Bigfoot has been found!

Well, it is official. Bigfoot has been found and currently resides in redneck’s freezer. He is always in the last place you look. The undeniable photographic evidence shows a 7 foot 7 inch 500 pound Bigfoot stuffed in a small chest freezer. I say small chest freezer because a second picture later released shows three 5’5” studs standing next to it, and the freezer is pretty much dwarfed. That makes sense though, because you can really fold up the big guy, especially after the rigor mortis sets in. The other interesting part of the photo is the fact that it says it is a picture of a thawed Bigfoot. Correct me if I am wrong, but does thawed mean it was frozen, but now is not? Doesn’t the freezer do the freezing? …and it is still in a freezer, as we can see. I know people get that word mixed up. I can’t tell you how many times I have had to murder someone because they asked me to dethaw something from the freezer. It is already frozen moron, if I dethaw it, it only becomes more frozen. That’s right, more frozen, it gets way colder when you put it back in the freezer. Sorry, I digress, one may want to keep that bad boy on ice though, cause he is gonna be a little ripe if you keep him thawed. I included the pictures below.













The three geniuses had a press conference on Friday where they had planned to release the DNA testing results proving the rolled up carpet with a Chewbacca mask stuffed in a freezer is really a Sasquatch, but it seems the data wasn’t quite ready. Surprise, surprise. More info was uncovered though as they now say that they had a camcorder with them on their hike and they have some video proof of a family of Bigfeet…Bigfoots…Bigfooties that actually stalked them. I was a skeptic before, but after seeing a photo released from this footage, I am a believer. I am a little ashamed to admit that after seeing the freezer photo and reading the size specifications, I was worried they had actually accidentally bagged Patrick Ewing.

Anyhow, click HERE for the remarkable photo of one of the stalking creatures that puts a big foot in the mouth of all skeptics.

You Can't Go Home Again.

I went to my hometown last weekend for a wedding and did a little nostalgic site seeing. Wow, things change. I cruised by the house I grew up in and it now resides smack dab in the middle of trailer trash alley. I tried to turn around in the cul-de-sac but the mountain trash had so many cars lined up on the street that I had to do a three point turn on the circle drive. I glanced over at my old buddy Dusty’s house and it is now a run down pile of garbage. It’s funny because I always thought it was so nice compared to our house. I looked through the fence that was missing most of the pickets to see a hoodless Fiero sitting in the back yard. No, there isn’t an RV access to the back yard. Why do poor people have so many cars? Where do they get them and why do they keep them. Cars on blocks in the yard is a cliché….someone should tell these people that. The entire town is comprised of people stuck in the 80’s driving cars from the 70’s. I guess having an emissions test does more than cut down on the smog, it also cuts down on the 1972 Chev. Blazers that are missing the hart tops too.

I also noticed that abundance of 70’s vintage home-built, wanna-be, monster trucks where the mullet clad driver had his 15 year old mate sidled right up beside him in the middle of that bench seat. Seat belts be damned! I honestly haven’t seen this driving phenomenon since 1987.

I had several hours to myself so I hit more of the old haunts. I went to the bowling alley that was a favorite hang-out. Noon on a Saturday and not a soul to be found. I went to the Skateland, to see if it was still around. It was, but not a person there either. The whole ½ of the town that I spent most of my childhood was now ghost-like and abandoned. I went to my Junior High and hiked up to the track where I spent so many nights trying to shed my blubber. It was cracked and old and the only person out there was practicing Frisbee. Alone. Frisbee is a two person game at least; unless you are really, really sad and lonely. Maybe he was getting his chops up for a big game later. Oh, and he was at least in his 40’s. Then, I headed to my old elementary school and it was still close to what I remembered with the exception of the four add on buildings and a parking lot where the soccer field used to be. Kids don’t need to run when you can get a couple dozen more cars in there. Of course, I wouldn’t let my kid walk to school in that neighborhood these days either.

Even the park that was famous for its WWII tank had changed. The tank is gone and was replaced with a skate park. Those WWII guys are all almost dead anyhow, who needs to remember that crap when you can have a sweet-ass skate park for the little baggy pants bastards.

I tried to go down to a fish farm in the canyon where I used to practice my fly fishing casts, but it is now obviously owned by Randy Weaver’s extended family as is it plastered with No Trespassing signs and threats of death, dogs, and guns.

As an auto parts delivery driver of yester year, I also ran a couple of my old routes to see the old delivery spots. Everyone is gone, closed down, and out of business. I realize that it has been 15 years or more, but doesn’t any business have staying power anymore? Every single dealership now has a different name as well. It is like a bizzaro world. Café Ole is now Café Meza, Taco John’s is now Indian Joes. I felt sad, a little mad, and disgusted all at the same time. Luckily, I have XM radio so I could go to the 80’s station to make the feeling of quazi-bizzaro time-travel complete.

Mullets

My hair was awesome. During high school I sported a fantastic business up front, party in the back mullet. I wore it with pride as if the length of my hair was somehow proportionate to the length of my….. Mine fell to the center of my back and was always in perfect form. The all-one-length grunge look that was emerging disgusted me. I had to blow dry and brush it methodically every morning, it took an extra 20 min or so to get ready for school, but I loved my hair. To those women who chop off their hair and say “You have no idea how much work it is to keep hair that long” I say “Yes, I absolutely do, and it is worth every second.”

The mullet has gotten a bad rap but I’m sure it will be back. It now seems to go hand in hand with the trailer trash, but no one was saying that when Metallica wore them (or maybe they did). If people actually brought back bell bottoms, I’m sure the mullets will get another run….I’m waiting patiently, but at the rate I’m losing hair, I don’t think I’m going to make it.

My wife and I dated right after high school and she hated my hair from day one. (She says that, but I was a black leather jacket wearing, AC/DC playing, red Trans Am driving, punk that she ended up marrying. So I think she was a closet mullet freak.) Compound that with the fact that I was going to attend a very conservative University, and the hair had to go.

I was adorned with those luscious locks for four years and was sick at the prospect of cutting them. So I took it a step at a time. I went to a hairdresser and had her cut one to two inches a week for the several weeks leading up to my departure to college. The one thing I did get out of the deal was an agreement I made with my then girlfriend, now wife. I cut my hair because that is what she wanted; so she had to agree not to cut her hair, because that is what I wanted. Her hair was and is still quite long and very sexy. The agreement: the day she cuts her hair is the day I stop cutting mine. If she wants the short and sassy look, she knows that I will bring back my mullet and wear it with authority.

Aside: Skiing just isn’t the same when you don’t have 14” of hair pushed out the back of your Denver Broncos baseball cap. As you dart down the hill, it gets pulled back by the wind creating a might flag of speed and grace.

If you are unfamiliar with the life and times of the Mullet clad, check out the classifications on this site. It is hilarious.

http://www.mulletsgalore.com/