The demise of the Sasquatch

I really believe he is out there. What I find interesting is our never ceasing desire to know that he is out there. Like the dodo bird from the past, we have to club it, kill it and bring it in so we know it’s alive. There is a commercial for a brand of Beef Jerky where the theme of the spot is messing with Bigfoot. This is a perfect analogy of civilized man wanting to not only prove his existence, but to go ahead and impose our will upon him for our amusement. There are whales in the ocean 18 times the size of Bigfoot and we will never see them. Do we need to catch and kill them to know they are there? I see squirrels in a yard and think about why are we terrified of rats and yet cohabitate with squirrels without having to trap them or banish them? What is it about our nature that lets us live along side some species while others we doubt and fear?
I am a firm believer in Bigfoot. I belong to an organization called BFRO (Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization). Well, I used to belong. Honestly, I only bought a t-shirt from their website to wear on my independant field research. Basically a field researcher is anyone that can walk more than 10 feet, wear a comfortable pair of sneakers and contribute $350 to a hopeless endeavor. I’m not a cynic of the organization I belong to. I just disagree with the administration (much like the rest of this nation). Besides, if I had $350 to blow in the interest of furthering science, I'd spend it on advanced home brewing technologies or a car that runs on sea water.
Where ever Bigfoot is, I am sure that he has no problems believing in us and wants to stay as far away as possible. I shun the concept of an evil terror of a beast tearing apart tents in the wilderness and harassing campers and hikers. He’s probably pooping nervously under a fern somewhere far in the hills of British Columbia. That’s where he is, you know; British Columbia.
No I’m confident Bigfoot will someday choose to walk on down out of the woods. He will probably select one of the worse places to commence his first encounter with western civilization. It will, no doubt, be a Flying J truck stop or an outlet mall. He will probably meander behind a Bass ProShop just after some guy named Doug or Todd will have just bought a camo-colored 12 gauge and 3 boxes of shells. He’ll probably get caught in some embarrassing fashion so beneath his mythic status that he will instantly reduce his standing to that of a bear or rabid hound. Some Alaskan animal control officer will have a snare around his neck after catching him with a half-eaten burrito in a Jack in the Box dumpster. He’ll be on national TV with crumbs in his beard. We will hearken back to the less than anticlimactic capture of Sadaam Hussein in the hole. He’ll crap himself and curl up in a ball in the back of a truck next to stray pit bulls and a dead opossum. Sadly, this is the most probable demise for our mystic beast from the 70’s and 80’s. The beast that lumbered through our nightmares and led countless quasi,self proclaimed anthropologists on epic goose chase expeditions across the Sierra Nevada’s and Cascade ranges. The beast that ate DB Cooper. The gargantuan that battled Steve Austin in the “jump the shark" two-part episode of the Six Million Dollar Man.The indelible prototype to our beloved Chewbacca. It’s sad to picture the almost embarrassed and pathetic look on his face when they shove him in that truck. He’ll grunt and whimper like a darted bear. He’ll lick himself and look disoriented. There will be protests of course. They will be confused about what to do with him. After all the media quiets down, we will go about our lives in a one-less-unknown-menacing-mythical-creature-man-dominated-world. He will be donated to some farm that cares for wounded show pets and Russian circus bears. He’ll be lumped in with the bears even though he probably holds them in the same regard as we hold illegal aliens. He probably thinks they just eat the fish that he won’t eat but even still he doesn’t think they should be allowed to fish in the same river.
I hope I can go see him then. I hope I can get a ticket and travel to Alaska and visit Bigfoot before he passes away in a freak electric fence accident or strange dysentery brought on by canned bear food. I’ll look him in the face and tell him I believed. I believed just enough to leave well enough alone. He’ll growl at me and sit up on his rear haunches like a trained tiger. I’ll throw balled up sandwich bread at him. I'll move down one cage to see a cougar lying in the dirt next to a water dish. No mystery with the cougar. If you run into a cougar in the wild, your supposed to bang a stick against the tree and yell out "NO!".That will let him know who's boss.

Man Found Dead on Seattle Golf Course

SEATTLE TIMES BREAKING NEWS:
A man was found dead on local course from apparent overdose in golf. Investigators say the body was found hunched over the hole on the 17th green apparently retrieving what looked like crumpled paper, sticks and feathers fashioned into a make shift golf ball. The victim was found on the Coyote Creek course at the Willows run golf course in Redmond clutching a score card that recorded over 215 holes played with only one double bogey at the hole where the body was found. Everything before that was scored one below par, a birdie. The identity has not been disclosed, but initial reports indicate a male, 6'2'', dark hair, early forties wearing a Kirkland Brand golf polo shirt and tan trousers. The body was found dehydrated, sun burned and disgruntled over exorbitant food prices at the course concession stand. He apparently forgot about the turkey sandwich and Payday that he packed in his bag from home. Foul play was initially suspected when several of the victim's clubs were found tossed about and embedded in trees and bushes in a close vicinity to the hole on which the body was found. This was ruled out by a grounds keeper that witnessed what can only be described as the "most horrific man tantrum I have ever seen". Friend and relatives stated earlier today, "It's exactly how he would have wanted to go." Others were quoted as asking, " How could this have happened?" and "I can't see how he took a mulligan, went into the water, came out of the water, back into the ravine, and out of the ravine and into the sand and three putted and only got a double bogey?" A funeral has not been scheduled as of this reporting but sources say it will involve the deceased being placed into a golf travel bag lined with 500 thread count sheets and pillows stuffed with 1 week old Norwegian Snow Goose down and buried at sea in one of the ponds on the North Course at Sahalee Country Club.

