Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Twisted Fragments from a Sasquatch Hunt Gone Terribly Wrong

      The following were several pages found littered about the mountain side of the Tantalus Range, somewhere Northwest of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, by a team of elite mountain rescuers, one of whom I dated for a time.  She provided me, on condition of anonymity and a "please, Peetey, one last time, for old time's sake," the grainy photocopies of the very pages recovered.

      Here they are:

      Squatch Hunting Day 43: Not much time to write tonight... our food and water are nearly gone... perhaps three days left if we ration carefully... Ephraim Dong Wang and Hop Sing Yoder, our two Chinese-Amish mountain guides, disappeared two days ago, whereabouts unknown... perhaps the Squatches got 'em, like they've gotten so many of us...

      <illegible, part of page ripped, ink smudges>

      ...every night the Squatch pelt our camp with rocks and taunt us with sizzling thick-cut hickory smoked tofu fakon bacon (which they had pilfered from our camp on Day 22, if you recall), yet we cower for fear of our lives...

      <illegible, ink smudge>

      ...this expedition has gone horribly wrong, and I am concerned our team may be rent apart soon... today I will broach the idea of sacrificing one of our members to the Squatch in hopes they leave us our lives... and perhaps the rest of us can find our way back to civilization with this incredible, but so very true, tale.

      Not to be Messed With: The Six Million Dollar Man "Wrestling" with a Real Bigfoot

      Squatch Hunting Day 43 (second dispatch of day):
        As I mentioned in my prior dispatch, we would discuss who among us should be sacrificed to appease the nine or so Bigfoots tormenting our camp and our very souls.

      The vote was unanimous--it would be little 10 year old Timmy, the boy who won the Sasquatch Adventure trip with us through the Make-A-Wish Foundation. Timmy took the news well, and being less than 30 days terminal, was excited to end his life by being a meal for the Squatch.  Timmy also mentioned it was a shame he would never get to enjoy the feel of a warm...

      <illegible, several lines crossed out by author>

      ...Timmy is now comfortably silenced sedated on our last two 40oz cans of Schlitz Malt Liquor and some tokes from legalized marijuana our token inner city Washington DC group member (you, know, the affable, but frequently belligerent D'Uniqua Uterius Smith) who mysteriously perished on Day 4 in an ice crevasse, as you remember--remembering correctly it was an unexpected, tragic accident, of course) smuggled into the expedition's food stores, and is tied to a make-shift pole awaiting his fate.

      Hopefully the Squatch will take our offering and leave us in peace. Good night, and we hope to reach you soon in person to relate our adventures proving the existence of these terrible, terrible creatures. I wish we'd have brought weapons, but such evil things are anathema our Progressive ideology.

      Dark Secrets: The Tantalus Range, somewhere Northwest of Willliamsport, PA, where these reports were found.

      Sasquatch Hunting Day 45: Excuse my lack of a dispatch yesterday, but terrible news is affront, I'm afraid. 

      The night of Day 43, when we offered precious Little Timmy as a Squatch sacrifice, went well...

      <illegible, smudged by tears loneliness, confusion caused by a one-night stand>

      ...there were no Squatch attacks that night, and when we went to check on Timmy in the morning, he was gone, the Squatches having ripped his bonds and carried him off into the dark wilderness.

      Not a Gentle Giant: If seen, do not hug this hairy thug.

      Mightily relieved, the few survivors of our expedition broke camp and began to make our way down the icy mountain, hoping to find civilization, more sturdy shelter, or even just a modest mountain-climber garbage midden to scrounge through.

      We did find a surprisingly large garbage dump of mostly empty granola bags, tofu boxes, and empty soy latte plastic bottles, so imagine our joy when we discovered an unopened 80% post-recycled content container with a bag of Trader Joe's brand organic Cinnamon Apple Snack Sticks!

      It's Not Surprising: Mountain climbing Greenies are horrible polluters.
      Near dusk on Day 44, we found a long abandoned, dilapidated shack--perhaps some miner's left from the great  Unobtanium Metal Rush of '79. But with night fall setting, this would be our protection from the elements and wild.

      Near midnight, rocks began to pelt the rusted metal roof and rotted wood slabs making up the shack walls.

      We knew the Squatch had tracked us--clearly our human sacrifice was not good enough than for more than just one night's reprieve.

