Scotch Ness Monstah [Limited Edition]

Imagine You are eight years old. Your parents have dressed you up in your Sunday best and brought you to the pier. They think it's a treat, but you're miserable. It's cold out and hazy, and none of the things that typically make the pier fun—the sickeningly sweet smell and taste of cotton candy, clowns walking high in the air on stilts, whirring amusement rides—are running at this time of year. Your father holds your hand tightly as you walk so you won't get lost in the crowd of people bundled up and bustling in the cold. Your eyes glaze over as you cast a glance out toward the water. A few steps further, and something catches in your periphery: hundreds of feet out, a long necked beast slowly peaks out of the water. You double take, shaking your head as though emptying the possibility from your brain entirely. You look again, disturbed now at the prospect of some giant and uncategorizable creature so close to you. You slowly start tugging at your father's sleeve for his attention, but