There’s a mythical monster in our midst

A tip has been thrown my direction from an
astute Encinitas Paranormal Research Society member whose name rhymes with Penny Hunt.
She mentioned pictorially that we are living side by side with a cryptozoological legend of mythic proportions. The boo-beast that captivates and frustrates on a daily basis. He is the be-all, end-all holy grail and grand poobah of things that go bump in the night. And he’s here.
The Yeti lives in Encinitas.
Or Leucadia. It depends on who you ask. And Leucadia is Encinitas, right? Or vice versa. Oh who cares, Bigfoot is here!
Who expected that hirsute hunky hippie to bunk down here in our sleepy little beach town? Who is Bigsquatcheti?
OK, here’s a bit of background for those people who’ve been using their head as a rectal thermometer.
Bigfoot, or the Yeti, has spooked ill-informed people for hundreds of years, and evidence of its existence has accumulated in many different locales. This includes frighteningly nipple-numbing places in mountainous Asia, sweaty stinky swampland in Florida, and woodsy Zen-like Washington state.
I know I garnered international attention a few years ago and titillated scientists and celebrities alike when I discovered and documented concrete evidence about Bessie the Batiquitos Lagoon Monster (plush toys, coffee mugs and trendy sardonic T-shirts available on my website).
After dancing amid and around that hullabaloo, I told myself I needed a new target to set the hunt ablaze. Something that had nothing to do with shallow lagoons and murderous Questhaven cults.
Though Questhaven has been lined up as an investigation in the future. Stay tuned.
Anyway, apparently he’s been here the whole time. He hates testes-numbing and batwing-inducing weather alike. And lo and behold, he has shown up in a photo on a side street on Leucadia.
I’d like to say up front, he’s a bit more pale than I remember from the Patterson video. And shockingly less mobile. I’d also like to say he’s rather stoic for a beast mostly known for evading photographic documentation for the past since-cameras-were-invented.
I felt the next logical step was to track him down and shoot him. For science. Documentation. Ya know, research. Tax-on-uh-me.
I have to admit, all magnanimous philanthropy aside, I’d love to wear his fur around my cul-de-sac for Halloween. It’s coming up and I don’t have a costume yet. If I wore his stink ape hide, I could use my ever-famous guttural trill and tell everyone I’m Chewbacca. Think of the candy I could scare out of every house on Greenwich Street. For my daughter. Not for me.
So I’m asking each and every one of you to help with the search for our very own Sassy Quatch. He’s out there and I’m enlisting your help to jazz him up and make him come alive. Your irrefutable proof will help fuel a realistic and important zoological expedition toward truth and reality.
Oh shaddup, quit being such a pessimist.
Can you find him?