It has come to the attention of my son, Squatch, that some of the content on this blog regarding himself is, to be diplomatic, a total ^%$#@! lie.
This came to his attention because one of his friends, we’ll call him Freddy Mercury, Googled Squatch, discovered this blog, then read everything I’ve ever written, including the one where I tried to talk to Connor about sex.
To be clear: as a humorist, I often take broad liberty with reality for the purpose of entertaining my readers. If you are a friend of Sasquatch, and you’ve Googled his name and discovered this blog, please understand I’m telling tall tales here.
You may be outraged to know neither Slenderman, Paul Bunyan, nor Michael Jackson are real people. They are as mythical as Mickey Mouse and Paris Hilton. My stories rely on crazy exaggeration and an abject abnegation of the laws of physics, chemistry, social norms, truth, grammar, and all forms of reality, both real and imagined.
To be more clear, I type with my nose because I have to finger quote every word.