesh, and you hungrily scarf up the pieces of human meat. The walls and floor of the diner are splattered with human blood and viscera.

While you feast on Arlene. an angry mob assembles and starts throwing rocks at you. “Hey, Cannibal Lobster-Man doesn’t like California rolls! Everyone in Maine loves California rolls, so we hate Cannibal Lobster-Man now! Get him!”

The enraged mob of Maine residents chases you all the way to the state border, and you escape into New Hampshire.

A group of New Hampshire residents walk up to greet you. “Welcome to New Hampshire, Cannibal Lobster-Man! We heard that you dislike California rolls, which is wonderful, because we hate California rolls in New Hampshire. Please be our governor!”

You run unopposed and are elected governor of New Hampshire.

You failed in your quest to become governor of Maine.

Maine is world-famous for its seafood, and no dish is more renowned than a classic Maine California roll: savory Maine-grown rice, seaweed, and avocado wrap around a chunk of milky-white whale meat scraped fresh off the corpse of a beached whale that morning.

Your claws pinch onto one piece of California roll and lift it into your roiling mouth. The sushi is cold and unappetizing, nothing like deliciously warm human flesh, but you manage to force it down.

Dozens of news cameras catch you eating the California roll. It won’t be long before every voter in Maine sees the footage of you eating a California roll, and then nods and says “Good.” This will clinch the election for sure!

“I was wrong about you! You eat California rolls, so you’re an honest politician! Three cheers for Cannibal Lobster-Man!”

Your immense claws slice Arlene into shredded ribbons of flesh, and you hungrily scarf up the pieces of human meat. The walls and floor of the diner are splattered with human blood and viscera.

Everyone in the restaurant is smiling proudly at you. “He ate a California roll before eating that woman! Three cheers for Cannibal Lobster-Man!”

“Terrible news, Cannibal Lobster-Man,” says your political advisor. “Your poll numbers have dropped by 90 percent!”

“That was great; everyone loved it when you ate the California roll,” your advisor says. “The problem is that a hacker leaked your emails, and one email you wrote is causing a political scandal!”

“Writing ‘eat populace’ has made the public think you might want to eat the populace,” your advisor tells you. “This directly contradicts your image of a candidate who eats only a few people.

“This is an absolute disaster. Your only hope of getting elected now is to debate the current governor and win.”

You rush to the closest debate you can find, which luckily happens to be the gubernatorial one. A woman with a microphone welcomes everyone.

“Hello, and welcome to the Maine Gubernatorial Debate here at historic Bowdoin College, which happens to be in Maine. My name is Sheila, and I won a radio call-in contest to be moderator tonight. It’s the fight of the century as two candidates go head-to-head in a discursive brawl, a war of words where dialogue atomic bombs are launched directly onto their opponent’s argument orphanages. Our first verbal gladiator…”

“…is the Maine Man, the Brute in the Suit, the Augusta Avalanche, the one, the only, incumbent Governor Tonfuss Magrook! According to him, he should keep being governor.

“However, there’s a wrinkle in his plan of staying governor. Someone else wants to be governor, and that person is our challenger tonight. Captain of the Coastline, the Crustacean Sensation, the Half-Breed With a Need to Feed; put your hands or claws together for…”

“...Cannibal Lobster-Man! He wants to be governor, but as you all know, he emailed a bad email, so that’s probably not going to happen.

“The first question tonight goes to Governor Magrook: Why are you good at being governor and Cannibal Lobster-Man is bad at being governor?”

Governor Tonfuss Magrook waves to the crowd.

“My fellow Maine residents of Maine, I’m your governor. I came from a very rich family, so I was never motivated to get a real job, but I wanted to feel like I was important, so I became governor. Being governor is central to my identity. I enjoy attending things. I enjoy waving. I enjoy being governor. I want to stay governor.

“However, my opponent, Cannibal Lobster-Man, says that he should be governor. Sure, I’ll admit that he’s eaten very few people, and I commend him for that. But does he have a plan to get more whales to beach themselves on Maine’s shores and save our state’s economy? I have no plan to accomplish anything either, but I’m already governor, and I was here first. Unless Cannibal Lobster-Man has a reason why he should be governor instead of me, I’m calling dibs on being governor.”

