How I Would Terrorize People if I Were Bigfoot

(Writer’s note: This piece is dedicated to one of my valued-followers, sheilamyers, because she inspired this idea. I so appreciate this, Sheila. Kenneth)

So far I have penned hubs entitled, “15 Dangerous Things You Cannot do to Bigfoot,” “My Feelings on Whether Bigfoot Exists or Not,” and those hubs dealt with Bigfoot from the human standpoint. Now I want to do my allegedly-final “Bigfoot-related” hub that is written from Bigfoot’s viewpoint. Fair is fair, after all.

And speaking of fair, to those who are new to my world, allow me to talk for a moment about Bigfoot, or in some parts of the settled-world, Sasquatch. Personally, I like that one best, because with Sasquatch, you can make Sasquatch shorter and more “buddy, buddy,” like, “Hey, Quatch, you with us for pizza at Toni’s?” But with the name, Bigfoot, you might blow a budding-friendship by trying to be chummy and mouthing, “Hey, Big, you with us for pizza at Toni’s?” And can you just imagine what Sasquatch might do if your doofus pal, “Eddy,” should talk before thinking, “Hey, foot, you with us for pizza at Toni’s?”

Sasquatch might get his feelings hurt and then all Hades would break loose and soon, you and your doofus friend, “Eddy,” would be without a house, car, and your full head of hair because Quatch can be violent when angered.

The name of this piece is: “How I Would Terrorize People if I Were Bigfoot,” and I think being Bigfoot would be a lot of fun. For me, not the people whom I choose to terrorize.

But hey, what’s in a term? Terrorize to many is quickly-associated with Afghanistan and Iraq, two once-busy “terrorist nests,” working like a bee hive looking for people to hurt and cars to blow-up. Al quaeda, the main terrorist group are well-known for such violent acts. The leaders of this heartless group claim to once have ruled over these cities with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.

I am finished with talking about terrorism.

In my world, the term, “terrorize,” does not mean bloodshed, hurting people, or blowing up cars or barns. When “I” go into my “terrorize mode,” I joke, laugh, do corny one-liners that easily-aggravate my wife, grandkids, or whomever might be “trapped in my net.” (You can tell that I have been watching NatGEO Wild, these days.

Plus, you toss me a Bigfoot suit, a really good-looking Bigfoot suit for me to wear while I “terrorize” friends and peaceful-looking strangers, and you have more fun than “a barrel of Bigfeet.”

I am a justice-loving guy. I think that a needed-explanation is in order as to why I am wanting to “play” a Bigfoot and reek (funny) havoc on people. The answer is relatively-simple. For years, Bigfoot has been harassed, chased, photographed, stalked, and other things that for humans, is illegal. So someone had to step-up and take up for our buddies, the Sasquatch, who just might be beholding to me after my “Terror Tour” is over.

Let’s see now. Just how would “I” terrorize people if “I” were Bigfoot? It’s not easy, but . . .

