I was a brunch and book club kind of guy, you made a mean plate of Dino nuggies. You emphasized the mean part, because, you said, you were “kind of an asshole,” but I was willing to take the risk for someone who was also pro-nuggets-for-brunch. A good man might be hard to find, but a lad unafraid of 10:30am nuggets? That’s a real catch. That’s what I thought, at least, until our first brunch together. You ready for the mean nuggets, you asked me. I said, am I ever! And so you brought out a sizzling platter of chicken so enticing I struggled to breathe. I know it looks bad, you said. Even gross, on its face, you said. And indeed, when I bent over the platter of nuggets I was surprised to discover the sinister mask underneath.

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