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