• To start with, I would hide along side of I-22, the interstate that runs near my house, in a grove of trees—then at sundown, I would wait for just the right moment, (Bigfoot is not stupid), I would jog down the bank hear the road allowing passengers in cars to see me. I would “act” shocked, growl, beat my chest, growl some more, and then run back to the woods and watch the fun. If I did this prank a few times, I know what would happen.There are three network affiliates in our neighboring state of Mississippi who would love to do cover this “Bigfoot sighting.” Plus a horde of F.B.I., sheriff and deputies, local authorities as well as Homeland Security would be there to make sure that America is not being attacked by terrorists dressed as Bigfoot.
• I would find where your “Uncle Roy,” lives in “Dog Tail, MO. Then I would sneak into his house when he is out boozing with his retired buddies, like he does every Wednesday, and upon his return, I will be hidden in his laundry room underneath a pile of his baggy underwear and work shirts in the dirty clothes hamper. And when he puts his dirty tee-shirt in the hamper for washing, I will raise up slowly and smile at him—not only sobering him up for good, but causing him to not want to leave his home in “Dog Tail, MO.—ever again.
• Then, at your Thanksgiving family dinner, I will dress-up in “Uncle Roy’s” finest suit, hat, and shoes and ring your doorbell. I cannot wait to see your face when you see that it’s not your “Uncle Roy.”
• Then there’s your sister who has always made you look inferior causing you to have low self-esteem. I will let myself into the back of her husband “Todd’s” BMW, she always tells you about when you talk to her, and upon “Todd,” backing out of their nine-car garage, I will ease-up from the back floorboard and thump “Todd” on his left earlobe. When he spies me in a Bigfoot get-up with my nasty teeth glaring, he will stop his “beemer,” and set-out on foot running home to mama and I will have myself a new BMW to drive around like deserving Bigfoot should.
• Remember the jerk, “Benji Spinkwell,” the guy who was going steady with you in high school? Then you caught him in the backseat of his ’66 Olds with “Frankie Dowiski,” the assistant student vice-principal? Well do I have a fun event planned for ol’ “Frank.” I will promise a favor to a female friend of mine who loves jokes of any type, to call “Frankie,” and pretend to be “you,” and that you want to “mend the fence,” with him for being so mean and yanking him from the backseat with “Frankie,” onto the muddy ground ruining his suede jacket and manly-image.
• Upon me making a date to meet “Benji,” at his favorite bar, I will walk to the men’s room with my Bigfoot suit in an overnight bag, and when I change, I will be wearing lipstick, eyelashes, a pretty dress and walk up behind “Benji,” and whisper, “Guess whooooo?” When he turns around, I will laugh for you as he faints and hits the floor covered with peanut shells. Mark it down. This is two times you have caused him to have two embarrassing falls.
• Note: “Benji,” liked bars that had barrels of peanuts sitting about for customers to crack, eat and toss the shells onto the floor. I didn’t want to publish this without an explanation.
• After “Uncle Roy,” your uppity-sister and “Benji,” are taken care of, I would love to walk inside a police station still wearing my Bigfoot suit and prop-up on the service desk and say, “I want to register a complaint. My owner has escaped and I think he’s out for violence.”
• Climbing to the top of a town’s city hall building and yelling, “I am doing my King Kong impression. Where’s me a girl?” might be fun for the citizens of that town who are living in drudgery and “stuck in a rut.”
• To really confuse some people, I would find a group of outdoorsmen who have claimed to have seen Bigfoot in their cornfield one night while on a pre-fall stroll, and drinking a few cold ones to have themselves some “Guy time.” I would do sign language to ask if I could join their hunt for Bigfoot since “I” know exactly where my kin are camping. Oh, sure, I would run the sad risk of being called a “Judas,” by my Bigfoot cousins, but I do not see any use of them continuing this “cat and Bigfoot” game of hide and seek with humans. Besides, and I hate to say it, but the once-huge wave of interest we all had in Bigfoot, has been waning over the years, so when the Bigfoot wants to come out, sit down and talk, well, we will treat him and his family with proper respect. He has earned it.
• Oh, this one gets me. I would love to sneak into a noted university where some professor of some subject is giving a boring lecture on something that is putting the students to sleep, then growling to send the professor to running away with fear so I could step to the podium and tell the laughing students just how much we of the “Bigfoot Tribes,” would love to live in peace with all of mankind. After an hour of this talking, I would bow and leave.
• Then to cap-off my first day as a Bigfoot, I would love to walk to the center of a busy city street and pretend to be a “Crossing Guard Foot,” and direct traffic with authority and confidence. This stunt would be the “talk of the town,” that night.
• Do you recall the movie, “Harry and The Hendersons?” The star was a realistic-looking Bigfoot who adopts a family and they in turn, love him like their own. Well I would have a remake shot of this film and “I” would star as, of course, the Bigfoot, but maybe have a new name. And I would talk in this version. “Harry,” didn’t get to anything but grunt, smile, and jump on things in the first film. Yes, I would hire an agent who represents animals who would get me a hefty contract to star in this movie, because I suspect that the Bigfoot in “Harry and The Hendersons,” was “jipped” into acting in the movie for nothing. What a low-down shame.
• Christmas time would be “off the hook,” for I would help Santa Clause out with his immeasurable amount of work by doing his live appearances in malls and bill myself as: “Santa Saquatch,”—dressed in Sata-approved colors and costumes.
• Now I know that with my newfound-game, major beer companies would vie for my endorsements in their expensive television ads. And I would do their ads only if I could produce them. They would agree with me and we would shake hands on the deal. I would be shot on Myrtle Beach, S.C., chasing pretty bathing beauties up and down the beach—growling and making them giggle with joy at me noticing them. Would I be sipping the beer at ad’s end? No. I would be pouring it all over my head and growl, “Don’t chase women when the temperature is 100 degrees or above. It could affect your health.”
• I would be the Grand Marshal in every major holiday parade.
• I would flip the coin for whom gets the ball first at the Super Bowl and BCS National Championship Game.
• Jack Nicholson would no longer be caught by the camera during Los Angeles Lakers games. I would be the one whom the crowd applauds for and I would graciously stand and thank them.
• I would host the Oscars and Tony Awards. Can you see me dressed in a tux?
• Before I go back to being Kenneth again, one last thing I would do: Head to the nearest TARGET store and start collecting empty buggies in the parking lot and pushing them back inside the store.
• But just when I am having the time of my life, some local yokel calls the cops. Now the TARGET parking lot is full of police cruisers with blue lights flashing, S.W.A.T. trucks with sharp-shooters poised and ready to fire and the officer in command says to me with his bullhorn:

“Hey, uhhh, I mean, grrrr, uhhh, stop! Do not move, or we will shoot,” as if a Bigfoot could understand English.

To play along, I raise my hands and stand perfectly-still. The officer in command walks slowly toward me. I can see his hands shaking. I make no move to antagonize him into firing his taser at me.

Then he gives me one more gruff command, “You are under arrest, Bigfoot!”

I yank my Bigfoot head off and reply, “Bigfoot? What Bigfoot? I hear those beasts are dangerous!”