Realizing how heavy the traffic was going to be heading onto the Cape for Memorial Day Weekend, I decided to pack up my gear and left Boston at midnight; determined to get over either the Bourne or Sagamore Bridge before the rest of the hoard. Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against hoards in general, it was just that the particular hoard in question; the one that was at that very moment descending upon Cape Cod Herself; was well...it was questionable.
Of course, if push came to shove, I could always take the tunnel. Shh, don’t tell anybody else but that old myth about the Army Corps of Engineers digging a top-secret, tunnel right beneath the railroad bridge that leads all the way to Otis Air Force Base...it’s really true.
Anywho...back to protecting us Chosen Ones and how glad I was to have packed up all the necessary gear for my weekend mission on the Cape. Suntan lotion, sandals, swimsuit, beach towel and I wish I brought an umbrella because it rained the whole weekend...as per usual.
Plus all my specialized guns, of course. Can’t fight hoards with no weapons, amirite? Especially these types of hoards. You know what I mean...wink, wink. They are everywhere you go. On the beaches, in the restaurants and even in those little, over-priced curio shops. Every summer they descend upon the peninsula for a few months, have their fun and then go back to wherever they came from leave all their monies behind; and occasionally a person or two...thank you very much.
They are called, affectionately or not, washashores. That should read WE, as I am considered one of them myself because you see, you actually have to be born on Cape Cod to be able to call yourself a true Cape Codder; the rest of the year-round inhabitants have (as the name implies) washed ashore and will be known as such forevermore. Trust me, I was born in Boston as my kids will readily point out...whether you ask them or not.
Anywho...I digress; back to protecting my 1st Amendment Rights and the descending hoards. As I said before, these weren’t just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill hoards; nosiree; these hoards were of the type rarely witnessed outside of the wildest of the wildest imaginations...the very worst kind.
But as things turned out, even as those hoards were pouring over both bridges (well crawling counts as pouring when it comes to crossing bridges built to accommodate traffic in 1933, amirite?) I busied myself with my defenses. One can never be too careful when it comes to matters like this, after all it isn’t every day that the impossible happens...unbelievable but true, amirite?
Well, that’s exactly what this particular hoard who were traversing (barely moving) across both of the bridges were made up of; they were unbelievers. Yup, the worst of the worst kind of unbelievers that you could possibly conceive of; the ones who don’t believe in anything they haven’t heard right from the mouth of Q his own self...because believing is all about denial.
Anywho...back to that wicked awesome great equalizer I bought at the gun store for my personal protection. It is sooo easy-peasy to cross state lines to purchase pretty much any type of weaponry, so living in Massachusetts was only a minor obstacle for me...particularly being a white guy. n/j/k
On the other hand, it’s a good thing that damned gun jammed because I DO NOT have a hunting license and probably would have killed that stoopid game warden who was out looking for poachers in the sand dunes. Piping Plover season or not, those damn game wardens are merciless and will come after anybody...not born on Cape Cod.
The warden didn’t believe me when I told him I was hunting Unicorns and I thought for sure he was going to arrest me right on the spot when all of a sudden a Leprechaun jumped out of the bushes yelling and screaming something about pots of gold, or some malarkey; couldn’t understand half of what he was saying with that thick, Irish brogue...as God is my witness.
It’s a good thing Bigfoot showed up at that very moment to help clarify everything for that poor warden who had to be utterly confused by that point. You see, the warden wasn’t a real American with real American values and Bigfoot being both bi-lingual AND bi-sexual explained that nowadays in real America you have to be on the look-out for all the NOT real Americans...if you follow me.
Anywho...once I got EVERYONE all squared away with the right type of thinking to do about the right type of things to think about, I decided to head back off-Cape; figuring my work was done here. Little did I know that I would have one more life to save before the long weekend. Crawling (stopped) atop the Sagamore Bridge, I peered down and saw poor Nessie stuck upon and struggling to free herself off of the jetty exposed by the low tide...Loch Ness is only as far away as the imagination will allow.
By the time I made it down to where she had been stuck up on the rocks there was nothing left but a few scales, a silly, red hat and a sign that said STOP THE STEAL...
