(ed note: see part 1 here)
So there we were, traipsing through the woods of Minnesota, slightly high on Coors Lite, munching beef jerky and wishing that these were porn trees instead of the kind with needles and leaves. We hadn't seen any sign of Bigfoot, but my beer buzz made me not care so much. Then we heard it.
A rustling from a small cluster of trees and brush. "It's him," Tony hissed, guzzling the last of his beer and raising his shotgun. I had time only to swallow the last bite of Slim Jim before the brush parted and out came a sasquatch!
At least, if you were panicking, screaming, and your fight-or-flight gauge was pegged firmly on "run like hell". In that case you'd only have seen a shaggy man-shaped blur rushing at you, making "wagga-wagga" sounds and clutching at you with yellowed claws that looked like tortilla chips rather than proper nails. That's exactly what Tony saw, as he was tearing back the way we'd come, the shotgun lying forgotten in some dandelions.
However, upon closer inspection, it was apparent that this was no sasquatch. For one thing, sasquatchs are supposed to be tall. Like somewhere around nine feet or so. This thing was 5' 6" and only because it appeared to be running on its tiptoes. Also, in all the bigfoot recreations I've ever seen on the Discovery Channel, the sasquatch never wore a filthy t-shirt with a pine tree on it that read "Perennials Do It All Year Round". They also never wore pants, although this guy had that part down. I can call him a guy now (as opposed to a thing) because, without the pants, it was obvious he was a man. Also, I think he was Jewish.
Upon seeing me not running, he stopped. He was maybe twelve feet away. He looked at me with eyes that weren't quite all there. Then he spun around and with a half-hearted "wagga-wagga" fled back into the woods.
I picked up the shotgun, noticed it wasn't loaded, then headed off to find Tony. Ten minutes later we were reunited. He was sitting under a tree drinking another beer and hyperventilating. Three empty cans lay strewn around him like a border fence.
I got him calmed down and presented my evidence for this not being an actual Bigfoot encounter. It seemed to penetrate his fear, though the beer probably helped. "It's just some old hermit running around in the woods. Come on, let's go home," I said, and Tony nodded. Then I noticed we weren't alone.
A group of twelve people had surrounded us in a loose circle. They didn't look particularly threatening, but they also tightened their loop when we tried to leave. "Who are you," Tony blurted out.
"We are the children of Yuccatingo," a tall, thin man replied. "We follow the great sasquatch, Yuccatingo, and drink from his knowledge."
"Yuccatingo?" I asked. "That half-naked guy?"
"Correct," the man answered.
"Wagga-wagga?" I asked, incredulous.
"Wagga-wagga", the twelve echoed in a booming chorus.
"Oh crap," I sighed.