Cryptozoology

Nessie Of The Loch: Dead. Or, You Know, Not

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It’s difficult to prove the death of something that may or may not have actually existed in the first place. Is the fact that you don’t see it proof that it’s still alive, or that it is now, finally dead, even though you never really saw it alive to know for sure the difference? Either way the Loch Ness Monster is dead. Or not.

Originally posted on Your Daily Media

And now, please, a moment of silence for our beloved friend and cryptozoological curiosity, Nessie. Lost too soon.

565 A.D. – 2013

While not yet confirmed (much like its very existence in the first place) a “veteran custodian of Loch Ness monster sightings” reports that there have not been any new Nessie sightings in aproximately 18 months, leading to fears that the unthinkable may have befallen the lake’s unrealable resident.

“It’s very upsetting news,” Gary Campbell, Monster Sighter told the BBC. “And we don’t know where she’s gone.”

And I agree, it is very upsetting to think that Nessie might be no more. As a fan of cryptozoology, the thought that this majestic imaginary lake dinosaur might somehow be dead is a terrible blow to my crazy pastime.

Fortunately, thrill-seekers can rest easy knowing that the “Loch Ness Monster Roller Coaster” at Busch Gardens Williamsburg is still doing just fine.

Though–and just hear me out–the way I see it, until they find a body, there is absolutely no way to CONFIRM that Nessie is dead. Of course if they did find a body that would have the double whammy benefit of both confirming its death AND its existence in one fell swoop, but that’s beside the point I was hurtling toward.

What I was saying is that it’s just as possible and almost TWICE AS LIKELY that sometime in the night, eighteen months ago, Sasquatch, Chupacabra and the Yeti might have snuck into the loch and smuggled Nessie out, needing her specific skill set for a top secret mission commissioned by MI6, the KGB and the CIA! A deep cover assignment that has to this day kept them all off the radar, leading to these mistaken death fears which only help throw off the suspicion of the sighting custodians and the Ukranian drug lords that they’re working to foil!

I actually have a screen play that goes VERY much along these lines, so if anyone reading this has any friends at Paramount or Universal, give me a call.

via: Your Daily Media

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Werewolf Cats… Yeah, Your Eyes Heard That Right. WEREWOLF CATS!

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Werewolf cats! Seriously guys! Werewolf cats! … Well, not so much werewolves as, well, cats. Just cats. Not wolves. Cats with unfortunate skin conditions. Ugly cats. Just, just ugly. Nothing more. So, sorry I got all riled up. I mean, read still, it’s still interesting, but, you know, they’re just cats is all… WEREWOLF CATS!

Originally posted on Your Daily Media

The internet: it’s where we all live, work, and play. It’s where I’m telling you these things right now. It’s a magical place filled with many amazing and terrible things. But the number one rule of the internet is: Cats. Cute cats to be more precise. Cute cats are to the Internet what sunlight is to plants. It nourishes it, it largely only exists because of it and it could not survive without it. I’m not sure which “it” I was referring to either.

SO WHAT THE HELL ABOUT THIS THEN?!

IT ENUMERATES MY LIFE’S EVERY MISDEED!

Fehkin’ WEREWOLF CATS, MAN! They’re a thing, they exist, and they’ve just replaced “Acid Giraffes” in my nightmare rolodex!

Escaped from a time without time, it has come to tell us of the end!

These horrific things, (that I can only imagine do nothing but pray to die) are the result of a Tennessee breeder crossing “a cat with a naturally-occurring Sphinx mutation and a black domestic short hair to create the Lykoi”, or “Wolf Cat”.

They writhe and roil, a mockery of life, drawing witness to the lie of existence!

Now–and I’m a cat person, always have been–these things make me want to build a time machine, travel back to ancient Egypt, and take a rocket launcher to the flying saucer that brought cats to this planet! Oh yeah, that’s how they got here! Science fact!

Adorabominations.

These little sparsely haired lumps of insanity make me question everything that I once held as true and real, and I want to forget I ever saw them, but there is nothing else there when I close my eyes now, but these, these terrible things that have proven once and for good and final that there is no God and that no amount of cute cat videos will ever save us from the rise of the Lykoi! And DO NOT try to say these things are adorable and that I am simply over reacting. They’re not and I’m not, and you’re wrong!

“Mrow. Go on, go to sleep. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

via: Your Daily Media

Van Full of Candy: Hunters of the Impossible!

