Good evening, Ozarks! It's good to be back in Branson, the Ruby of Red America, where folks kneel for the cross, stand for the flag, and sit on their butts the rest of the time. A lot of folks think Branson is too conservative, but I don't think it is or ever will be, and you know why? Tourism. If you have a credit card, Branson will find a place for you. And that's because at heart, most business minded Christians belong to the Prosperitarian Church.
Basically, Prosperitarians believe that God wants your every dream to come true, no matter how crazy it is or how little you will actually work for it.
Prosperitarianism begins when we're kids, and mom and dad tell us we should love Jesus more than Santa Claus. And we're thinking, "But Santa brings us toys. . ."
On Christmas Eve they brush your hair and put you in starchy clothes; make you sit in a pew and hiss at you to shut up; and then you have to listen to some old man yell at you about bad you are.
That's the Jesus part.
Then on Christmas morning, you get to run around in your pajamas, rip open gifts, yell with glee, eat half a bag of Hershey's kisses, and watch football.
That's the Santa Claus part.
So, guess who's gonna be your favorite . . .
Mimics a preacher's voice
And that, brothers and sisters, is where the Prosperitarian Church steps in and says, "If you have enough faith in Jesus, he'll make sure Santa Claus gives you everything you want. Hallelujah!"
Yessir, with Prosperitarianism you'll be holy rolling in the dough.
It's downright Hegelian.
I used to love it when my Dad read the Christmas story to me when I was a kid because he changed frankincense to Frankenstein, you know, so I could feel the story was meant for me, too.
We Sasquatches don't have a religion because we don't sin. Ever. It's just not something we do. But if I did go out and sin and need a religion, I would definitely be a Prosperitarian.
A lot of people automatically assume we Sasquatches are mean or dangerous, because, well, just look at me. But tell the truth, have you ever heard of anyone who was hurt, bullied, or made fun of by a Sasquatch? I don't think so.
I mean, come on! You're the species that created nuclear weapons. And made way too many Batman movies. And lost the Kansas City Chiefs to Kansas, for crying out loud. So, who's the real monster here?
The worst thing I ever did was crap in Mr. Morgan's tiger lilies while Mr. Morgan was out screwing the check-out lady at Harp's grocery store, and his wife sat at home watching Wheel of Fortune. I know because I was looking through her window, and she was hollering, "Buy an 'e,' you idiot!"
That's pretty much the extent of Sasquatch misbehavior: crapping in gardens and looking through windows.
Consider yourself lucky, 'cause it could be the other way around.
I did notice that Vanna White is holding up pretty well for an eighty-year-old human. A couple more surgeries, though, and she'll have as much plastic as a Japanese robot, but still, she's looking good. Smile. Ding. Flip. Do it again.
Come to think of it, maybe she's been a Japanese robot all along.
Watching Vanna White while you're taking a dump in a patch of tiger lilies is kinda like looking at Instagram while you're sitting on the toilet. Except the air is fresher. I do it my way, you do it yours.
Speaking of crap, I have to say that "Bigfoot" is about the crappiest nickname ever.
How would you like it if somebody you never met before and really didn't like decided to call you Big Nose? Or Big Ass? Or Big Belly?
Trust me: my foot ain't the only thing about me that's big, but I don't let nobody call me that except Mrs. Bigfoot, who, by the way, has never complained about our sex life. We've been married for nearly 350 years, and I've never so much as looked at another lady Sasquatch. And it's not like we "do it" all the time either. Me and the mizzus wait until rutting season, shake a few trees, pound the ground, and, hey, we're good for another six months.
Not like you humans: I've never seen a species as weird about sex as you guys. You either bitch and complain when you see a naked statue in your kid's high school art book or you spend all your time watching porn. No balance. I've heard that men who look at porn all the time don't even want to have sex anymore. That'd be like not wanting to live in a house because you looked at Architectural Digest. Or not wanting to eat because you looked at Bon Appetit and since your food will never taste as good as their food, you won't eat any food.
