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July 12, 2011
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A man finds true love.

            Nantucket.  An island off the coast of Massachusetts, famous for its long history in whaling.  Although whaling is now dead except in Japan, many still visit Nantucket—and not just to uncover ancient whaling lore.
            I like to visit Nantucket because I have a deep connection with the land.  The long dirt roads, long gravel roads, and long crushed shell roads draw me to it like a bee to precious, precious nectar.  I love the smell of the ocean and the sound of the earth crunching beneath my bicycle tires.  It was on one of these bicycle sojourns to Nantucket—a few years ago—that my life would be changed forever.
            I was flying down the coastal roads on my recumbent, when I thought I heard the telltale bleating of a female elephant seal in heat.  Eager to check it off my endangered seals in heat scavenger hunt, I quickly turned down the lane towards the churning autumn seas.  Ahead of me on the sandy road I noticed an old man struggling with some groceries.  He had carelessly ridden his bike into the deep sands and gotten stuck.  His groceries were falling all over the place.  I stopped my bike to watch.
            A few moments later I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.  A leathery reptile-y mass was charging from the roadside brush.  My god!  Whatever it was it was headed straight for that old bastard!  Being an amateur paleontology enthusiast I quickly identified it as a pachycephalosaurus, or the ram-head dinosaur.  WHAT IN GOD’S NAME WAS A PACHYCEPHALOSAURUS DOING ON NANTUCKET!?
            Before my very eyes the ram-head dinosaur rammed his head through the bushes and into the old man.  The thud was tremendous.  The old man flew clear across the road like a disheveled rag-doll.  Incredibly frightened I managed a quick three-point turn and fled the scene.  Riding back I pondered the circumstances.  I decided to tell the police that the pachycephalosaurus was probably just disturbed whilst protecting its eggs.  EGGS!?  GOOD LORD!
            This was turning into quite a situation!  Being an amateur ham radio enthusiast, I tuned in to my fellows across the globe to disseminate this pressing information.  It wasn’t an hour before I reached the local police department and told them what I had seen.
            “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS A PACHYCEPHALOSAURUS DOING ON NANTUCKET!?” screamed Officer Jonesy Minch.
            “THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT I SAID MINCH!” I screamed into the other end of the two-way ham radio that I had built a few years before.  I was in a deep depression at the time after being laid off by my father’s business.  Amateur ham radio was the only thing that pulled me back from the brink.  I gently caressed the side of my old donkey (that’s a ham radio term for your first radio) in remembrance of a darker time—and the light at the end of the tunnel.
            “God damn Minchers…” muttered Jonesy.
            “Mincher” was Officer Jonesy Minch’s term used to describe any living thing that was out to kill him.  To Officer Jonesy Minch, Nantucket Island was filled to the brim with Minchers.  Some called him a mentally challenged individual unfit for service.  Some would call him a genius.
            It wasn’t long before old Minch had a posse round up.  And boy howdy! —Were they ever in a dinosaur-egg-destroying rage!  Minch put me in charge of the 2nd bicycle battalion (HOORAW BROTHERS!).  Being an amateur archery enthusiast I had my trusty bow, Stingray, with me.  The rest of my battalion was armed with whatever household items they could muster—rakes, pitchforks, ironing boards, chains.  We were quite a sight to be seen riding down the dusty Nantucket trails in front of a dusty, dusky Nantucket sunset.
            Then things got really crazy.
            The 2nd battalion was the first to the scene (HOORAW BROTHERS!).  My right-hand man, Right-hand Wallace, spotted the pachy first.  Unfortunately my suspicions were correct—it was guarding a clutch of eggs.  Right-hand Wallace was armed with two large shoes which he had cleverly tied together to form a rudimentary bolo.  He swung his bolo with all his might at the legs of the enraged mother pachycephalosaurus.  His bolo missed its mark, but his wildly careening bicycle didn’t.  Right-hand Wallace made a brave sacrifice.
            Whilst the mother pachy was busily ramming and stomping Wallace’s lifeless body into the dust, I dropped my kickstand and nocked an arrow.  Stingray released its deadly needle with surprising accuracy (I had quit after 3 or 4 lessons).  The blunt target practice arrow harmlessly bounced off her leathery hide.  Haha! —Boy was I red-faced!
            Fortunately the rest of the posse had just arrived.
            “YOU FUCKING MINCHER!” cried Jonesy from the top of his lungs.
            “EEEERRRAAHHHHHHGGGGHHHHHH!” cried the pachycephalosaurus.
            And then Jonesy Minch and 1000 men on bicycle and foot charged.  And the mother pachycephalosaurus charged.  And a battle royale ensued.
            Being no dunce, I knew where my strong suit lay.  I skirted around the edge of the melee.  Amidst the cries of men and sounds of battered corpses being tossed through the air I located the precious clutch of eggs.  Being an amateur karate enthusiast I made quick work of the eggs.  To each I delivered a precisely focused palm strike.  Each was crushed in turn.  I cried a victory cry above the din—GOOORRRLAAAAAAKK!
            The battle paused.  All heads turned to the pachy’s nest.  Slowly the crowd moved back and formed a circle around us—just me and the mother dinosaur.  When she saw what I had wrought her will finally buckled.  She laid her head down beside the broken eggs and looked into my eyes.  We locked gazes, and for what felt like an eternity, we stared deeply into each other—an intensely sexual experience.
            “I see you,” I whispered softly into her nostrils.
            “Eeeeeherrrrbbb…” she cooed back.
            “ALL GOD DAMN MINCHERS MUST GOD DAMN DIE!” screamed Jonesy.
            And with that said, he leapt onto her back and viciously sawed off her head.  She offered no resistance.  She knew it was her time to go.
            So that is the story of my life on that day on Nantucket Island.  The day I loved and lost.  The day I woke up a boy and went to sleep… a man.

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