“They called him the Angel of Anchorage.”
Hey, Bobby. What?
“This was a, uh, bigfooted creature. Logically, there must have been more of his kind, but he was the only one that regularly interacted with people.”
What the fuck are you talking about?
“The ’80 run up to Alaska. I think we played in a grade school cafeteria.”
It was a high school gym.
“A hormonal-smelling building. I recall that quite clearly. Anyway, we went out gallivanting in between shows. It was me, Parish, Precarious, Billy and Brent, some other folks. So, as you might imagine, a bunch of snow machines got stolen.”
You stole snowmobiles?
“They got stolen. And, uh, they’re called snow machines. Mobile’s a city in Alabama, and it doesn’t snow there.”
Uh-huh.
“That’s what Alaskans say to you when you call snow machines ‘snowmobiles.’ The line about Alabama.”
Alaskans are known for their folksy sayings. Wait, you guys played Anchorage in June. You can’t ride snowmobiles–
“Machines.”
–in June.
“No, you can. It just makes ’em catch fire a little bit.”
That’s no good.
“Not at all. Especially since they were in a liquor store. Not all of ’em, just the ones Billy and Brent were driving.”
Why did Billy and Brent drive their snow machines into a liquor store?
“They were thirsty.”
Sure.
“And, you know: Billy does Billy shit.”
He does. What about Brent?
“He got swept up in stuff real easy. Excitable boy, we all said.”
And what does this have to do with bigfoots?
“I was getting there. So, uh, the fire’s raging, and me and Parish and Precarious are outside on the sidewalk. Maybe not ‘raging.’ There was a good crackle going, I guess. Not quite a roar.”
Were Billy and Brent trapped in there?
“No, they could’ve gotten out. Everybody who was in the store ran out pretty easy.”
But…?
“They were stealing booze.”
Sounds right.
“And then they had a booze-fight.”
What’s that?
“It’s a game Billy used to play a lot where he’d hurl a liquor bottle at you. Or, uh, wallop you with one. Bottles could be deployed as either ranged or melee weapons in a booze-fight.”
That is a terrible game.
“You need to be in a real specific mood to wanna play. Or, uh, be Billy. He was always up for a round. So, anyway: Billy and Brent are hucking fifths at each other and the bottles are breaking and the hooch is getting everywhere, and here’s the thing about that: alcohol is flammable. Or inflammable. Which one means non-fireproof?”
Both.
“Now they’re stuck in there behind a curtain of flames. So, uh, Parish and Precarious and I did the only thing we could.”
Which was?
“Heckled.”
Right.
“And from out of nowhere came a great white beast. He wasn’t shaped quite like a man, but he wasn’t a gorilla, and not a bear, either. Covered with a thick fur. He looked like he had my beard on his whole body. This was clearly an abdominal yoda.”
You’re mashing up two different cryptids, and getting them both wrong.
“Winter-squatch. They’re the spirit of the blizzard, y’know.”
I didn’t know that.
“The creature snatched up Billy with one great paw, and Brent with the other, and deposited the two of ’em on the sidewalk out of harm’s way. Quick as hell, too. Got up to full-speed in two steps. That’s called first burst, and it can’t be taught. I don’t understand why the NFL wasn’t scouting the hell out of this guy.”
Uh-huh.
“Turns out that the big fella was known to the Anchorage community, and much-beloved. He pulled cars off people after wrecks, and caught kids jumping out of windows cuz their houses caught fire. So, you know: the Angel of Anchorage.”
Anchorage has a superhero who is also a bigfoot?
“In my experience, yes.”
Can’t argue with that.
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