Tales of The Lobster Boy

"Like every ninety-thousandth child, I was born with eight opposing thumbs, two for each of my shortened limbs. I walk on my knees. What I hold, I pinch. I am one who is born not as others. "It was always going to be so. My father, Charles Koontz II, was known as The Lobster Man. Indeed, his father was also an ectrodactyl. "Most cleppies are merely malformed. Their fingers and toes are twisting nests of nail and bone and tissue. "If they are fortunate enough to survive the smothering pillow, they live their lives, hidden in closets, a family horror safe and secure from neighborly prying eyes, until they are found, liberated, beaten, burnt, tarred, hung, etc. Or given a government job, where they are merely bored to death. At which point, they are theatrically displayed, mute as the anatomical table - collateral damage in the project of evolution. "Other cleppies, however, are the end product of evolution. They are the perfection of their mutation. And the Koontz family - the Lobster People if you fancy - enjoy a genetic perfection. Each of our hands is a perfect symmeter. Each of our feet a Rococo V. "As is true of all the great freaks, we, the Lobster Family, are the ideal breed for display. We are curious enough to demand your attention, yet perfected to avoid the arousal of distaste. "We are perfect freaks."