A Pack of Lips

Man sat in his recliner in the dark of his den, watching snowflakes fall by the glow of the full moon. He’d tried counting them as they fell, but soon enough the occasional flake turned into an out and out sideways snowfall. Earlier in the day the man had put out an aluminum tin of food on the back porch should any animal need sustenance during these bleak winter days and nights. His gift rewarded when a family of raccoons arrived and began picking their way through the buffet. The man watched. Silently. Content with his good deed.

Happily snacking one second, at once the raccoons stopped, turned, all looking in the same direction. Then, in a blink of an eye, the raccoons scattered, running for their very lives, the man surmised. A comical sight, nonetheless, thought the man, and any source of laughter was good during these days of isolation from the harsh winter.

The reason for the raccoon’s flight soon became apparent, however. A large, hairy, human form walked across the porch to the food, reached down, lifted the aluminum tin and began sniffing. Apparently satisfied with the bill o’ fare, and after looking suspiciously around for a few seconds, the creature began to feast.

The man had heard about this Bigfoot type creature in these parts all his life, but until this encounter, had always been a doubter. Wanting to savor this moment, it was all the man could do to keep still and quiet.

Finishing faster than the man could believe, the creature flung the now empty tin into the wind and turned toward the double glass doors. At once, the creature leapt back, crouched and snarling. After a few tense moments the creature calmed down and slowly raised itself, then walked across the porch to the glass doors, having to bend over slightly to fit under the roofline.

His life passing before him, the man swallowed a scream, and he wasn’t totally sure, but thought he’d pissed himself. One thing was for certain, the man was frozen in place, unable to move a muscle.

The creature tapped the glass, grinned, turning this way and that, examining itself in it’s reflection made all the more better by the light of the full moon and the now white landscape. After a moment, cocking it’s head back and forth, rapping the glass with it’s knuckles, as if annoyed, the creature finally stepped back and rubbed its belly with both hands, then it turned, bent over, and, as if blown through a fire­hose, sprayed the glass doors, spackling them almost completely in what the man perceived as one, rather long fusillade of Bigfoot caca.

The man, still unable to move, felt a rumbling in his stomach, farted, and in this way shat himself, too.

The man vowed never to purchase another t.v. dinner from this company.

Next morning, after chiseling the frozen dung from his doors with his car’s windshield scraper for icy conditions, setting his underwear on fire in the process to eliminate this embarrassing memory, the man wrote the company a letter to inform them of the unfortunate properties of their gourmet salisbury steak applesauce and carrot combo dinner which tainted both his and Bigfoot’s stomach, and the unfortunate results that both he and Bigfoot suffered thereafter.

An employee for the company received the letter, but did not report it to his supervisors as was clearly stated in his job description, instead choosing to post the letter in its entirety on a scientist friend’s very popular blog.

Within hours the letter became a viral smash.

Within hours the employee was fired.

The very next morning the man heard a knock at his front door. Man opened the door. There on the front porch stood a man with a camera who wasted no time in expressing the purpose of his visit, “Where’s the shit, man?

Where’s the shit?”

The employees who leaked the letter was out of a job, but $100.00 richer for the exclusive rights.

Nestle bought the besmirched company, turned it around by adding more toxic elements for longer shelf life and enhanced taste, adding to their profit margin, repackaging and renaming the product, killing people, making millions.

Having disposed of the evidence, the man hadn’t any way to prove his claims, therefore was relegated to wing nut status in this modern world which granted free rein to the internet vultures who wasted no time in descending upon him, flensing him for all the world to see. The man received not a dime, instead losing all credibility and integrity. Women at the church avoided him. Male pattern baldness overtook him.

The man’s ex wife huffed after reading the story, “I knew I did the right thing in leaving that man. That loser.” She continued hoarding stuffed teddy bears, losing more square footage in her house by the day.

Bigfoot gave not a flip about any of it, the ordeal not even a distant memory, but never ate anything that resembled that companies gourmet food again. Ever. The creature ate a dollar bill once, though. Found it under a picnic table. Never again. No more George. A foul, bitter taste.

The next winter it snowed. Again.



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