The crowd waits for your reply. As you prepare to speak, you suddenly feel an unwelcome urge coming from your pulsing reproductive organs. Your eggs are ready to be implanted, and you must find a suitable host.

The biological urge is too strong to ignore. You have to lay these eggs, and you have to lay them now. All you can decide is where to implant them.

As in all buildings in Maine, the walls of the auditorium are covered in pictures of Maine’s state bird. You quickly run over to it, spray eggs out of your genitals onto the photograph, and run back to your podium to continue the debate.

Tough luck! The crowd noticed you spraying eggs onto their beloved state bird. Hecklers start shouting things like “I disapprove” and “That was rude to our favorite bird.”

Between your bad email and this latest scandal, you’ve lost any chance of getting elected to government. You have no choice but to concede the race and slink away to a lucrative job in the private sector.

You withdraw from the election and become CEO of the L.L. Bean clothing company in disgrace. This is your house, and you own many luxury cars.

You never become governor of Maine.

You spray your eggs onto Governor Magrook’s face, and they burrow into his skin. In a few days, your brood will hatch and feast on his flesh.

You’ve won over the crowd! They start cheering things like “A strong leader lays his eggs where he wants” and “It’s time for a leader who speaks his mind and lays his eggs.”

The moderator hands you the debate trophy for Best Governor. After your incredible performance tonight, it’s a guarantee you’ll be elected governor of Maine.

You did it! You’re governor of Maine. Here is your office in the governor’s mansion. Now what?

A park in Portland, Maine just got a brand-new drinking fountain. It is called the Maine Economic Prosperity Drinking Fountain. It’s been there for a few days, but joggers aren’t allowed to drink from it yet. That’s because you have to cut the ribbon first.

You cut the ribbon because you are an ineffective governor who doesn’t do much other than this kind of stuff. On the bright side, it’s fun to do things like cut ribbons and attend banquets and eat a few people at those banquets, and that’s basically your entire job now.

If Maine’s biggest need is dead whales, you’re going to step up as governor and get them dead whales. Fortunately, you’re a Lobster-Man, so finding some whales should be a breeze for you.

You walk to the end of a misty dock, shed your suit and Maine-shaped American flag pin, and plunge into the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

You swim through the murky ocean waters for hours. In the distance, you hear the ethereal moan of whale song.

“OoooAAAooaaaawwoooooo....” As you admire the beautiful song, you realize something: You can understand what the whales are saying. Perhaps a little bit of whale DNA got mixed up in the serum that created you.

“Cannibal Lobster-Man, welcome to the ocean,” sing the whales.

Hundreds of whales swim around you, singing in harmony.

“Congratulations on winning the election, Cannibal Lobster-Man. Why have you come to visit us?”

You explain Maine’s dire economic situation to the whales.

“Very well. We shall assist you in saving Maine, if that is what you desire. You are our friend, Cannibal Lobster-Man, and if beaching ourselves will help you perform well as governor of Maine, then we shall beach ourselves.

“Alternatively, we whales are currently electing our own governor and could use a worthy candidate like yourself. Maine politics is full of deceit and moral compromise, but among the whales you could be a principled governor like you’ve always dreamed.”

“Oh, whales eat humans all the time. Divers are a tasty snack for whales, but we’re careful to only eat them when nobody is looking.”

This is a tough decision. You love the state of Maine, but you also love whales. What are you going to do?

The whales bow their heads to you as a sign of respect and then swim to Maine to beach themselves. Soon, hundreds of dying whales flop on every beach in Maine, boosting the economy with the blubber and ambergris that Maine residents harvest from the corpses.

As governor, you are given credit for convincing the whales to commit suicide, and your approval rating is 100 percent among all Maine voters. It also turns out that as a Lobster-Man, you are biologically immortal, and you remain Maine’s popular governor for thousands of years, until humanity eventually abandons Earth and you go to outer space, which is renamed “Maine” in your honor.

Congratulations!

The whales elect you governor of whales, and you never return to Augusta. You rule the whales with wisdom and justice, swimming around the oceans to settle disputes over krill. Whenever you get hungry for human flesh, you eat a deep-sea diver or capsize a rowboat.

Many years later, you spot a waterlogged newspaper floating in the ocean. The front-page headline is “GOVERNOR-LESS STATE OF MAINE DESTROYED BY A FIRE,” but that’s none of your concern.


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