Bigfoot Needed a Ride to Vincennes, Indiana
But Developed Engine Trouble Along the Way
I was hot on the trail of another David Boyer exclusive by getting the scoop on why Bigfoot was traveling across the country to see the famous plagiarist in his home town of Vincennes, Indiana. We were half-way through the wilds of Ohio and the hairy hominid was hurrying to reach the border before sundown. I had to run to keep up with him. Being ten foot tall, his stride was enormous.
The seismic simian had just astonished me by stating he wanted to be a writer.
"Had you thought of basketball instead?" I said as we crested another of Ohio's annoying hills. "There's lots of money in basketball for a guy your size."
"Bigfoot no punk yeti! Bigfoot aim big. Be famous writer like Stephen King."
His words rumbled across the open land like thunder and his eyes were red-yellow and fierce. I resisted the urge to look down and see if he really did have big feet.
"Why are going to see David Boyer?" I asked and added, "Could we sit down on a stump or something? I'm out of breath."
"Bigfoot need help. Have writer's block," he said, casting his eyes toward the ground. "Can't write worth beef jerky."
"Wait, David Boyer to help you? He's a terrible writer. He told me so himself in an email."
"But he no have writer's block. He writer lots of books. Bigfoot have writer's block."
I stood up and walked over to my new friend.
"You don't need to go see Boyer," I said. "I can tell you why Boyer doesn't have writer's block."
"You can?" he said, with a huge smile and a mouthful of blocky teeth. "You make Bigfoot very happy."
"Sure," I said. "His own fiction was so bad it was hard to get published, so he just started stealing other people's work and publishing that under his name or one of his aliases. Most of his work is stolen. That way he didn't have to deal with writer's block. You see? He was a publisher. Writers submitted their work and he just stole their stories. That's in addition to stealing from writers on StoryMania."
Bigfoot said nothing for a few minutes, then he stood, beat his chest and howled.
"What? What?" I yelled in a panic.
"Bigfoot put story up on StoryMania."
Uh-oh, I thought