(Scene: A gathering of friends, acquaintances and total strangers at a party in a loft apartment. The host’s name is Thad. Thad doesn’t factor into this at all, except to worry about how everyone likes the cheese dip. The cheese dip is fine. A Guest ((AG)) is the focus of attention of a Subset of Other Guests ((SOG)), due to AG’s 1.) level of intoxication and 2.) disregard of “indoor voice.” AG speaks.)

“Here’s what I’ve arrived at: There are two types of people in the world. One of these two types of people is taking a walk in the woods. ‘One’ is ‘You.’ You are walking on a trail when suddenly – BIG burst of surprise – Bigfoot tromps out of the woods and onto the path, roughly 15 feet in front of you. The creature stops, and turns to face you.

“This is Bigfoot. Sasquatch. Skunk Ape, whatever. A 7-foot-tall, reeking, muscular, covered-in-reddish-brown-hair, bipedal hominid. You know this isn’t a guy in a suit. No faking. This is the real fucking deal. Oh, one thing I forgot to mention – you’re carrying a gun.”

(Sylvia, who has been just sort of hanging out on the SOG periphery – which is so Sylvia, by the way – speaks up. Sylvia decides to make this all about her ((again)) and, in that tone, says she can’t imagine walking in the woods – or anywhere – with ANY kind of gun, and especially not one of those “Columbine guns.” AG, keeping it pretty cool, really, though with a strained patience, explains that the gun is a rusty, double-barrel 20-gauge like the one Sylvia’s ((beloved, recently dead)) grandfather showed AG and Sylvia that time at Christmas. AG and Sylvia “have a history.” Sylvia does that smirky, eye-y thing that conveys, “OK, whatever, go on.” “Whatever, fuck you, too, Sylvia,” AG thinks, then continues.)

“Setting the stage: Bigfoot isn’t in attack mode. In fact, Bigfoot is more or less frozen in place with fear. So you’ve got a choice…

“One: You shout ‘HEY!!’ and Bigfoot lumbers into the concealing protection of the forest. There is a snapping of twigs and low-hanging branches. Then nothing. Bigfoot is gone, a lingering stench the only evidence that you briefly stood face to face with Popular Folklore Made Manifest. You will tell no one of this encounter, content to go to your grave with the knowledge that Bigfoot is, like, a real thing.

“Two: You level the shotgun at Bigfoot’s chest as the frightened creature’s heavy-lidded eyes widen in alarm, as its furry hands rise upward, palms out, in a silent entreaty of ‘Please.’ Then you unload both barrels at Bigfoot’s chest. BOOM!! Bigfoot falls to the ground with harsh bursts of final breath, expiring fairly quickly. You have killed Bigfoot. You have put decades of speculation to rest and are the provider of once-elusive proof. In one shotgun blast, ‘cryptozoology’ just became ‘zoology.’ All because of you. Naysayers will be silenced, researchers will be in a state of near-religious ecstasy, and mankind will never be the same.

“There are two types of people in the world,” AG says, swaying a bit from the Jell-O shots. “Those who allow Bigfoot to live, and those who shoot Bigfoot. For the sake of not arguing, let’s say there is no wrong answer. Is there any cheese dip left?”

Thad, heartened, says there’s plenty of cheese dip.

(Written by Scott. Photo by Bevan)