People who first spotted the tracks of a Sasquatch dubbed this legendary creature “Bigfoot,” but I have seen him in his entirety and, let me tell you, he’s going by the wrong name. The size of his feet aren’t what people should be talking about.
The dick on this bipedal beast was monolithic.
Sure, Bigfoot leaves an impressive footprint behind but those who have seen him in all his glory know him by an entirely different name: Hugecock. What’s that, you weren’t expecting a nine-foot tall man-like ape with enormous feet to be hanging heavy? Of course he’s spectacularly endowed! How is his dong not already a part of the folklore surrounding his existence?
We already know what they say about guys with big feet, so when it comes to a creature we’ve been calling Bigfoot, it’s time we start focusing on the bigger issue.
“So,” you’re wondering, “just how big was it?”
It looked like it was big enough to ride the coaster at an amusement park. It looked like Chewbacca’s arm. Horses talk amongst themselves and use the phrase, “He was hung like a Sasquatch.” But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let me start at the beginning.
When it came to the existence of Sasquatch I had been a skeptic, unpersuaded by the vague accounts of hikers and hunters claiming to have seen Bigfoot. It didn’t help that every piece of photographic “evidence” was always blurry. You can imagine my surprise when, hiking through the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest, I stumbled upon tracks of very large feet. I thought this must be some kind of hoax, so I continued on my way.
I froze mid-step when I heard loud, animal grunts coming from the bushes. Scanning the area, I quietly reached for my bear spray. The can fell from my hand in shock when a nine-foot tall, hairy, muscular creature emerged from the bushes.
He looked at me with eyes that were deeply set underneath his protruding brow and gave a questioning grunt. I put my hands up to show I meant no harm and attempted to sound soothing. “It’s okay…”
That’s when my eyes drifted from his and first glimpsed his mighty appendage. “Jesus Christ,” I blurted. “Look at the size of that thing!”
He followed my gaze and seemed to realize that to which I was exclaiming. He grinned shyly and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “Not bad, huh?”
“It’s huge,” I stammered. “A… a huge cock.” He grunted his approval.
His nose began to twitch in the air, having caught a scent on the breeze. I continued to stand statuesque, immobilized by equal parts fear and amazement. He lumbered towards me, his impressive third limb swaying hypnotically with each step like the central pendulum piece of a grandfather clock.
Standing directly before me, nose in the air, he sniffed with even more fervor. I cautiously exhaled, not even realizing that until that point I had been holding my breath. He bent down and began sniffing me directly. It was at this point that I began to worry about his intentions. I had no idea if he viewed me as a source of food or, perhaps worse, a source with which to fornicate.
I was beyond relieved when his nose led him to my backpack. I carefully slipped my arms from the pack’s loops and opened it for him. “Here,” I offered. “Food.” He dumped the contents of my bag. He brushed aside the pack of beef jerky and reached for the bag of trail mix, proving once again that you can never trust advertising.
I knew no one would believe me unless I obtained some kind of proof, so I leerily pulled my phone from my pocket. He was tilting the bag of trail mix above his mouth finishing the last of its contents, when, with the phone held low by my side, I dared to take a picture. His eyes shot angrily toward me with the click of the photo. I surreptitiously slipped my phone back into my pocket and once again held up my hands.
With a final dismissive grunt he turned and disappeared into the dense bushes from whence he came. My heart took several minutes to slow its jackhammering pace. I stood still, waiting for the surge of adrenaline to wane.
Once I convinced myself that he wasn’t returning and my breathing returned to normal, I started to daydream about the acclaim that would come as a result of my encounter. News headlines flashed in my mind:
“Man comes face to face with Sasquatch!”
“Hiker has close encounter with Bigfoot!”
“Bigfoot? Apparently, Hugecock!”
I bent to gather the contents of my pack and remembered the photo. I hurriedly took my phone from my pocket and opened up my pictures. My heart sank as my eyes tried to make sense of what I saw on the screen: a blurry, indistinct photo. So much for my proof.
I couldn’t believe that my picture was going to end up as just another nebulous piece of non-evidence in the long history of Sasquatch claims. There would be no selling the picture to the highest bidder. There would be no headlines, interviews, or made-for-TV movies about my experience.
I’ve since come to terms with what happened that day. Hugecock deserves his privacy. If my picture had gone into circulation, the woods would have been flooded with people fighting to catch a glimpse of his majestic manhood.
For now, his existence and his mighty member will be dismissed as legend. The next time you’re gathered around a campfire, if you listen carefully, you may hear someone, speaking in hushed whispers, telling the tale of the mythical Hugecock.