      Not a Squatch: But often confused for one
      A vicious lightening storm suddenly racked the heavens, ripping the dark night sky asunder. Through the cracks in the shelter I could make out the large forms of Squatch heaving rocks at our position from nearly 150 meters away upslope...

      <illegible, page torn>

      ...to my amazement were three smaller humanoid forms with the Squatch.

      My mind immediately went back to Wang Dong Yoder and Ephraim Hop Sang, our two Chinese-Amish mountain guides and Timmy, the Make-A-Wish winner we sacrificed to the Squatch just nights before.

      Something had changed in their demeanor, however, which now seemed listless--lifeless, until they started to move forward, shambling toward us across the snowy expanse separating our two positions. Each lightning strike brought more resolution to the image playing out before us, it was clear now, what had happened.

      <illegible, ink smudges, page tear>

      From just meters away (and by the way, my beloved journal, isn't it just ridiculous America keeps clinging to the ancient, imperialistic English system of measurement?), the three shambling figures stopped, and the stench of death wafted our way. The Chinese men had been dead the longest, apparently, but like Timmy, mush have been re-animated to undead by a Sasquatch Wicca shaman.

      This newest revelation hit us like a two-ton heavy thing. The Squatch were going to rid the Earth of humans using the dead, using Wiccan magic, in what can only be best described as what Nostradamus foretold in the 21st Century Zombie Apocalypse quatrains from Century XII.
      The only questions I had now were: Would I be able to warn human civilization before it was too late?!?!  And how can we only warn Progressives and not Conservtives?  And how can Democrats blame the 21st Century Zombie Apocalypse on GW Bush, while rebranding the Sasquatch as victims of anti-Squatchist Republican policies, in order to secure their votes in perpetuity?

      <the rest of the page (about half) is blank; there were no other pages found>

      Kate Upton: A near clone of my old flame who provided the reports.

      So there you have it, folks. The current administration has been covering these reports up for months, and no one seems to know why.  Well, I know why, and the answer is plain to see!

      I researched the Nostradamus Quatrains to which the Sasquatch hunter referred. Here are the most relevant quatrains:

      Timing, near the time of the #Ferguson riots (Century XII, Quatrain #55): Sad counsels, disloyal, cunning, Wicked advice, the Law will be betrayed: The people stirred, wild, quarrelsome, In borough as in town, the entire peace hated.

      (Peetey note: Clearly refers to #Ferguson and a #ZombieApocolypse, despite what some of my detractors might claim):

      Who? Quatrain #59 clearly points to results of Progressive policies from 2009-onward: The accord and peace will be broken everywhere: Friendships polluted by discord: Hatred awakened, all faith corrupted, And hope. Marseilles without concord

      (Peetey note: the Concorde was retired in 2003, so Nostradamus was off a little here, but not by much).

      And Then?  We have to briefly jump to Century V Quatrain 41, where Radgast The Brown raises Ronald Reagan as a zombie running mate: 
      Born in the shadows and during a dark day, He will be sovereign in realm and goodness: He will cause his blood to rise again in the ancient urn, Renewing the age of gold for that of brass.

      (Peetey note: the first two lines totally refer to Radagast, who was born in the shadows actually, because all wizards are, and it was at night, so the day was dark.  The second two to Reagan, in his brass urn, raised again to restore a Golden Era.)  

      Then What? Century XII, #64 alludes strongly to the power of a Vice President Zombie Reagan: Through fury he will force the fort to hold, Every heart to tremble. At Longon a terrible arrival: The kick will become a thousand kicks, Gironde, Garonne, never more horrible.

      (Peetey note: This verse requires a little more parsing than the first three. Longon is clearly "London," the capital of the Western World at the time when Nosty was alive. He misread his prediction; Washington DC is clearly what he foretold when he wrote "London." Gironde is a sea-side city in France and Garonne is a river near there.  Because France is currently socialist--something Nosty could not have predicted--he actually meant New York City and the Hudson River.

      It means #Progressives are afraid of a new #Conservative revolution lead by #Radagast2016, with a Radagast-Zombie Reagan ticket.

      Folks, the Democrats fear that Vice President Reagan--as a zombie--would take control of the Sasquatch Zombie Army and personally turn it against America's enemies: Russia, China, North Korea, Cuba, Iran, and Chicago--all Progressive beacons of hope.  This is why we need your support. You wouldn't want one of Nostradamus' most important prophecies to fail, would you?

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