Response to want ad for Reference Number:HCS284

"Job Description:A Textile Carpet manufacturer has an opening for a Sales Representative with High-end Carpet sales experience. Must have sales experience with Hospitality, Contract, Residential, Commercial, or Retail Carpet companies with strong programs in both Woven and Print. The Sales Representative will be responsible for building relationships with buyers, manage daily sales responsibilities, and develop programs for specific customer accounts."

I read that and came to what can only be described as a Jack Nicholson "As Good as it Gets" moment. Gone are the days of First Class jet setting to sunny So-Cal for a quick back nine before a colossal time waste of a meeting at noon about cutting the bottom line. Gone are the restless nights spent with the beer sweats in a king size bed between sheets that cost more than my best suit in a quasi-post modern personality hotel with a complimentary happy hour, substandard nautilus gym, and as much Lodgenet™ porn that a liberal arts college major with deficient math skills can proficiently bury in an expense report. Gone are the herb encrusted filets and the 18 year-old scotch calls from Smith & Wollenski at 4:00 in the afternoon. These are all the things I reminisce about as my fat, middle-aged, cynical ass sits on 635 trying to manipulate my $240 a month gas guzzler across three lanes to get home to my 3 lovely line item dependents, my cat shit eating dog, my mortgage, my hopeless attempt at a lawn and my ever growing laundry list of yet-to-do-to-the-house-but-I'll-get-to-it-on-Sunday-'s. All my options have surmounted to my current position or this miserable piece of shit so called "opportunity" trying to foot cram one more "value-added resource" into the already over bloated, oversold, undifferentiated market of business to business commodities. One more Ford Taurus or Dodge Intrepid parked in the back of a business park in Grand Prairie idling while listening to the Ticket and reading the paper. One more day spent handing out business cards and collateral with invaluable information that ends up topping off the trash cans inside every office in the DFW Metroplex. One more 30 minute, technically challenged powerpoint presentation to a daft 19 year old receptionist that has all the decision making authority of an oompla loompa in Willy Wonka's Choclate Factory. All of this only to come back to the office and fill out a 3 page excel spreadsheet flagging it as a "Class 3 Potential Opportunity" that only needs about 8 more months of qualifying and filling out a prospect analysis of said receptionist as the key relationship that will bank roll your entire 4th quarter.
Ah, life.

DFW City Slogans

Lake Highlands looks down on Lakewood.
Lakewood: Highland Park with Democrats
Cedar Springs: Where Straight Lane begins to swerve
Uptown: It ain't Downtown.
Highland Park! Anything else is University Park.
Oak Cliff: Come for the views, stay for the arson.
Pleasant Grove: You're not in Seagoville anymore.
Flower Mound: Lewisville is for townies
Frisco Sucks!
Grapevine: Tuscany by the airport
World Famous Mesquite Rodeo (the town not so much)
You're not lost, you're in Richardson.
Keene: We built this city on moving violations revenue.
Welcome to Lancaster! You look lost…boy! Hey boy, I'm talking to you!
Yo Quiero Farmers Branch?
Addison: Making Plano tolerable for 25 years
Coppell: The only thing higher than our IQ's are the taxes
Trophy Club: Southlake without the riff raff
Plano: The original middle of nowhere
Burleson: Crepe Myrtle capital of the metroplex (No really, that's their slogan)
Bedford/ Euless: The t'aint of DFW
Hurst: Just keep driving until you get to Bedford.
See Seagoville! Smell Balch Springs
Balch Springs. That's 100% pure Balch you're drinking.
Work and play in Irving. Ok, just work.
Colleyville……
Las Colinas: It's gonna happen!
Arlington: Stick it here
The Colony: Their Days Of Peace Are Over
Carrollton: Just try and miss our pot holes
McKinney: The pot of gold at the end of a nightmare commute
Denton: The self proclaimed crown jewel of the self proclaimed golden triangle
Duncanville: Come see our mall.
If neighborhood charm has got you down, come to Allen
Cedar Hill. Yep, that pretty much sums it up.
Welcome to Garland! The gangs are all here.
Mansfield: As banal as the name implies.
North Richland Hills, just North of Richland Hills.
Wylie…Boy, we are out here.
Melissa, the sticks for people in Wylie
Keller: It could've been a Southlake
Sachse: No, that's Rowlett's water tower you're looking at.
Saginaw: You've seen the silos. Now come see the city.
Little Elm…what, you think you're better than me?
Grand Prairie: It's actually more of a plateau of sorts.
Ferris: Now with running water
Rockwall: In case you make it over the lake