Our family has been FRYING UP CLAMS at the Clam ‘n’ Putt for more generations than we can remember. When it’s summer, you can count on two things: HOT SUN, and us here making clams, because Neptune totally fucking cursed our family.
Basically, like a thousand years ago, one of our ancestors was starving on a boat. One day he caught a clam and ate it. This pissed off Neptune, the protector of the sea, who was so ripshit he cursed him to make clams forever, which didn’t make sense, because Neptune was mad about him eating a clam in the first place. Was he protecting the clams OR NOT? Either way, Neptune hated his guts SO MUCH. Then our ancestor passed the curse along to all the next generations. Also, he slept with Neptune’s wife, which DID NOT HELP.
The curse sucks because it ruined our lives. None of us wants to look at a clam again, let alone make them into a PIRATE PLATTER that comes with your choice of full bellies or strips, plus coleslaw and fries and tartar sauce AND A SMALL DRINK. But we have to. And we have to say “ARRRGH” when you pick it up, because that’s a stupid rule we made that’s not even Neptune’s fault.
But the curse works out well for you because, after all these horrible centuries, our family really knows how to make good clams. So please enjoy them and make all this pain and death seem worth it. Also, our NEW PATIO is open.
Some of our relatives thought it was like a joke or something, the clam curse, so they tried to follow their own path that didn’t include making clams. My uncle was a week away from graduating from medical school when he was hit by a bus. And get this; the bus had an ad for THE AQUARIUM on it. Fucking Neptune. My great-grandmother tried to open a hot dog place, and she choked on a hot dog at the grand opening along with everyone else who was eating there. It set the record for most people dying of hot dog chokings at one time—LOOK IT UP. Also, I tried to volunteer at a homeless shelter and got kicked right in the nuts by a guy.
To make things worse, Neptune made sure that no one in our lineage could ever enjoy clams by giving us all shellfish allergies. We get a pretty BAD RASH, and right when it starts to clear up, we die. So we don’t even actually know if the clams we make are good, so leave us a YELP REVIEW to let us know.
My grandmother died by eating clams on purpose. That’s what many in our family do so they can finally stop making clams. It’s also the only way to stop that briny smell on our clothes from smelling by KILLING OUR NOSES like that.
In other news, our famous LEMON FREEZIES are back this summer. We like making those because they’re not clams at all. They’re the perfect icy treat to help anyone forget they’ve been condemned by a centuries-old curse because their starving ancestor ate ONE FUCKING CLAM. I’m talking about us, because that’s literally exactly what happened to us, and our lives suck so bad now.
We’re angry and sad a lot, but you can still EAT HERE. Since Neptune is out of the picture, we don’t know who to blame anymore, so we take it out on the clams sometimes. We’re basically BLAMING THE CLAMS for everything, even though the clams didn’t do anything wrong. They can’t make decisions or curse people; they only decide whether to drag themselves a little to the left or a little to the right with their little leg-dick, and even that takes them like three hours. Go ahead and watch how long it takes them to drag a little left or right with their leg-dick. It takes them THREE HOURS.
We added mini putt-putt like a decade ago as a total fuck you to Neptune. EXCUSE MY FRENCH. He didn’t say shit about not having putt-putt, so now our kids can have fun like your kids before they remember how screwed they are.
While you’re here, you should take a family picture in the giant clam shell out front. Isn’t that the same giant clam shell where we make human sacrifices to Neptune? YES, OKAY, YES, it’s the same one, but stop blaming us for that, because we didn’t do shit. Neptune did. And it’s not our customers who get sacrificed. Plus, we CLEAN IT all the time.
Finally, just a heads-up, we had to raise the price of an extra tartar sauce this summer to a dollar. Don’t blame us; the TARTAR SAUCE company jacked us. We didn’t do shit.