Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe

by Simon Okill

  Teeelaaa continued to tug on his arm, though her woooo-woooo gaze was focused primarily on Maaawooo, who was still looking menacingly at Duane.

  Duane looked nervously at Maaawooo, and wondered if he was going to be chased around the room like the last time Teeelaaa got too close. Maaawooo had marked his territory by spraying the armchair with his musk mixed with piss and semen. It was no wonder the cabin stunk.

  Moments later, Duane's question was answered. He watched helplessly as Maaawooo aimed his chubby thruster at the armchair Lou had recently sat in, and started to spray it vigorously with his musk. There was nothing Duane could do, except hold his nostrils as the rotten eggs and garlic stink raped his olfactory system. He just stood and helplessly watched.

  "Now, Maaawooo, what have I said about spraying the furniture. Ftftftftftf," Duane said, wagging his finger, although he couldn't get the Bigfoot word right. How to say ftftftftft through his nostrils was beyond him.

  Maaawooo shrugged his shoulders and turned round to face Duane. He aimed his thruster at his love rival and growled.

  Teeelaaa and Olaaa wriggled their hips to the music and giggled, "Sfsfsfsfsfsfsfssf."

  Duane quickly stepped back a pace. He didn't want to be sprayed with Maaawooo's pungent love juice.

  He wagged his finger again, "Bad Maaawooo."

  Maaawooo started to chuckle, "Sfsfsfsfsfsfsfsf."

  He lowered his hand from his thruster and started to dance with Teeelaaa and Olaaa, grinding his lower regions, revealing his growing hard on.

  Duane saw the amorous glint Maaawooo gave Teeelaaa. It took little guesswork to know what Maaawooo was thinking and come to think of it, so did Duane.

  22

  THAT EVENING, around nine, Abe's Bar and Grill was practically bursting at the seams. The cacophony of chatter and laughter mixed with country and western music rivaled that of the joyful clinking of glassware.

  MB sat alone at a table close to the stage, drinking a cool Little Beaver Light from a tall glass. He was wearing his usual jeans and a denim shirt. A bottle of the same beer and a tall glass awaited the arrival of his other singing half—Duane.

  MB's attention was focused on a group of noisy male and female Japanese seated at several nearby tables. They looked as if they were enjoying the entertainment and having a good time.

  On the stage was a middle-aged Japanese male, wearing a full country and western ensemble, playing a guitar and singing a country and western tune. The tune in question was a C and W rendition of "The Green, Green Grass of Home."

  Not bad on the ol' geetar, but the singing was more than a tad off key, thought MB, with a disgusted look on his face. There's an Old Indian legend that tells us man who is tone deaf, can't sing.

  MB took a sip of his beer and wondered where the hell Duane was. He would have to be here soon or they'd miss their spot.

  Less than twenty seconds later, Duane stepped through the door of Abe's Bar and Grill. He was dressed in his Bigfoot duds, minus the head, which he had stuffed under his armpit. He waved and shook hands with everyone who said howdy—which was basically everyone.

  MB caught sight of his friend and smiled. He stood up and waved to attract Duane's attention, indicating he was late with his non-existent watch. He was reminded of an Old Indian legend that told us man who depends on watch will be late for the rest of his life.

  From across the crowded seating area of the bar and grill, Duane saw his friend. He cheerfully waved back. He sauntered through the crowded room saying his hellos to anyone that greeted him.

  MB sat back down and waited with some amusement as Duane made his way toward him. This is gonna take some time, thought MB, as hands shook Duane's hand, and offers of free beer halted his progress.

  MB was reminded of an Old Indian legend that tells us man who has a lot of friends is rich indeed.

  A glass of beer was thrust into Duane's hand by a fellow male Beaverite. He accepted it and took a mouthful, then went on his merry way.

  Another Beaverite, this time a familiar female clad in a cowboy get up, grabbed hold of Duane's arm and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a big red lip print on his skin.

  Duane spilled half his beer over Collette.

  Collette proudly looked down at her erect nipples showing through her wet blouse. She grabbed Duane by the hair and pulled his face into her breasts.

  Everyone cheered.

