Rumor, innuendo, and scuttlebutt: Who Is Senor Pinchy?

(The camera opens on an audition room just as a young blonde woman curtsies gracefully. A man sitting behind a table in front of her gives her the thumbs up as one of his gofers takes a contract from his hand and jogs it over to the young woman.)

Talent Scout: Congratulations Ms. Rose, you'll be working Book 2. Can we get the next client in here?

(As Cynthia Rose giddily takes her exit, the door behind her swings open. An awkwardly lunging leg squats in through the frame, followed by another. Slowly but surely, a man dressed in a lucha mask with a shell backpack crab walks sideways into the room, taking his time as he turns to face the already clearly annoyed recruiter as he turns to the gofer with an eye roll as the gofer hands off the next sign up sheet.)

Talent Scout: I swear, there's one every five minutes...Your name sir?

Senor Pinchy: Me llamo Senor Pinchy.

Talent Scout: It says here that you're a...crab?

Senor Pinchy: Si, crab.

Talent Scout: You're a sea crab. Got it.

Senor Pinchy: No no no, eh...estoy crab, si?

Talent Scout: Yes, I see that you're a crab.

Senor Pinchy: Si.

Talent Scout: Yes. I see.

(There's a long awkward silence as Senor Pinchy glares at the talent scout, who seems oblivious to the masked man's annoyed state.)

Senor Pinchy: Maybe...I try speaking the English?

Talent Scout: That's fine. Tell me about yourself.

Senor Pinchy: I am crab.

Talent Scout: Yes, I know, you're a sea crab.

Senor Pinchy: No, how dare j'ou! I am hermit crab.

Talent Scout: So bunking you up with another trainee's out of the question. Good, that knocks off about three pages on this application.

Senor Pinchy: I have my own home. Es on my back, see?

(Senor Pinchy clicks his fingers as he turns and reveals his shell shaped backpackl. The talent scout studies the mask man, in search of any sense of irony or self-awareness.)

Talent Scout: Riiiight. So where do you hail from?

Senor Pinchy: Ehhh...Beach City, USA.

Talent Scout: You know, we're not technically in America. Everyone here on the island is an immigrant, so you can tell us where you're from without fear of deportation.

Senor Pinchy: Beach City, USA.

Talent Scout: Stickin' to that story, eh?

Senor Pinchy: Ch'es.

Talent Scout: Never learned to play.

Senor Pinchy: Uh no no....um...si...ch'es.

Talent Scout: I don't know how to play sea chess either sir.

(Pinchy's antennae furrow in further agitation.)

Talent Scout: How about entrance music? Um...Musica? What do you want to come out to?

Senor Pinchy: My cousin es in musica.

Talent Scout: Great, that means we probably wont have to pay rights. What band?

Senor Pinchy: He is in heavy metal band. Won big award.

Talent Scout: Lemme guess, he's a rock lobster.

Senor Pinchy: No! How dare j'ou!...he is fiddler crab.

Talent Scout: Oh.

Senor Pinchy: He es in Jethro Tull. Won grande award for metal. Have other cousin in band too. He is triangle crab, but we talk about him...eh, not so much. Being triangle crab...es not muy hard.

Talent Scout: Right. Say, I'm going to write down that you come out to "Crab" by Weezer. You know...because your a crab.

Senor Pinchy: Si! I am crab.

Talent Scout: So, dare I ask what moves are in your arsenal?

Senor Pinchy: I'a PEEENCH!

Talent Scout: Well, naturally I suppose. Anything else?

Senor Pinchy: Pardoname?

Talent Scout: Do you have any other moves?

(Senor Pinchy spits on the floor in disgust. Surprised by the outburst, the talent scout straightens up in his chair. Suddenly, Senor Pinchy scuttles toward the desk at...well, a moderately surprising speed considering his crab walk entrance. He grabs the talent scout by the tie with his pincer and pulls him halfway across the table.)

Senor Pinchy: Escuchame...listen to me, soft shell boy! I PEEENCH! Is all I need to do, j'es?

(The talent scout, still conflicted as to whether he should be intimidated or not, plays along and nods.)

Senor Pinchy: Ch'ou tell me where I go, and I do the pinch. Comprender?

Talent Scout: Y-yes sir.

Senor Pinchy: Repetir en espanol!

Talent Scout: Si senor.

Senor Pinchy: Si...si...ch'ou have made me crabby on this day. Despite being a crab, I do not like feeling crabby. Es paradox. Perhaps this is enough eh... como se dice...social interaction for Senor Pinchy for one day. Estoy hermit crab, after all. Donde lucho?

Talent Scout: You will be going to the DOMINION brand sir.

Senor Pinchy: Perfecto. I shall dominate it with an iron claw!

Talent Scout: H-here's your contract sir.

Senor Pinchy: I RULE YOU!

(The talent scout reluctantly hands Senor Pinchy a contract. Pinchy stares over it momentarily as if trying to read it, before staring down the talent scout one last time in further attempt to intimidate. The talent scout awkwardly tries to tug his tie out from Senor Pinchy's hand, but miraculously the crab man snipd it in half with his claw before scurrying out of the room with contract in hand. The talent scout and his young gofer watch on in horror as Pinchy disappears out of the room.)

Gofer: I don't think he's really a crab.

Talent Scout: I don't think he's really latinx...I do know one thing though.

Gofer: Yeah?

Talent Scout: He's our problem now.

(The gofer consuls the talent scout as he buries his face in his hands and the camera fades to black.)