Egads, the things I’ve seen this week, precious readers! There is not enough space on the internet to accommodate my story, but I will try to meet the challenge.
So you see, America is “big in Japan.” Behold. I believe this image speaks for itself.
I would just like to point out that some of the more reputable journalistic establishments of the present day have faced the facts. Of course, you have already guessed that I am referring to the Huffington Post and New York Daily News, both of which have noted the presence of a quite large, shaggy, white-haired biped (of the sort who might really benefit from a manicure and some Warby Parker experimentation, but let me stay on topic here) wandering the slopes of a ski resort in the Spanish Pyrenees.
See here – “Hey, Even A Yeti Needs To Pee.”
I’m sorry to say, they do. But sasquatches do not. At least not regularly. I haven’t been to a restroom since the California gold rush. And that is not a euphemism.
“The only giant monster you are destined to become is the huge freak you decide to be.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson’s advice, revised and edited for verity and practicality by yours truly. If this raises your spirits, then we (Ralph and I) have succeeded. Let me know @City_Sasquatch
Let me direct your attention to Sunset Primary School’s Sasquatch Reading Award List for 2015. My thanks go out to the administrators of this Pacific Northwest school for their support. Though I have not written any of the honorable volumes on this list (my tell-all memoir is forthcoming, Lorin Stein, tweet me), my name in the headline does seem to imply that my existence was integral to its compilation, and, indeed, to all reading that goes on in the great state of Washington.
Some highlights from Sunset Primary School’s esteemed list include The Sasquatch Escape, Star Wars: Jedi Academy, and My Brother’s A Big, Fat Liar.
Of course I will be taking part in this year’s Sasquatch Survival Reading Challenge. Don’t think I won’t. I expect to breeze through this competition, as everyone knows that third graders eyeballs are significantly smaller than mine, and therefore less capable. Let the contest begin!
“There has to be some honor, even among thieves,” writes Theodore Ross in his article “Cheat! It’s the Only Way to Get Published,” published (thanks to an unspecified amount of skullduggery) at The New Republic. “But it is a strategy, however misguided, and strategy is what is required to compete in this very small game…” That is, the game of submitting your literary work to journals and hoping to beat the odds (which are, it seems, stacked against us).
In other words, cheating is good. Ross stops short of advising the sort of deceit flaunted by the now-infamous Caucasian writer Michael Derrick Hudson: “If… race wins out, then win the race race.” However, he does compare the current literary landscape to a “rigged casino game.” Given such a characterization, his proposition merits further thought.
However, I am not subject to the same rules as human beings, and I don’t intend to begin answering to them now. Many would agree that my very existence is a refutation of widely-accepted statistical laws. By Vulcan’s hammer, I did not spend 400 years defecating under mossy logs only to indulge in cheating at such a venerable age! I’ve written from the heart for all these years, and so I shall continue to write, as long as my horrifyingly-shaggy digits are able.
Take my advice: be honest as a sasquatch. It might get you noticed. From a distance, with a 30x zoom camera lens.
NB – Thanks to The Review Review for highlighting this story.
…from 0.0001 to 0.0003!
There is no confirmation of the rumor going around that this bump in the polls stems from my name recognition demonstrated by a squirrel. For the record, I deny all allegations that I am a “flash in the pan,” “painfully unqualified,” or “a big, scary monster.”
The numbers don’t lie, ladies and gentlemen. Another reason for my surge in popularity might derive from a certain Msr. Donald Trump’s overexposure in the national media. This doesn’t matter to me in the least, as I don’t pander to competing candidates’ uninformed policies or declarations. As you all know, I am running based on my record – which consists almost entirely of evading intrepid nature photographers, scaring deer, and writing 1,143 drafts of my upcoming memoir, Beautiful On The Outside.
I’d like to thank my stalwart running mate, a seagull, for his unflagging support during this roller coaster of a campaign. Onward!
To commemorate the grisly beating and slaying of the Roman Bishop Valentinus in AD 273, humans everywhere will exchange flowers and factory-produced treats this weekend.
“When in Rome…” As they say.
To honor this holiday of yours, here are some practical ways you can Show Love For A Sasquatch tomorrow:
Preferably during the awkward silence before it starts.
Try the zine “We’ll Never Have Paris.” They’re 83 percent funded!
As in – I will squatch you on the morrow, mon ami.
Perfect for sandwich preparation in sub-zero temperatures. Size 46 XXXXXL please.
It’s time I reward all you loyal humans for reading this, my special tome of curiosities. Due to recent meteorological events (#blizzardof2015, #snowmageddon, #snowrapture, etc), I thought it prudent to offer some helpful advice tailored to the weather. If you should find yourself engaged in a snowball melee with a sasquatch, aim for the following vulnerabilities:
1. The inside of his elbow.
2. His ascot.
A ruffling of the ascot is one of the most heinous indignities. The last time mine was disturbed I lost sleep. (Not for the faint of heart.)
3. His ego.
His most prized possession. Dare to strike it at your own risk.
And so, delightful reader, use this information responsibly. Should I run into you in some snowy alley at the stroke of midnight, please, exercise restraint. Remember who provided you with this invaluable information.
Forgive me, woodland deities and pantheistic spirits, for distributing such long-guarded secrets.
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