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The wager.


Barron von Hammer

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Cryptozoology is a guilty pleasure of mine. Grainy images, videos of anomalous objects, "In Search Of" episodes and an early adolescent inability to distinguish one of my great aunts from an enlarged bi-pedal hominid (leading to multiple sightings), has finally culminated in a great revelation. One of the great mysteries in my life is about to end. This summer the existence of the infamous creature known as Bigfoot will be proven. Of this I am sure. My close friends and I discuss this subject with great earnest as the day draws near. Even those friends of mine who disagree with me try to be objective in weighing the evidence. There is one though who holds my views in disdain.

My beloved wife mocks me. She dismisses my views with the wave of her hand as if she were Julius Caesar dispatching legions across the Rubicon. Any attempt on my part to broker a discussion on the latest news, sightings, findings, etc, evaporates like a butterfly in a blast furnace. At first I thought it was the subject matter, maybe she didn’t understand the complex nature of aligning eye-witness reports with our current understanding of zoology, trying to build a paradigm of what said creature could be and the implications it would entail for understanding the physical world as we know it, etc. I consoled myself with this new explanation concerning her intolerant behavior. She could not comprehend what she did not understand, in the same manner one would experience in trying to explain fabric softener to a starving African child. It was doomed to failure. It was blind ignorance that caused her to be so callous and unfeeling concerning a subject that was intertwined with childhood memories such as apple pie, baseball and rampant infidelity.

Unfortunately I was under illusion, she did understand. And thought it completely ludicrous. Lately though I have approached the subject in a completely different way, appealing to her marital instincts and asking that she listen to my defense as a loving testament to what a spouse does to maintain marital bliss. This was only a temporal and hastily expedient solution as her facial expression while listening to my argument could easily be confused with "Liberace looking at a vagina".

So a bet was made. A large one, detailing sordid sexual activity, humiliation, and the exchange of enough DNA to populate a thriving lunar colony. And that is just me. As for her stipulations let’s just say I don’t relish the prospect of wiping my ass with burlap for two straight weeks or viewing back-to-back episodes of Mama’s Family until the entire 130 episode run has been seared into my brain, one of only a few stipulations in a dantesque wager of hellish torment. I have until the end of summer (or should I say she has till the end of summer).

To channel that great seer from 1976, “the stakes are high and so am I, it’s in the air tonight, it’s a free-for-all.”

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Since you'll be in the neighborhood anyway, I hear Forks, WA is a great center for paranormal... stuff, anyway. And Bigfoot is supposed to live in Washington or British Columbia, I think. Right?

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