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Greetings adventurers! It has been many days since our last correspondence, I apologize, I have been kept away from my leisure pursuits by an urgent call from the “scientific” community to a conference of my fellow monster hunters!

The mythical, bloodthirsty, killer of men.
The mythical, bloodthirsty, killer of men.

As you are all keenly aware by now, I am a professional pursuer of the preposterous. A chaser of the unknown. A tracker of the nuh-uh. I hunt down those things impossible and I say right to their face, “There you the fuck are!” So when my Impossiphone rang last week informing me of a coming gathering in Siberia to hunt down the elusive Yeti, I nearly choked on my Big Foot burger as I sprang from my Chupacabra skin arm chair, tilted back the head of the Darwin bust on my side table, pushing the hidden button inside and sliding down the fireman’s pole that it revealed behind the sliding bookcase and into the waiting Skepticave!

So when scientists arrive in the Kemerova region of Siberia later this week, they will find a picked over pile of “evidence” which I have already personally checked thoroughly against my own findings which I have archived in my Cryptoputer. It seems sightings of the “Honky Sasquatch” have “increased threefold in the area over the past 20 years.” “with scientists estimating that there is a current population of at least several dozen in the area.” This sudden IMPOSSIBLE uptick in Yeti gawking has naturally necessitated a gathering of the finest minds in the field of crazy science. The Lunatic signal appeared over the skies of the United States, Canada, Sweden, Estonia, Mongolia and China, calling forth the International League of Guessologists.

Foot print? Possibly. Just as likely this is an impression of where the Yeti mated with this mountain.
Foot print? Possibly. Just as likely this is an impression of where the Yeti mated with this mountain.

After their examination of the new evidence, “basic twig huts, twisted branches and footprints up to 35 centimeters” found in the area, they will no doubt come to the same conclusion that I have, we must pursue this snow monster to the ends of the Earth! They will then gather their heartiest men and submit their proposed expedition team for my approval. I will put them all to the physical and mental test, weeding out the weak, revealing the true character of these explorers, stripping them to their barest, truest selves, revealing to them, likely for the first time, who they truly are.

Then I will rebuild them, mold them, shape them to be the finest team of Challengiers of the Incredimpossible! Certainly, many of us will still be killed in the expedition. All of the training that I could provide them will not properly prepare them for the reality of the thing that they face. This beast has remained hidden, elusive, despite my previous best efforts. Once I do finally corner it, look it square in the face and tell it that I can see the shit out of it, it will have no recourse but to fight me for its very existence. I am prepared to do battle with the beast, accepting that the only evidence I will be able to produce of it’s existenve is what I will be able to pick from between my teeth once the snow has cleared.

I take no pleasure in the murdering of these fine beasts. I do not do it for pleasure. I do it because the world must know that these things were real. Very real. As real as you and me. Before I killed them with my bare hands and bathed in the warmth of their entrails. All in the name of science. Or something similar.

Incredimpossibleers… ASSEMBLIFY! The Yeti awaits!

Science: It’s Not an Exact Science

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Last week science made a wild ass guess about how many things exist and we were just supposed to let that shit slide…

What the shit is that and why did we want to discover it!?
What the shit is that and why did we want to discover it!?

A paper published last week by the scientific journal PLoS Biology, which is a complete fucking guess, says that there are 8.7 million species on Earth. Of which, they completely make up that there are about 7.77 million species of animal, probably 298,000 of plants, give or take, more or less your guess is as good as mine 611,000 fungi, who the fuck knows 36,400 protozoa and completely made up 27,500 chromists. Of course, only seven percent of those fungi, 12 percent of the animals and 72 percent of plants have actually been identified, but why the fuck not just say that there’s so many fucking more?

Now obviously, there’s a shit ton of things crawling around on this out of control mud ball, flying around at fantastical speeds through the vast voidiness, but only we, only humanity, has the arrogance to think that they can just throw out a number with little to no basis in reality and say “Shit yeah, that’s what is. AH GOTS THUMBS, MUTHA!”

Apparently before this new and improved absolute total of all that there is, the previous estimates by other completely guessing sciencemans has ranged from 3 million to 100 million. So why then is this guesstimate any more legit than the 100 million number? Why do these fellahs get to say that “86 percent of all terrestrial species and 91 percent of all marine species have yet to be discovered, described and catalogued” and they get to be treated with any more respect or seriousness than the guy at the bus stop screaming about how he just discovered a new race of invisible mites living in his toes?

