Danger_Slater

This one is for all you aspiring cryptozoologists out there. I need you all to listen up. Huh? Oh please, there’s no reason to be nervous. I know how to handle this gun. I’m not going to shoot you. I would never! What I am going to do though is let you in on a little secret.

You know that super-famous video of Bigfoot? The one that’s all washed-out and grainy? From the Sixties or whatever? Don’t look at me like that. I know you know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, in this very famous Bigfoot video from the 1960s that you’re pretending you’ve never heard of, these two dudes are walking through the woods, minding their own business, when all of a sudden this sasquatch comes stomping out from the brush on the side of the trail. The guy holding the camera runs up and now he’s standing there filming this giant ape-man-thing as it cockily lumbers away from him, swinging its arms like it’s George-motherfuckin-Clooney or something. And I’m talking George Clooney in his heyday here — circa 1999 — right around the time he left ER. NOT the old man George Clooney of today. Though I suppose he was still looking pretty good in The Descendants . . .

Hey, don’t act so surprised that someone like me can pull off a sweet pop-culture reference. Look, just because I live in the forests of the Pacific Northwest doesn’t mean I’m out of touch. Just because you probably don’t know who I am, it doesn’t mean I’m already a fossil. Just because I’m not as BIG as BIGFOOT it doesn’t mean I’m some kind of obsolescent postscript in the bibliography of evolution. I have the right to speak my mind too! My opinions are still valid! I’m relevant too, goddamn it! Do you hear me, dear reader? Do you hear me, Bigfoot, you STUPID, UGLY, BITCH-ASS, PUNK-ASS MOTHERFUCKER?

*ahem*

Excuse me. The little profanity-laced outburst at the end of that last paragraph was a bit uncalled for, wasn’t it? My sincerest apologies. Now where were we?

Oh right. So this very specific video that I’m talking about is the very same Bigfoot video all you STUPID, UGLY, BITCH-ASS, PUNK-ASS Sasquatchographers out there like to use as the irrefutable “proof” that the mythical ape-man you’ve spent all this time chasing down is, in fact, real.

Well I hate to have to be the one to burst your bubble, but that video is a hoax. Totally faked. 100% bullshit. That’s not Bigfoot on that tape. It’s just a guy in a suit. I’m sorry. Take a moment if you need it . . .

Back?

Okay then.

So how do I know it was fake, you ask? Simple. I’ve met Bigfoot. The real Bigfoot. And there’s no way the real Bigfoot would’ve ever let those two dingbats with their shaky, antiquated camera catch him candidly skulking around the woods like some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . bear or something.

You see, Bigfoot hates the paparazzi. And I mean he H-A-T-E-S them. He’s a total prima donna like that. In real-life Bigfoot is brusque and short-tempered and curt to the point of rudeness and he’s totally unappreciative to the legions of adulating devotees and fans who have supported him throughout the years.

The only time I’ve actually ever talked to the mythical monster in person he was “too busy” to be bothered with me. This was probably back in ‘87 or ‘88. Right around the time Harry and the Hendersons came out. “When you can’t believe your eyes, trust your heart,” the tagline on the movie poster read. So I did. I trusted my heart. I trusted Bigfoot. I was just a little kid at the time and he was such a BIG inspiration to me. To all of us. I just wanted to let him know how important his work was to the rest of us cryptids toiling away our lives in relative obscurity.

“Mr. Bigfoot, sir,” I said to him. “I’ve been following your career for years. I’m just the BIGGEST fan. You are a source of joy and vision to all of us out there who just don’t fit in. Who go unloved, unnoticed. You are who we all aspire to be! Now, Mr. Bigfoot, I’m not after your picture. And I don’t want an autograph. At the end of the day, I just want to acknowledge the connection you and I share. Something kindred. Something genuine. I wanted to tell you — to make sure you know — how important you are. To everyone the whole world over. But, especially, to me . . . ”

Oh, it was so embarrassing! I was gushing all over the infamous biped like a teenage girl at her junior prom. I bared my fucking soul to that hairy bastard.

And what do you think he did? How do you think he responded? What could he possibly say back to me after I so enthusiastically exalted him and everything he’s ever done?

I’ll tell you what that cocksucker did — he didn’t do ANYTHING! Not a goddamn thing. He couldn’t even be bothered to cast his gray-eyed gaze in my direction. Not a wink or a nod. Not a “get out of the way, kid.” He just stomped off like I wasn’t even there. I never felt so insignificant, so small, in my whole freakin’ life! He treated me like I didn’t even exist. And from a human I can accept that. Humans are always so skeptical of everything. But from him? From the granddaddy of all cryptozoological beasts? If anyone knows how bad it feels to be treated like they don’t exist, it should be Bigfoot, right?

He let me stand there like an idiot wondering why. Why couldn’t you just acknowledge me, Notorious B.I.G.F.O.O.T.? I wasn’t asking for a parade. Just the most miniscule, microscopic, infinitesimally small molecule of a “thank you” would’ve sufficed. After all, it was fans like me who helped elevate him to superstardom in the first place. Without fans like me, he wouldn’t be half the legend he is today. Is a little appreciation more than a horrid, aberrant miscreation like me deserves? Is a little gratitude to much to ask for?

So fuck Bigfoot. Fuck him right in his furry ass. And fuck you too, you aspiring cryptozoologists out there reading this. Stop looking for him. He is undeserving of the fervor, the adoration, the love we’re constantly bestowing upon him. I mean, does he have any idea how hard it is for the other monsters in the world? The one’s you’ve never heard of? Does he know what it’s like to live in the shadow of such a monolithic cryptid? Some of us out here — we struggle just to prove we’re alive, while others . . . ahem . . . stumble face-first into fame and fortune.

I think creatures like Bigfoot need to be taught a lesson. And they need to learn it the hard way. And so that’s what I’m going to do. That’s what this gun is for.

I’m going to kill him.

Oh what? Am I being too harsh? Should I stop holding a grudge? Should I just let it slide?

Forget that!

We’re all just animals here. And animals kill each other all the time. It’s part of the natural order, or whatever those science-humans like to call it. And please don’t even start with any of that “endangered species” bullcrap either. His ego is out of control. Someone has to put the ape-man down. For the sake of the future. For the sake of all monsterkind.

And look, I know I’m just a nobody right now. And I know before this moment you never knew I even existed. But once I’ve offed this folkloric piece of shit, once I’ve shoved a sharped spear through his cold, man-simian heart, once I’ve blown him away with a shotgun full of lead, once I’ve dropped a large rock on his slumbering, oversized head — you’re damn sure going to know my name:

I MATTER!

I’M LITTLEFOOT!

HEAR ME ROAR!

DANGER_SLATER is more machine than man. He’s an explosion-bot! Handle your Danger_Slater with extreme care. One false move and KA-BOOM! — you’re nothing but a stain on the pavement and a few cancerous ashes. Danger lives in New Jersey. His work has appeared in Jersey Devil Press, The Drabblecast, and The Seahorse Rodeo Folk Revival. His dirty limericks have appeared in truck stop bathrooms and seldom-used freight elevators nationwide. Here is his website: dangerslater.blogspot.com.