Now that I’m officially retired, I am filling my days with all sorts of leisure activities, like travel, playing racquetball, going to lunch with old friends, and binge-watching Season Three of Succession.
As a result of all the fun things we’ve been doing, I’ve noticed lately that our retirement savings are not quite where we’d like them to be. My wife had the craziest suggestion that perhaps her husband should return to work part-time. Isn’t she hilarious? (Although, if you ask me, I ‘d make a fabulous Walmart greeter.)
I did some rough calculations and determined that the statistical probability of my opting to return to work at this stage of my life is slightly lower than my chances of being selected in the first round of the next NFL Draft. So, how can I build up our nest egg again and have fun at the same time?
I think I’ve found the solution: Searching for Bigfoot. Hear me out. I read the other day that the state legislature of Oklahoma is offering a $3 million bounty for anyone who captures Bigfoot alive. If I can claim that prize, this reward would more than cover the cost of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream (my favorite) for the next twenty years – with money left over to buy the latest PlayStation 5. It just so happens I live in northwestern Washington state, pretty much Ground Zero for Bigfoot sightings over the past 50 years.
I almost feel sorry for all those poor misguided Oklahomans who have been searching all over the Sooner State for Bigfoot. They won’t find him. He’s not there. There hasn’t been a credible Bigfoot sighting in Oklahoma in over four months. I’m pretty sure he’s right here in Washington state, picking berries and chasing rabbits in some forest habitat – either that or dumpster diving for stale bananas behind a 7-Eleven along the Cascade Highway. Bigfoots aren’t exactly known for having haute cuisine tastes.
People have been looking for Bigfoot – or as we locals here in the Pacific Northwest prefer to call him, Sasquatch – since the 1800s. That’s when settlers in the northwestern United States began reporting sightings of a large, upright, apelike, hairy creature, sometimes estimated to be over eight feet tall, with a powerfully built frame. In other words, he probably looks eerily like my late Uncle Ralph – if you added three feet to Uncle Ralph’s height and made him slightly more attractive – and smarter.
Searching for Bigfoot will get me off the couch and out of the house, so I figure my wife will be all for my idea. Plus, I can set my own schedule. I won’t have to get up before 10am, which is ideal because from what I hear, Bigfoot’s not an early morning riser either.
Where I live is roughly halfway between Washington state’s two large mountain ranges, the Cascades and the Olympics, where most Bigfoot sightings have been reported. However, just last week an elderly woman claimed to have spotted Bigfoot hiding behind an ’87 Chevy Impala in a Walmart parking lot not far from my house. But it was later determined to be just an overweight stark naked extremely hairy old guy wearing only a MAGA hat and carrying a 12-pack of Miller Lite.
In preparing for this ambitious project, I’ve been doing some preliminary research on the equipment required. It turns out, there’s not much I’ll need to stock up on. All I’ll need initially is a powerful flashlight, a few boxes of batteries, maybe some waterproof hiking boots, and about 5,000 bear traps, strategically placed in areas Bigfoots like to explore, such as dense forests, caves, and drive-thru espresso stands.
I went to a gun store to purchase a rifle and a case of tranquilizer darts. I figured I might need them in case I spotted a Bigfoot charging at me. I’ve seen videos where these darts will take down a grizzly bear. I’m not the most accurate shot. But I figure, if I miss and accidentally take out a deer hunter, well, at least I’d have done my small part to reduce the world’s deer hunter population.
I will also need to buy a truckload of Red Vines, as I read somewhere that Bigfoots love Red Vines. I hope that’s accurate. I’d hate to lay down a couple grand on 400 boxes of Red Vines only to find out that the big guy is more of a Twizzlers afficionado. That would be embarrassing.
I have so many questions:
- How many Bigfoots are out there?
- What do they like to eat?
- Could they be taught to use cutlery?
- Do they make good pets?
- Could they be socialized enough to play linebacker for my Seattle Seahawks? (They’re in dire need of one.)
- Is the plural of Bigfoot Bigfeet?
I’m excited to get started. In fact, just last night, I thought I might have spotted Bigfoot in my backyard. Alas, it turned out to be our giant, way-too-big tuxedo kitty named Buddy, who had snuck out the back door again. Good thing my wife told me in the nick of time, as from my vantage point, I had a clear shot. Guess I should think twice about hunting for Bigfoot without my glasses.
I realize it’s a long shot that I’ll win Oklahoma’s $3 million grand prize. But if I bag Bigfoot, I know the perfect place in our house to display my taxidermized catch: in the main foyer. I think I’ll use him as a coat rack. My racquetball buddies will be so jealous.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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