Since the first of February, my life has been a maelstrom of violence. It all began when the Reality Register sent me on a mission to find the elusive Bogfoot. Instead, I found myself in a confrontation with Bigfoot, enduring rough handling at the hands of the legendary creature. Determined to reclaim my dignity, I threw myself into martial arts training, launching attacks on my enemies both in physical combat and through the media, both social and traditional. From Mothman to Zuckerberg to countless Grey Aliens, none have escaped my wrath. Even my own dear nephew faced physical chastisement for leading me astray in the deserts of New Mexico regarding a certain Gnorts.
Despite my outward bravado, I remain humbled by my encounter with the bog on that fateful midwinter stroll. Recently, I sought to rectify the injury I suffered, relying on my steroid-enhanced physique for confidence, and the physical strength to back it up.
One brisk morning, with fog clinging to the forest floor like condensation on the windows of my Durango after a good night’s sleep, I set out. My boots left faint, silent imprints in the moist dirt, marking my path through the woods. Signs of my quarry greeted me along the way: 5-toed footprints of a humanoid type, but of monstrous size, crossed my path about a mile in.
Silently navigating through the ferns, I approached a figure crouched by a puddle, the air thick with the stench of skunk. Convinced the creature had harmed the stinky weasel, I roared with righteous anger, aghast that the creature could eat such a disgusting beast. The monster turned to face me with soggy fur hanging off of him, what looked like puzzlement on his simian brow. Leaping with my chemically enhanced muscles, I aimed for the creature’s weakest point: the crotch.
My boot connected with a resounding thud, prompting a roar of pain from the beast as it fled waddling through the boggy swamp, disappearing into the murky depths. Examining the remnants of its meal, I realized it had been feasting on skunk cabbage, casting doubt on its predatory intentions. Puzzled, I replayed the encounter in my mind, noting discrepancies between the creature I encountered and the legendary Bigfoot. This creature was smaller, dirtier, of a lighter hue, and was obviously not aggressive in the least bit. This creature seemed to be Bogfoot, a cryptid that I had dismissed as a mere typographical error.
As I retraced my steps, hoping for a chance to apologize to this neo-cryptid for my hasty assault or to perhaps confront the true Bigfoot and avenge my earlier humiliation, I encountered neither. Disappointed but undeterred, I salvaged the day with some mushroom foraging, stumbling upon a cache of morels that promised a savory meal to end the tumultuous day. I plan on cooking them with butter and garlic, a meal that would impress even Barbara Bakes!
Mohammed Sinclair