If you answered anything other than “Butterflies stole my meatloaf!” while hitting yourself in the thighs with paper plates, you’re wrong.

So I’ve decided I’m going to beat science at it’s own insane game: wildly speculating about shit you can’t even begin to know and calling it science!

Painstakingly researched and documented wild guess number one: there are more than sixty hundred trillion batrillion microscopic road warriors living in our intestines, battling infectious disease which keeps us from being eaten alive by the hostile surroundings of Earth’s atmosphere. It is only after the last of these wild, post apocalyptic survivors, invisible to the naked eye, is killed by the forces of this otherwise inhospitable planet, that we finally die.

Carefully examined and documented complete bullshit made up fact B: When we die, a series of small explosions are triggered inside our cardio vascular system which trap our collected demons, keeping them from escaping into into your attending physician and taking over the physical realm. These tiny “vein bombs” are implanted in each of us by Jesus himself, immediately before we are born.

Sober, reasoned, completely ridiculous insanity that I’m presenting as truth Sigma: There are as many as 188 quadrillion or as few as 9 flavors of pudding still completely undiscovered by man. 

The Battle of Hip Joint Canyon...
The Battle of Hip Joint Canyon...

There, I’ve just published a paper in the VFoC Journal of Sciencesque Factish Foundings. And my body is completely hollow and inhabited by a race of intangible plastic army men who have been locked in combat with the robots in my leg for what they perceive as six thousand years, with nary a resolution in sight!

And that’s entirely as plausible as almost anything else that these “respected” sciencers get paid to crap out.

 

Science: It's Not an Exact Science

Posted on

Last week science made a wild ass guess about how many things exist and we were just supposed to let that shit slide…

What the shit is that and why did we want to discover it!?
What the shit is that and why did we want to discover it!?

A paper published last week by the scientific journal PLoS Biology, which is a complete fucking guess, says that there are 8.7 million species on Earth. Of which, they completely make up that there are about 7.77 million species of animal, probably 298,000 of plants, give or take, more or less your guess is as good as mine 611,000 fungi, who the fuck knows 36,400 protozoa and completely made up 27,500 chromists. Of course, only seven percent of those fungi, 12 percent of the animals and 72 percent of plants have actually been identified, but why the fuck not just say that there’s so many fucking more?

Now obviously, there’s a shit ton of things crawling around on this out of control mud ball, flying around at fantastical speeds through the vast voidiness, but only we, only humanity, has the arrogance to think that they can just throw out a number with little to no basis in reality and say “Shit yeah, that’s what is. AH GOTS THUMBS, MUTHA!”

Apparently before this new and improved absolute total of all that there is, the previous estimates by other completely guessing sciencemans has ranged from 3 million to 100 million. So why then is this guesstimate any more legit than the 100 million number? Why do these fellahs get to say that “86 percent of all terrestrial species and 91 percent of all marine species have yet to be discovered, described and catalogued” and they get to be treated with any more respect or seriousness than the guy at the bus stop screaming about how he just discovered a new race of invisible mites living in his toes?

If you answered anything other than “Butterflies stole my meatloaf!” while hitting yourself in the thighs with paper plates, you’re wrong.

So I’ve decided I’m going to beat science at it’s own insane game: wildly speculating about shit you can’t even begin to know and calling it science!

Painstakingly researched and documented wild guess number one: there are more than sixty hundred trillion batrillion microscopic road warriors living in our intestines, battling infectious disease which keeps us from being eaten alive by the hostile surroundings of Earth’s atmosphere. It is only after the last of these wild, post apocalyptic survivors, invisible to the naked eye, is killed by the forces of this otherwise inhospitable planet, that we finally die.

Carefully examined and documented complete bullshit made up fact B: When we die, a series of small explosions are triggered inside our cardio vascular system which trap our collected demons, keeping them from escaping into into your attending physician and taking over the physical realm. These tiny “vein bombs” are implanted in each of us by Jesus himself, immediately before we are born.

Sober, reasoned, completely ridiculous insanity that I’m presenting as truth Sigma: There are as many as 188 quadrillion or as few as 9 flavors of pudding still completely undiscovered by man.

The Battle of Hip Joint Canyon...
The Battle of Hip Joint Canyon…

There, I’ve just published a paper in the VFoC Journal of Sciencesque Factish Foundings. And my body is completely hollow and inhabited by a race of intangible plastic army men who have been locked in combat with the robots in my leg for what they perceive as six thousand years, with nary a resolution in sight!

