Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Don Hancock - Goode, VA
Interview with a Yeti
I parked my vintage GTO along the Blue Ridge Parkway, locked it up, and began hiking up a nearby trail. Sensing a presence (and a foul odor) in my vicinity, I turned and came face-to-face with an eight-foot-tall hairy creature. “B-B-Bigfoot!” I stammered as I hastily backed up. The creature growled and then spoke, “Hey, knock that off! Nobody calls Shaq, ‘Bigfoot,’ and look at the size of his feet! No, he just gets million-dollar shoe endorsement deals.” Ignoring the fact that I was possibly in great danger (from a giant talking animal), I responded, “You know about Shaq…and you can talk?” Another low growl. “Of course I know about him! Haven’t you ever heard of ESPN? And yes, I can talk. I’ve got plenty to say, too.” I decided to let fear (and logic) fly out the window, and I replied, “Great! I’ve got a column to write!”
I sat down on a nearby stump with pen and paper in hand. The creature sprawled on the forest floor nearby and popped open a Mountain Dew. “Want one?” I declined, while wondering where my new friend found a vending machine in the wilds of the Jefferson National Forest. “First of all, let’s clarify something. I’m not ‘Bigfoot’ as you called me. That’s Cousin Ralph from Oregon. And I resent the fact that Cousin Stanley in the Himalayas is referred to as the ‘Abominable Snowman’ when he’s a very nice guy. OK, so he ate a whole yak at the last family reunion. That may make him a glutton, but hardly qualifies him for the title of ‘Abominable’ in my opinion. Hey, write that down. Help a brother out! Just call us all ‘Yeti.’ It has a nice ring.”
Yeti continued, “Politics! I think Obama is too young, and McCain has been around since the days of the Yeti-saurus. I wanted Hillary! She understands us. Did you ever read, It Takes a Village to Raise a Yeti?” I just nodded to avoid offending him. “Immigration! I’m cool with that. My cousin, Eduardo, came up from Mexico to scare hikers on the Appalachian Trail because the local Yetis won’t do it anymore. Someone’s got to do it! Gas prices! Easy solution! Send a Ninja Yeti with a tire iron into an OPEC meeting to beat the dog snot out of a few people. Instant attitude adjustment.” (“Ninja Yeti?”) He noticed the pained expression on my face and asked, “Something I said? Or is it the odor? I know. It’s bad. I’m going to try a new deodorant that’s ‘Strong enough for a man, but made for a Yeti.’ It’s got to help.”
I moved a few feet away. Yeti said, “That’s OK, man. No offense taken. I’m ready to fire up a doobie. You may not like that smell either.” I decided that a Yeti on pot could get a little crazy, so I said, “Tell me about yourself.” Yeti puffed and replied, “Well, my parents were hippies. I grew up in the woods, joined the Army and did the Special Forces thing, then went to Hollywood. You probably saw me as Chewbacca in Star Wars, and I was Burt Reynolds’ stunt double in Cannonball Run. Later, I hooked up with the ‘Nature Boy,’ Rick Flair, and we were tag-team partners for awhile. They called us ‘Flair and Hair.’ Pretty catchy, huh? I played hoops for the Portland Trail Blazers but the fans kept confusing me with Bill Walton. My next gig was on Rachel Ray’s show where I prepared a delicious gooey dessert called ‘Apple Brown Yeti.’ It was to die for!”
Yeti paused, looked at me intently, and said, “This stuff is really giving me the munchies, and I like the idea of a columnist for dinner. Tell you what. I’ll give you a head start before I begin chasing you.” I jumped up and ran back down the trail, screaming, “I’m just a substitute! Wait, and I’ll send the regular guy back next week after his vacation!” Yeti replied, “Dude, I’m cool with that, but I can’t speak for Eduardo.”