Maybe that's a benefit of being covered with hair; we're naked and not naked at the same time. There's no Sasquatch porn 'cause there's nothing to see. Just hair.
The other day, I was in a diner in Alpena, Arkansas, and I saw a sign that said, "Thank you for not smoking"? Seems to me that once you start thanking people for not doing stuff, there's no end to it.
Personally, I hate it when people thank me for not doing stuff. "Thank you for not eating my dog." "Thank you for not pleasuring my wife."
Back in the 50s, I auditioned at Warner Brothers for the part of the Tasmanian Devil. I had the whole slobbering and panting thing down, but I couldn't manage the tornadic spin.
So, then I tried out for Gossamer, but they couldn't find tennis shoes big enough to fit me. You remember Gossamer, doncha, on the Bugs Bunny Show? Huge monster—pardon me, cryptid—red hair down to his feet, top of his head shaped like a butt? Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I can tell by looking you guys are old enough to remember The Bugs Bunny Show.
Starts singing
"Overture, curtain, lights! This is it, the night of nights! No more rehearsing and nursing a part; we know every part by heart!
"Overture, curtain, lights! This is it, we'll hit the heights! And, oh, what heights we'll hit: On with the show, this is it!"
You didn't know I could sing, did you? Oh, yeah. I can sing, dance, play the theremin. I'm a thereminist.
Waves his hands, makes weird noises, and then starts singing the theme song to "Star Trek"
"To boldly go where no man has gone before!" What were they thinking to begin a show with a split infinitive? That's why I watched Lost In Space when I was a kid. Better grammar. And I thought Penny was cute.
Maybe you didn't know Sasquatches watch TV. Hell, yeah! We can watch anything we want inside our heads. I tried watching the Lord of the Rings, but I didn't like the way they portrayed the orcs. It took like a hundred orcs to kill one white guy with a bad attitude—one white guy!—and then they got wiped out by two little white guys inside a volcano. I call bullshit.
I pity the orcs. Did you know orcs were originally elves that were captured and corrupted by Melkor, Lord of Darkness? It's true. So, of course, it's their fault for being orcs even though they had nothing to do with it. That makes about as much sense as original sin.
Makes you stop and think.
Back in 19 and 75, I tried out for the part of Chewbacca but they gave the part to a guy in a fur suit. Now, how was that fair, I ask you? Might as well have given the lead role in Sinners to a white guy in blackface. "Sorry, Mr. Jordan, this white dude pretending to be black is much more authentic than you."
Oh, well.
But it's okay now because I'm in Branson, and I have to say, I love it! I was driving down the Strip this afternoon, and I felt like I finally got that acid flashback they said I would have back in 1967. There was King Kong up in the sky, some kind of weird building upside down, and a giant statue of Arnold Schwarzenegger. I was like, "Whoa, dude. That Purple Haze boomeranged hard."
Later tonight I'm gonna go back out and watch the Ferris wheel change colors.
Speaking of such things, I guess you've discovered Branson has dispensaries. Can you believe that? You can buy Satan's own jungle weed right here in Branson, Missouri! I can't wrap my head around that! If you'd told me back in '75 you would be able to buy weed in Branson, I'd have said you were, well, high.
But here it is. Weed in Branson. I've got an idea! Let's burn a spliff and go to the Keith Moore Prosperitarian Holy Ghost Church on the Strip. Cool show! Maybe a woman there will have her toes grow back like happened at the James River Church. I've heard the expression, "Be healed," but never, "Be toed." Get it?
Back when I was at Bigfoot High, we were sneaking around, hiding weed in our backpacks, throwing pipes out the window when the flashing lights came on in the rearview, lying to our parents. Now the family that smokes together jokes together. You don't have to choose between hugs and drugs. That's the modern family, getting high and watching the Simpsons.
After he graduated, my brother Carl went to jail for possession—that's what they used to call getting caught with pot: "possession", like he was Linda Blair—but nowadays Carl'd be sitting behind the cash register saying, "May I help you?" Instead, he had a record and couldn't get a job except for joining the circus.
Which, to be honest, is not really that unusual. That's pretty much the only job any Sasquatch can get if they leave the enclave.