And that’s entirely as plausible as almost anything else that these “respected” sciencers get paid to crap out.

In the Air and Office Chairs: Lady Parts is Everywheres!

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Hey you, shut up, I have a penis and it demands to be heard!

I am a man, and as such, it is my god given duty to not care about a woman’s pleasure! My divinely given external genitalia are my genetic signal to all of the animal kingdom that I am strong and make fire and am not to be fucked with. Like the tails of lesser animals, my phallus is expressive, so without even having to speak you can know exactly when I am happy or sad, frightened or rapey, simply by looking at my manhood. Mine is to be feared and worshiped at all times, which is why I do not approve of the attention that the frightening, confusing female crotchular region seems to be getting lately.

Now here is something my penis understands...
Now here is something my penis understands...

The in flight movie is the domain of Kevin James and cable repairman themed comedians. These films engage the penis on its own level, while not challenging it with feelings or story or entertainment. The male reproductive organ configuration likes things simple and dumb. Our dong can keep up with that and still split its concentration with rating the physical attractiveness of every female passenger within’ spitting distance, and that makes Mister, Happy.

But in Australia, airplanes are trying to teach people that women can enjoy sex times too.

This filthy propaganda is being carried by Australian airline “Qantas” (which I now understand is Australian for “Vagina”) in the form of a 50 minute French film entitled “The Female Orgasm Explained”. I have long heard of this mythical creature called “The Female Orgasm”, a fantasy concocted by mad sorcerers and damaged explorers returned from insane quests for lost relics. I myself have never been in the same room as one, have you? Of course not! Because we all know that this creation of the liberal media, long a puppet of Big Vagina is about as “real” as a leprechaun riding a unicorn through a field of fresh, spring Clitori… Which I assume is the plural for clitoris, ANOTHER fabrication of the vast Labial Conspiracy!

The film is available on long-haul “Video on Demand” on “The Edge” channel. And while it’s dumb and evil and I hate it, I am also naturally drawn to it. I enjoy science fiction pornography, so this premise intrigues me. And the article says that the film includes “naked scenes” which are my penis’ favorite kind! You see, this is exactly how these animals lure you in. Offering you titillation and groinal excitement, and then delivering their message of hate while your blood flow is diverted away from your brain skull. But I know their tricks, I see through their ploys. Besides, with this being a French film, it’s very unlikely that the nudity will meet my American genital grooming standards.

The flight crew are apparently able, at the request of parents, to block the content to the seats of minors. Which is comforting, because the only thing more frightening than the threat of genital equality is the possibility of future generations being taught that women are capable of sexual pleasure.

But the horrors of female pleasure don’t stop there!

I have always believed that unnecessary sex-tech should be reserved for the appendages of the hairier sex.  If there is a robot capable of repetitive tugging motions, it should be equipped with a soft silicone sleeve and placed in doctor’s offices around the globe. But the people at “Crave” an upstart “adult product” company is trying to introduce plug and play technology to the lady port.

"Put your memory where my mouth is." Slogan idea Crave, you can have that...
"Put your memory where my mouth is." Slogan idea Crave, you can have that...

Their new device, the “Duet” has “four different patterns of vibration, five power levels, and runs almost silently”. Which I don’t understand at all. How complicated are your parts that you need so much trickery and flim flammery to achieve excitism? If this “female orgasm” is such a real, existing thing, why do you need to be able to conduct a vibrational symphony to lure it out of it’s cave? Why can’t you just rub your pelvis up against something sturdy for a couple minutes until you have to change your pants, like a NORMAL person?

And one of its main features is it’s discrete design and silent running. To which I say my bologna has a first name, it’s “Bullshit!” If you want a machine to do your dirty work, it should stand three feet tall and make obscene gestures so that all the world knows what it’s all about. I don’t want to accidentally pick up a rubber paper clip off your desk, completely unaware that until I knocked on your office door your “executive assistant” was buzzing away at your little chairman in the boat in a near infinite number of possible pattern and intensity combinations!

So please, can I just review my report on my plane ride without being bombarded by things explaining the inner working of, or having possibly been recently IN your twat! Just let me just watch “Zookeeper” and ogle the well tanned sleeping student three rows up in peace, vaginas!

Run Nessie! They Done Shot Chupie!