  It was obvious to all that a lot of people really liked Duane, MB mused. And why shouldn't they? Ol' Duane-o was one of the friendliest, if not the friendliest human being he'd come across.

  Under MB's watchful gaze, Duane came across the only Beaverite not so enamored with Duane's cheerful personality. Duane faltered by Walt's table which was deliberately within earshot of MB, but due to the rowdy audience and performer on stage MB could only guess what was being said.

  Walt sneered at the amiable Bigfoot and said something unpleasant.

  Duane blew Walt a kiss.

  Walt tried to get up, but was held down by his two close friends and hunting buddies. You guessed it—Chuck and Bob. All three were well and truly intoxicated on Bigfoot ESB.

  MB's amused face transformed into a frown as Duane goaded Walt with an attempt at friendship by pretending to offer his hand, only to pull it away and display the bird. Here we go, thought MB. If Walt thought Duane was hiding Beau out at his place then things might get a little nasty. Many Beaverites were starting to come to the conclusion that Beau should have showed up by now-that his joke had gone too far.

  23

  BEFORE LEAVING HIS CABIN that night, Duane shooed his Bigfoot friends outside. He snatched up all his tequila and rushed into the kitchen.

  Most kitchens are instantly recognizable as places to prepare food-not Duane's kitchen. Although it had a sink and an old-fashioned range, the rest of the available space was cluttered with boxes stacked to the ceiling. The boxes were labeled with various food stuffs—canned beans. canned sausage and beans, canned chili beans, canned curried beans and canned tuna. Duane never had the time to cook a meal, and why should he—he always ate out at Abe's, Annie's or at one of his nightly stop-offs for you-know-what.

  In a brief moment of clarity, Duane decided to hide all his booze from Maaawooo, who had a strong liking for the stuff. He knew that while he was away, Maaawooo might search the cabin for more booze, something he had a habit of doing. So Duane opened the walk-in pantry. He walked in and pulled a lever. A trap door fell open from the ceiling.

  Most of the available space was taken up by an array of bottles marked skunk, deer musk, grizzly piss and essence of Bigfoot. An empty plastic cleaner sprayer lay next to the bottles.

  Duane slid the tequila into the tiny crawl space which was not big enough for a Bigfoot, not even for Duane. He was confident his Bigfoot friends would never think to look in the roof space.

  But Duane's moment of clarity suddenly left him as it often did. In one of his frequent absent-minded episodes, he forgot to padlock the pantry door before he had left to go into town that night.

  * * *

  THE COAST WAS CLEAR as all three Bigfoot stood facing the walk-in pantry. Maaawooo and Teeelaaa were impatient as Olaaa squeezed in. It was cramped inside the pantry. Every time she turned, she knocked something off a shelf. Flour, peanut butter and various contents of fruit jars covered the floor. Olaaa's footprints were clearly visible in the sticky mess that now resembled a cake mix.

  From inside the pantry she looked out, shaking her head to indicate she couldn't find the happy juice.

  Maaawooo gave a loud grunt of dissatisfaction and snorted, "Ftftftftftft!"

  Teeelaaa gave Maaawooo a comforting pat on the shoulder, "Woooo-weeee."

  Olaaa didn't like to see Maaawooo looking so miserable, but what could she do? She was about to step out of the pantry when she heard the clink of bottle striking bottle-happy juice! She looked up to see the trapdoor. She tried to reach it, but was not quite tall enough.

  "Ftftftftft!" Olaaa clambered
up the shelves and was about to push her large hand through the trapdoor when the whole pantry collapsed. "Ftftftftftftft!"

  Olaaa slid across the kitchen floor leaving a thick trail of the flour mix, along with everything not stuck to the shelves by spilled honey.

  Teeelaaa and Maaawooo sniggered, "Fsfsfsfsfsfsfs."

  They sniggered some more as Olaaa attempted to stand up only to fall on her hairy behind which became matted with the sticky mixture.

  Olaaa slid along the floor to rub her behind clean. This brought even more laughter from her friends. She finally got to her big messy feet and looked around at the disgusting mess.

  Olaaa couldn't help but join in, "Fsfsfsfsfsfs."

  Teeelaaa and Maaawooo sat down in the mess and rubbed their behinds along the floor, crashing into the wooden cabinet doors, splintering them into matchsticks.

