Where will it end.
Well, let me tell you where it started: a state in the Deep South with one really big city and numerous rural areas - peaceful places where people and critters of all kinds managed to live quietly with relative ease. A place where you'd hardly expect one of the most famous creatures known to man to come from. A place where you don't expect legends to be revealed in a press conference mega-miles away in California with the handing out of photos and video and never enough (never never enough!) details to hungry press and public who practically threw everything aside and demanded to see the creature in person. "I want to touch it!" a journalist would yell. "Why don't you give it to a doctor?" someone else might demand. "Has its body been altered in any way?" an inquisitive blogger might ask. The creature, we are informed, is an undisclosed location and not available for public viewing.
Anyone seeing the resemblance between the Britney Spears meltdown and the Bigfoot "discovery"?
This is purely why, through the hoopla that is the newest wave of Maybe-Bigfoot-Maybe-Not mania, I am here to defend the rights of the big hairy beast (and I don't mean the media).
This creature apparently lived in peace with its happy hairy stinky family in the mountains of North Georgia, doing its Bigfoot thang in relative obscurity, not leaving much of a carbon footprint, for years, decades... millenia probably. All it took was some enterprising PT Barnums in hiking boots to eventually track down what really needed and surely wanted to be left alone. Then they drag out photographs for the public to view of the big brown thing, whatever it is, in a freezer no less (you couldn't find a decent box left over from one of Criss Angel's shows?) doing everything but charging $5 a pop to see The Proof. Oh wait, I think they did do that...after they said they wouldn't. But there's more, they say, tantalizing us with the promise of trying to catch one of the hairy beasties "alive" for us to gawk over. Stop it!!! Enough! I say - that's ENOUGH!
Bigfoot doesn't need publicity, paparazzi or a press agent. Bigfoot doesn't want to push consumer products (oh I can see the tire commercials and McBigfoot Meals now). Bigfoot doesn't want an endorsement deal with Avon for a fragrance "that will make anyone run out of the woods screaming for you!" Bigfoot doesn't have a bank account. But the Bigfoot hunters do, and a hunger to fill it even if they have to exploit that which really shouldn't be exploited. Pretty soon Bigfoot will be required to get electrolysis and laser hair removal...lose a few lbs to look good on a surfboard...have to banter with David Hasselhoff (who Bigfoot really loves, but really doesn't want to talk to). Bigfoot, unequivocally does not want to hang out with Paris Hilton. He thinks she smells funny. Bigfoot has no opinion on the upcoming election except to oppose drilling in ANWR. But with fame and fortune and fast new friends what will happen next? Bigfoot will buy an Elvis jumpsuit and work Vegas on New Years. Bigfoot will get anorexia, recover and go on "Oprah". Bigfoot will write an autobiography, "It's Bigfoot, Bitch" and run over at least one paparazzo with, well, his big feet. Bigfoot will get a mansion and never figure out how to turn on the running water. Bigfoot will have 7 bad marriages, at least one to Pamela Anderson, and Bigfoot will eventually get hooked on the latest designer drug and die in a hotel room in Miami and everyone will say "Poor Bigfoot. What happened?"
Leave Bigfoot alone.
Photo from: destinationcreation.com