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There are so many unknowns in this world. So many things that live with us every day, unseen, thought lost or having not even yet been discovered by man. The great mysteries of the world we live in intrigue us every day, push explorers toward the outer reaches of our understanding and beyond. What is it about these great, elusive creatures that sparks the imagination, drives the soul and compels us to shoot them in the fucking face?

El Chupacabra is dead, long live El Chupacabra.

And they’re coming for you next Nessie.

In Texas, where the law as I understand it is that you can shoot anyone or anything at any time for any reason, and that the only gun crime that you can be punished for is shooting one gun with another gun; a thirteen year old kid murdered the Legendary Chupacabra.

“Something slowly came across and started shaking, slowly moving across,” 13 year old Cryptozooassassin Carter Pope said when questioned about his grisly, thoughtless slaying. “It was gray, no hair at all. I thought that’s a Chupacabra.”

I chose this Chupacabra picture from Google because it was hung most how I've always imagined Chupacabra to be...
I chose this Chupacabra picture from Google because it was hung most how I've always imagined Chupacabra to be...

And reading that description, what else could it have been? Slow moving? Checkacabra. Shakey? Chupacheckra. Gray and hairless? Checkacheckra! That could only be the fabled El Chupacabra! Or a retired space alien, or any of our great grand parents. Or a Chupacabra, what am I saying? Of course, a Chupacabra, that’s exactly as I remember hearing them described. Slow moving and easily shootable. Almost too easily. 84% of bullets manufactured wind up in Chupacabras. If you own a gun, chances are it’s shot a Chupacabra already.

Not satisfied with simply murdering a sickly animal in his yard and declaring it “dead Chupacabra” before building a roadside shack where he could charge gawkers a nickel a peek, the report said that Carter “took hair and skin samples to get tested and put an end to the mystery once and for all.” Smart, because it’s one thing to just paint a sign with adorable backwards Rs on it and wait for the rabble to straggle on in, while it’s another thing entirely to have a certificate of authenticity nailed to your gut shot goat drainer to really add some credibility to your be-tented attraction.

But why stop at one shakey, elderly myth beast? Apparently the “Deadliest Catch” guys have set their sights on a catch of even more deadliesterness: The Loch Ness Monster… of Alaska… Or something.

Two of the “stars” of the Discovery Channel’s bafflingly uncanceled television program “Deadliest Catch”; Fisherman Joe and Dan the Crab Murderer… Or something… Apparently have footage dating back to 2009 that may prove the existence of an “Alaskan Loch Ness Monster”!

Now excusing that Mr. Monster’s first and middle names are not Loch and Ness but are instead a reference to the physical place in which it is most commonly known to reside, AND that he REALLY doesn’t like the negative connotations associated to the term “monster”, how about we come to a conclusion as to whether it is in fact the one and the same Nessie simply flitting about on an Alaskan vacation, or just some other upstart sea monster flashing it’s proverbial celebrity vadge at sea paparazzi for the TMZ of educational programming, the Discovery Channel, to parade around their air waves.

Coming next Fall: HTV, the Hillstrand Channel!
Coming next Fall: HTV, the Hillstrand Channel!

Crab genocidist Andy Hillstrand will be debuting this new footage on his creatively named “Hillstranded” special on the Discovery Channel. And just having put together that sentence, describing the upcoming airing of a SECOND television show starring this fisherist has broken my soul and gang raped my very will to live.

Honestly, how can I possibly be expected to keep my focus on the fact that today’s news is just jam packed to the rafters with the wanton execution and harassment of this planet’s most imaginary animals when I’m forced to confront the reality that a man who fishes, has two more television shows than I do. I’m so angry I could strangle to death something that doesn’t even exist! My anger is so rich and pure that my mind could conjure up a creature from nothingness, breathe life into it against all of the laws of the universe, solely so that I could vent upon it my righteous frustrations with the inherent unfairness of a guy who tricks sea insects into a cage being given not just one television show, which in and of itself is the kind of perverse joke that television producers dare other producers to pitch to nature channels, but the unmitigated gall of the universe to allow this sea faring ass a second avenue to more completely share his every fisherman eye on life with the shut ins and buried alive hoarders who have yet to be discovered for their own Learning Channel series; that make up the entirety of his viewing audience…

… Just bugs me is all…

Now what was I saying? Oh, right — RUN NESSIE! THE CAMERAS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE OCEAN!

I’m going to go cry now, for me, for you and for all the make believe creatures being hunted into pretend extinction. Big Foot, Abominable: watch your furry asses.