  Maaawooo staggered to his feet and proudly surveyed the wrecked kitchen. He trudged over to the ruined pantry and smashed a fist through the trapdoor. He deftly caught three bottles of happy juice.

  Teeelaaa snorted, "Ftftftftft!"

  Maaawooo grinned, showing his large yellow teeth.

  Olaaa surveyed the kitchen and saw the look on Teeelaaa. She realized what a naughty girl she was, but it was such fun being naughty. She looked longingly at the bottles in Maaawooo's hands. She tried to grab one.

  Teeelaaa knew what Olaaa wanted. She put both hands to her head and moaned as if in pain to imply what would happen if Olaaa drank the happy juice.

  Maaawooo turned away from Olaaa.

  Olaaa tried to grab the bottles.

  Maaawooo held the bottles above his head and sniggered, "Sfsfsfsfsfsf."

  Olaaa jumped as high as she could, but the bottles were out of reach. She gave up and slumped to the floor, exhausted after her antics. She kicked her feet in a hissy fit.

  Maaawooo skidded to the watering hole and broke a bottle top into the sink. He up-ended the entire contents down his throat. His eyes rolled with delight. He tossed the empty bottle and belched loudly. He was about to start on the other bottles when a sudden thought occurred to him. He chuckled at the delicious idea he had.

  Teeelaaa and Olaaa gave Maaawooo a suspicious look. They both knew that naughty face on Maaawooo meant more trouble.

  24

  DUANE BELCHED AT WALT and said to his hunting buddies, "Howdy guys."

  Chuck and Bob gave wide drunken grins and replied together, "Howdy, Duane, ol' buddy."

  But Walt continued to give Duane a nasty look.

  Unperturbed by Walt's unfriendly attitude, Duane gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

  "Walt, ol' buddy."

  "Don't you 'ol' buddy' me, asshole," Walt snarled.

  Duane stepped back in feigned surprise and fear. He even managed to look a little offended by what Walt had just said. He guessed that Walt wasn't in a particularly good mood, due to the fact that his boy hadn't shown up yet and maybe he was also ticked off with him for taking a pot shot at his two asswipe buddies.

  "Me, an asshole? I can't think why, ol' buddy." Duane gave that stupid grin, knowing how much it would infuriate Walt.

  Walt didn't reply straight away. He took a swig of his strong beer, remarking, "You'd better wipe that stupid grin off your fucking face . . . and who gave you the right to go shooting at my friends, asshole." Burp!

  Duane smiled amiably at Chuck and Bob, "No harm done was there, guys?"

  Chuck pushed a Bigfoot ESB bottle across the table towards Duane. "Changed your mind about that free beer?"

  Duane shook his head no, "No, I haven't." He winked, "Rain check?" He looked at Walt. "They don't seem too upset about it."

  Chuck and Bob nodded their heads and grinned drunkenly, "No hard feelings."

  Walt gave his buddies a nasty look for sucking up to Duane, "You stupid pair of fucking asswipes."

  Bob and Chuck gave each other mock fearful looks then burst out laughing.

  Walt certainly did seem miffed, mused Duane. Well, serves him right for thinking he had Beau up at his cabin.

  Duane smiled his amiable smile at Walt and then glanced up at the Japanese male singer on stage, now giving everyone his rendition of "D-I-V-O-R-C-E." Duane listened, scratching his butt for a while, before he came to the conclusion that the performer couldn't sing, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  Duane would never jeer a performer no matter how bad they were. He was reminded of one of MB's Old Indian legends that told us man who sings bad on stage has nerves of steel.

  "Fucking weirdo," Walt muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Duane to hear.

  Duane realized Walt was referring to him and not the performer. Walt often called him weirdo for living in that cabin of his like some hermit. A lot of Beaverites thought Duane was weird. He didn't take offense, and why should he? It wasn't that Duane was thick skinned; he accepted that everyone was entitled to an opinion, and besides he agreed with them, he was weird.

  "Yeah, I guess I am a little weird," Duane said. "Aren't we all, spaceman?"

  Walt visibly jolted at that remark before he took a big sniff of Duane. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  "You stink worse than a Bigfoot turd."

