Off: Instead of Bolle

[Mike Parkington]

Here's something to freshen the air and make a change from bashing poor Mr
Bolle. Apologies to those who have already seen it or think it's a load of
old crap. And no, there isn't any hidden statement here about anybody on or
off this or any other list. I just thought it funny.
---------------------

So, it was with a disappointingly small party which we set off for
         the backwoods on our great Bigfoot fieldwork expedition. It was
         strange, but when I phoned everyone who had intended to go, most
         seemed to act very oddly and claim to be washing their hair  or
         have "important things to do" that weekend. What could possibly be
         more important than spending the weekend with me, Thy Editor? I
         suspect they have been leaned on by Government Security Services
         who are frightened at the enormous portent of my work, My
         Struggle, a struggle so great it will break down the walls of
         society as we know it, and the people will look up and see who was
         responsible. Me. And they shall cry (especially the chicks) "Oh
         Thy Editor. You are so wise. Only you can tell us how to behave.
         Lead us! Lead Us to your brave new world of Order, Discipline,
         purity".....ahem. Sorry, got a bit carried away there.

         Anyway. We arrived at the end of the road and left behind the
         pickup truck (its called a pickup because I use it to "Pick up"
         chicks), and set off into the wilderness proper: The wooded park
         behind the factory. Soon we had left civilisation behind and were
         surrounded on all sides by thick, pine forest. Up above the sky
         was blue and clear and birds were twittering merrily. We did not
         see any Bigfeet though.

         After a days trekking we finally arrived at the campsite. I
         ordered everyone in the expedition to go and swim in the ice cold
         waters of the nearby stream (for their own good) then set about
         getting the fire lit. All we wanted now were a few beers
         (especially me because I can drink loads, being such a _man_).
         As we sat around the campfire discussing the general Bigfoot
         theories I was saddened at how childish and immature my companions
         were and how little they knew about the topic. At least one of my
         companions had only done 20 years fieldwork and published numerous
         respected works on the subject for Christ sake! What did he know.
         He's only 14 years old and lives with his parents!. He's never
         worked an hour in his life. Sure, he might have dyed his hair grey
         and rented the the house with the company car in the driveway we
         picked him up at to try and give the *impression* he's not, but he
         is. Because I KNOW. OK?. Needless to say, Thy Editor soon pointed
         out the error of all their ways.

         Another annoying thing was that some idiot who had camped there
         before seems to have left live bullets in the fireplace, and the
         heat from the flames was now setting them off. The strange thing
         was, whatever way the bullets were ricocheting off the trees they
         all seemed to be coming out of the woods in my direction.

         It was while I was responding to one of my companions opinion that
         the bigfoot was a large monkey and not an alien  (by perfectly
         justifiably calling them a stupid, home living, pervert idiot: i
         don't start. I just respond), that I suddenly realised that all my
         companions had disappeared. Obviously the sinister government
         agency had been at work again and kidnapped them. They'd even
         faked a note from my companions which said that they thought I was
         a hate-filled, nasty little shit and that they'd been so insulted
         by me that they had all gone home without me. this was obviously a
         hoax. Those guys love me and I'm friends with 80% of them. The
         other 20% are trivial minded fools.

         Determined to carry on the hunt I went to my tent for the night. I
         was awoken around Two A.M. by strange noises. Leaving my tent I
         was amazed to see three, hairy male hominid creatures, picking
         through the remnants of our campfire. This was it. The first
         contact with a bigfoot! And it was all down to me.
         Knowing their alien origin I attempted to communicate with them
         via hand signals rather than speech. To my surprise they responded
         in perfectly good English which they claimed to have learned by
         listening to the BBC World Service. This was a chance to find out
         the truth behind the mystery.

         I asked where they came from. They replied by explaining that they
         were descended from Neanderthal Humans which had been driven to
         living in the wilderness by the arrival of modern human beings.
         They also said they live in  close family/tribal groups and live a
         simple existence, surviving by hunting and gathering.


         BULLSHIT! What do they know? They're only Bigfeet! Have they done
         years of fieldwork? I don't think so. For Christs Sake they still
         live with their parents and they've never done a days work in
         their lives. Bigfoot is a space alien. Period. I know. I told them
         it was time they shaped up, stopped talking drivel and agreed with
         everything I said. At that one of them stroked my cheek and said
         how smooth and female like my skin was. I was then subjected to
         what I can only described as an alien abduction forced
         impregnation experience by all three of them and I have not been
         able to sit down since.

                                  Thine Editor
                                  Mensa King
                                  Curator of a museum, tomorrow the world.

         **Please note: The above story is entirely fictional and any
         resemblance to any person, either living or dead, is entirely
         coincidental****************************************************