Horseshoe Crab Toy

I purchased this majestic plastic horseshoe crab—whom I have named Emperor Clackimus Rex—as a joke. Now he rules my household with silent authority. Day 1: I placed him on the mantle. My cat hasn’t blinked since. Day 3: I caught my Roomba circling him like a sacrificial offering. Day 5: My husband called him “sir” without realizing it. Day 7: We no longer question his presence. We merely obey. He accompanies me to work in my tote bag. People respect me more. My boss gave me a raise. Coincidence? Emperor Clackimus thinks not. He does not move, yet I swear he is never in the same place twice. He has witnessed all. Judged all. If you gaze too long into his beady molded eyes, he gazes back. Is this a toy? A deity? A misunderstood oracle from the ancient plastic seas? Who’s to say. Buy him. But be warned: once he enters your life, you don’t own him. He owns you.