  Duane sniffed under his free armpit. He couldn't disagree with that. He was getting a tad ripe, despite the hose down in the low down.

  Duane shrugged amiably, "No need to tell me, ol' buddy."

  Walt didn't reply. He just took another mouthful of beer and gave Duane a nasty look. Burp!

  Duane left the asshole and two asswipes to their beers, but not before flashing them the bird one more time. He was gratified to see Chuck and Bob hold Walt down in his chair.

  MB WATCHED HIS FRIEND approaching with a welcoming smile on his face. He noticed the red smudges of lipstick on Duane's cheeks and lips. That Duane was one lucky guy.

  The door opened. MB was distracted in that direction. He saw both FBI agents entering the place. They failed to look inconspicuous at the far end of the bar, trying to attract Abe's attention as Duane arrived at his table.

  Jesus! Something smells really bad around here , thought MB, as his nostrils got a sniff of something quite revolting. He looked up at his good friend and coughed. His keen olfactory senses were attuned to picking up forest smells-good or bad-before most people detected them, and this smell was by far the worst.

  The air smelled musky like skunk, tainted with an earthy dampness mingled with manly odor and something else that he had occasionally got a whiff of in the woods and at Duane's cabin. But what that mysterious something was he could not say. It didn't smell exactly like grizzly or skunk, but the smell could be likened to grizzly piss and skunk spray. Most of all the smell reminded MB of the Phantom Bigfoot-rotten eggs.

  "Howdy, Chief," Duane said with his trademark smile as he sat down opposite the chief, facing the stage. He placed his Bigfoot head on the table and took a mouthful of beer straight from the bottle offered to him. He savored it with a look of relief.

  He burped.

  "You're late, as usual," MB commented in an inoffensive, casual tone of voice.

  An attractive barmaid with distinctive bright red hair was close by. She wore a short skirt and see-through t-shirt revealing ample breasts.

  MB attracted the barmaid, "A pitcher of ESB and two whisky chasers, Tina."

  Tina winked at MB, but started to cough. She rushed away as Duane's stink defiled her nostrils.

  Duane took another sip of his light beer and sniffed his armpits.

  MB took a whiff of the air just to be sure it was his ol' buddy stinking up the place with his pungent odor. Phew-stinky, he thought! He gave Duane a look of disgust and wrinkled his nose, but didn't say anything, as Duane often smelled bad.

  DUANE LOOKED AWAY FROM the stage and noticed the look on MB's face. He recognized that look of disgust. He sniffed the air, then himself, paying particular attention to his armpits.

  "I want you to be totally honest . . . do I stink that bad?" Duane chuckled
as MB nodded yes. "Well it's mostly just manly odor." He gave himself another sniff, "I had a hose down, but I can't quite figure it. . . I still stink."

  "When was the last time you washed them Bigfoot duds?"

  Duane shrugged and took another mouthful of beer. He looked thoughtful as he mulled over what MB had just asked him, scratching his ass.

  "Can't be sure . . ."

  Tina dropped off the pitcher and chasers before rushing off without her usual tip. "That's so gross!"

  Duane shrugged at Tina's cute ass now knowing why she had left so abruptly.

  Duane filled both tall glasses with ESB. Clinked MB's before downing the ale in one go. Both friends followed with the chasers.

  Duane let rip a loud burp. "That'll get the lower motor going for you-know-what."

  "Better not waste any exhaust fumes before it's time." MB warned.

  "Not to worry, I'll clench them in." Duane crossed his legs as if that would do the trick. "Did you know the human fart is pure methane gas?"

  "Duh … everyone on the planet knows that. But did you know there's a theory gaining momentum that the dinosaurs gassed themselves to death with their farts?"

  "And did you know … and this is a fact by the way … when the warp engines on those Star Trek ships run low on anti-matter they have to resort to recycling their poop which gives off methane gas. The engineers convert it into anti-fart?"

  MB gave Duane a look of pure awe in the presence of such stupidity. "I bet that's what Walt got up to when he was abducted …" MB's words trailed off at the sight of the Feds approaching. He nudged Duane to look behind him.

  Duane turned to see the Feds closing in on Walt's table and became misty-eyed at the sight of his old friend.