Red hot lobsters boiling in the midday sun, or in a huge pot bubbling and boiling waiting for their flesh to turn white, squeal! Factually speaking, the life of a lobster is quite the reverse than that of 'White Hot Babes' hoping to turn red by boiling in the midday sun before heading out for a 'red-hot' night on the town after baking on beaches where lobsters avoid because lobsters prefer to hang-around in deep-dark oceans hoping not to be boiled alive.
A Walrus, however, after being immortalized by a Lennon-ist LSD trip, enjoys wallowing in the midday sun, not turning red, or being boiled alive like his lobster comrades that usually end up on the forks of those who adored Lennon & Co, but prefer ignoring the squeals of "rage against the cooking machine," as they turn whiter than white after being pink, or red, then dead!
Now many reading this 'Magical Mystery Blog' might think the author, a 'mad-dogged-Englishman', has sat on a deckchair too long in the scorching sun and forgot to tie a handkerchief across his balding head, which turned red, without squealing, or being poked by a fork to see if his whiter than white flesh has turned red, it's a lobster thing, not a walrus thing. In addition, climbing the Eifel Tower, accompanied by jelly fish, seems to be a healthier hobby than being stung by deckchair providers on a Miami Beach as Hemingway once found out during fishing trips in a one-man-boat hoping to land an exotic blue-tuna, or being devoured by a great white in a fit of alcoholic, literary insanity.
As Lennon once said to Marx, "I am the Walrus" and certainly not a 'Red Lobster' waiting to be boiled alive, and history proved that Lennon was right because as we all know history always repeats itself with innocent-red-lobsters being boiled alive, and walrus's, who attempted to climb the Eifel Tower, decided life is much more comfortable laying on a beach, wallowing in the sun and ignoring the mayhem surrounding them, something a poor lobster cannot do. However, maybe a multi-legged lobster could climb the Eifel Tower if it could escape from the boiling pots of French 5* chefs.
The moral of this epic blog has nothing to do with a certain sergeant over-peppering his 'Fools on a Hill' running up and down like ballet dancers searching for a always 'burning Bush' (very biblical that one), because Sean Connery is no longer with us, and Lennon neither, but their legacies are. In addition, as long as lobsters offer themselves as innocent, sacrificial victims for human insatiable consumption, and are boiled alive, whilst the mighty walrus farts repugnantly (Do you all remember Captain Pugwash? Rather amusing pirate actually) on beaches where no white humans could ever turn red, brown, or even black (God forbid!) we can all look to the starry-starry skies hoping to observe 'Lucy in her skies of diamonds'' and not miss van Gogh madness (was he or was he not?), ear, ear, milord!
If you can spot Lucy, or Van the Man, not the Morrison one, you are guaranteed redemption, but not from HIM above, no way. Your redemption will appear like Lola once did (very Kinky) proving all humans should be equal just like a lobster and walrus should be!
"Tut, tut, but author of this utter madness, that is Utopian Insanity which could never turn whiter than white, blacker than black, or redder that red!"
Now where is that McCartney chap when you need him most?? (Idling with Michelle I guess)
It was a hard day's night indeed
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