Bigfoot Needed a Ride to Vincennes, Indiana
But Developed Engine Trouble Along the Way
David Boyer is in trouble with Bigfoot. Bigfoot's dream, you see, is to be a writer.
"He ruin market," the seismic-sized Sasquatch told me.
I had to run to keep up with him. Being ten foot tall, his stride was enormous. We were on our way through Ohio to meet the man voted America's most sleazy plagiarist in his home town of Vincennes, Indiana. The town council of Vincennes also voted last week on a resolution re Boyer to change the town's motto to "David Boyer doesn't live here, he's just passing through."
"Had you thought of basketball?" I shouted at my interviewee 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 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 or whether they were just proportional to his height.
"And what is your quarrel with David Boyer?" I asked and added, "Could we sit down on a stump or something? I'm out of breath."
The gentle giant stopped and looked at me apologetically. "Sorry," he said. "Bigfoot no fit in car. And cheap foreign flying saucer crap out over Toledo."
We found a stump large enough in diameter to support his behind and a log for me to sit on. He sat down rather quietly for a creature weighing over twelve hundred pounds. And in the afternoon sun, he actually looked dignified except for his face being completely covered with fur and those big teeth. Perhaps by email I'll suggest he consider cologne as a wardrobe accessory as well.
"So," I continued, "why are you meeting with Mr. Boyer?"
"Bigfoot have writer's block," he said, casting his eyes toward the ground. "Can't write worth beef jerky."
"Wait, do you expect a man who defrauds consumers by selling plagiarized work to help you overcome writer's block? He's a terrible horror writer. He told me so in an email."
"He no have writer's block. 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 when it comes to published fiction."
"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. 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 a terrifying scream.
"What? What?" I yelled in a panic.
"Bigfoot put story up on StoryMania."
Uh-oh, I thought.