Have you found out yet that weed today is way stronger than it used to be? Wow! I was stoned off my ass, and then I got so hungry I could eat a horse. Actually, I did eat a horse. Tasted like Taco Bell.
Have you noticed they call the pot shops "cannabis dispensaries"? Like that makes them somehow more sophisticated or legitimate or something.
In a mock dignified voice
"Sweetheart, I'm going to the cannabis dispensary for some indica. May I bring you anything?"
Cannabis dispensary. That's like calling me a cryptid because "monster" sounds out-of-date, I guess, or maybe too judgmental. "Don't want to hurt anybody's feelings," so now all of us monsters are cryptids.
Thing is, I liked being called a monster. I got more respect. Of course, I also got shot at a lot more.
That's another thing I don't understand about humans. You see something a little odd or mysterious, and the first thing you want to do is shoot it. Like if I see a hunter when I'm walking home through the woods, I invariably hear him holler, "There's a Bigfoot! Better shoot it!" What the hell is wrong with you people?
Acts like he's looking through a telescope
"Look! A UFO! Shoot it down!"
Puts his hand over his eyes like he's looking out to sea
"Look, a sea serpent! Shoot it with a cannon!"
Shrugs his shoulders
"Look, someone with dark skin! Shoot him and deport his kids!"
How would you like it if you walked into Walmart, and someone yelled out, "Hey, there's Big Belly! Shoot it!"
If y'all do start shooting Big Bellies, I won't have an audience left.
But, come to think of it, neither will Branson.
Covers his eyes and looks out at the audience
Where else but in Branson can you book a two thousand seat theater for a crowd of nearly twenty? If you're lucky.
How many folks do we have here tonight? Let's see: seventeen, eighteen? Wait. There's someone way in the back. Nineteen!
Huh?
What did you say?
You're an usher?
Oh, he's an usher, so we're back to eighteen.
When I started this gig, I thought folks would turn out by the hundreds to see a real Sasquatch, you know what I mean? Where else could you see an eight foot tall dude covered with hair? But then I went to Walmart and saw enough big hairy dudes to feel downright common . . . and strangely at home at the same time.
In fact, on my first trip to Walmart I thought, "Eureka! I've found my people. I'm home at last!" But then they kicked me out when I ate an aisle full of Little Debbies.
Ah, Little Debbie . . . making the other Debbies bigger for sixty years!
You gotta love Walmart, doncha? Selling Chinese junk, stocking food full of chemicals, and bankrupting family businesses.
In a country voice
"But it's worth it 'cause that there Walton family built us hillbillies a art museum down there in Bentonville! We got us some real culture now!"
Projects slide of Crystal Bridges on a screen behind him
I can't decide if Crystal Bridges looks like an armadillo choo-choo train or a cockroach orgy, but it was designed by a famous architect, so it must be brilliant.
Yep, old Sam Walton destroyed every town square in rural America, and now, thanks to his grandsons, rich bastards from Kansas City can ride their ten thousand dollar mountain bikes down every hillside in Arkansas.
That's a good trade, right? Bankruptcy and poverty for mountain bike trails?
They call it progress. Everything's good when you call it progress.
Acts like he's on a mountain bike
"Here I come on my fancy-ass bicycle in my little Lyrcra bike uniform pretending I'm Lance Armstrong when he had both his nuts! Thank you, Granddaddy Sam! Whee!"
Covers his eyes to look at the audience again
I thought I saw somebody coming in but it was just Jim coming back from the can. You okay, Jim? How's your prostate?
That's another thing about playing Branson. You have to keep in mind that half your audience will be getting up to pee every fifteen minutes.
Starts counting again
I think we lost a couple. Well, that's okay. My set's over anyhow. You've been a great audience! You can follow me on Facebook and Instagram, and please give me a good review. I'm still trying to get this gig off the ground, so, hey, I appreciate you. Have fun while you're in Branson!
Acts like he's focusing a telescope
Hey, I can see the end of the line for Fire in the Hole!
© Otis Bulfinch - Original work