You’re driving through the rain in the Pacific Northwest, and you run over a sasquatch. You stop, get out, and verify it’s dead, and it’s real. Not a bear, known ape, or guy in a suit. Your truck is still running and somehow not totalled. What now? Call the cops? Call the press? Load the carcass, and drive it to the nearest university biology department?
Load it in the truck and take it to a research institution of some kind.
Probably call 911.
I’m getting the hell out of there.
Its mate is bound to be pissed.
I’d bury it quickly, so no one could find out the truth. In same grave site as I buried the unicorn, the Loch Ness Monster, and Tinker Bell.
Call 911, to get the cops out there as witnesses. Once they have an 8-foot-tall sasquatch on the local coroner’s slab, the publicity will take care of itself.
Sell it for Asian medicine. Ground up Big Foot should sell at good prices for fertility, and baldness.
Need answer fast?
Even as a skeptic, I would be afraid of it being taken away by top men. Who? Top. Men.
I suppose is stash some samples, like a finger, and take the whole beast it to a biology department, and see if I couldn’t get the press there as well. I don’t want to see it disappeared. Hell, I want to name it after myself. Sasquatchicus Quenchicus Ford F150us or something.
I’d figure that no matter what I do, fate is going to ensure that the whole thing is dismissed, and I’m forever that crank that tried to hoax everybody. I mean, that’s what’s happened to everybody else who’s encountered a 'squatch.
So I’d make the perfunctory effort - call 911, take pictures, save some hair for DNA testing, but I’d spend a lot of time resigning myself to being derided by people like me.
call your local FOX tv affiliate.
That’s what I did. Right next to the Yeti, the Chupacabra, and the Bunyip.
Finger, shminger. Take a foot.
Call JREF and say, “How would you like to scoop all the woosters out there and also prove that you’re not just a bunch of nay-sayers?”
Call the cops/9-1-1, if only on the chance that it’s really a guy in a suit that’s so well designed that I couldn’t find where the stupid zipper was hidden.
Youtube video first!
And every other local tv station. And the local newspapers. Don’t let the Men in Black get there first.
I saw this happen once in a certain area we won’t mention. A couple guys hit and killed a Sasquatch while drinking and mudding up north. They get out and the burly driver says Well bugger, did I do that? The little guy says I don’t know but I’d like a turn.
Call the game warden and make it his problem.
Laughing in tears to myself at the thought of drastic_quench proudly strutting into a ranger’s office, slapping a finger onto the desk, and shouting “I have found Bigfoot!..and, um…shit, I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”