Bigfoot

"Tall chap;" began Charles, "about six foot eight.. medium build.. wears a sombrero 'round this time of year.. sometimes reading glasses.. big, massive white fur coat.. only thing bigger than his teeth is his head."

If Charles and Dunk weren't at the time standing on a really snowy mountain, the long gap before Charles' next sentence would probably have been filled with wind noises and a tumbleweed or two.

"So, have you seen him?"

Dunk abruptly interrupted, looking a mite puzzled- "Dude- medium build? 'the Heck?"

"Medium build. You know. It's like a thing that people say."

From down there, Dunk's eyebrow looked rather unconvinced. Charles continued..

"I don't know what it means or anything."

Dunk rolled his eyes and took over Charles' pestering of the old guy.

"Don't pay too much attention to cereal-boy here, he's not exactly searchlight material. Now, we were just wonderOh my God you look like Yul Brenner."

Dunk turned to Charles- "Dude! How much does he look like Yul"

"No he doesn't"

"He so does."

"No."

"B"

"Dude, no."

Not much was said for a few moments. Dunk then remembered the old guy standing behind him.

"Beg your pardon, good sir."

Both of them were suddenly slightly aware of how much the old guy hadn't moved since the beginning of the story. Dunk performed the traditional 'wave right hand in front of freakishly unaware of everything old man' ritual. He got no response.

"Dude-" said Dunk with a slight shake in his voice- "This guy's got no pulse."

"'the Heck? How d'you know?" asked Charles.

"Oh, yeah.. I mean I think he's dead."

Dunk looked pensive for a moment. "Maybe.. maybe he got him."

"Who, the old man?"

"Yeah.. or.. no, frunk sake Charles.. him.."

Chares did the big-eyed pouty shruggy confused look.

"Bigfoot, you nitwit." exclaimed Dunk.

"Oh. Oh, yeah.. we're kinda looking for him aren't we?"

"Fine work, Sherlock." said Dunk before turning around to glance at the inanimate old guy again. "So how're we going to find him?"

"Who?"

"Dude!"

"Just messing with yer head."

Dunk was growing weary of the cold. "Let's walk some."

And lo, there was walking. Dunk and Charles walked many miles across snowy snow in search of Bigfoot, but their quest proved fruitless.

Charles stopped. "Dude." he said. Dunk stopped and turned around. Charles continued. "Maybe we're going about this all wrong."

Dunk looked confused. "How so?"

"Well.. OK.. if you were Bigfoot.. where would you go?"

"A big feck-off snowy mountain."

"Precisely."

There was much staring for about half a minute.

"Charles, dude."

"What?"

"Shut up man."

"Sombrero!" shouted Charles.

"Dude, that's entirely the opposite of shutting up."

"No, look behind you."

Dunk turned post hastily, and lo- there was a Sombrero lying in the snow.

"It's Bigfoot's sombrero!" he said walking quickly to it, followed by Charles.

"Quick-" said Charles- "See if it's warm, that'll mean he's nearby."

Dunk's eyebrows were raised more than a well-bred slice pan.

"Well, check it."

"Charles, stop talking. Besides, Bigfoot might come back for it- you know how he gets- but if he sees us beside it, never mind touching it, he won't come anywhere near it." Bigfoot then smacked Dunk in the side of the head from behind, knocking him a great many feet towards China.

"It's Bigfoot!" shouted Charles.

Bigfoot released an almighty roar in Charles' general direction, propelling him a couple of feet. Bigfoot took back his sombrero, replaced it on his head in a show of pride, and stomped away. Dunk had just about removed his head from the snow- he didn't exactly bear the face of the happiest looking chap in the world.

"Dude-" said Charles somewhat meekly, "He's getting away."

"I want three very good reasons as to why that's a bad thing."

"Dude! We've spent the last hundred paragraphs lookin' for this guy, and now you're just going to give up?"

"That's the plan alright."

"Dude! The interview!"

"Screw the interview; I just got clocked across m'jawbone by Bigfoot's paw. His paw! Imagine if he'd launched one of his moccasins at me- I'd be in a royal coma by now."

Chalres gasped- "Look! His foot!"

"It's huge- well spotted, genius."

"No, no- look.. there's a massive thorn in his foot." said Charles, looking rather intrigued.

"Oh, score- he's not wearing any shoes, guess I'm safe then." In an entirely unrelated note, Dunk had recently registered 'sarcasm.com' under the name 'Commander Sarcasm of Sarcasm lane'. Charles didn't get it.

"Look." said Charles, "I'd wager that if we pop that thing out of his foot, he won't be all angry and junk, and he'll give us that interview." He looked determined, and with that, he leapt from the ground and rushed to Bigfoot's aid. Conveniently, Bigfoot's foot was in the air and easily accessible for such purposes as removing thorns or drawing small pictures in pointillism.

"Yoink!"

Charles quickly got out of the way and held up the thorn triumphantly. Shortly afterwards, he noticed an odd hissing sound. He turned to find Bigfoot rapidly deflating. Within a few seconds, we was but a deflated baloonesque puddle.

Dunk bagan making his way over. "Sweet."

"Wow-" said Charles- "What're the odds?"

Charles was twiddling with the thorn. He began to examine it.

"Hmm."

"What?" asked Dunk.

"I think there's something written here." He looked closer. "Size fourteen."

"Cool. You know what they say about people with big feet." stated Charles.

"They deflate quickly?"

"Ehm, yeah.. actually they do say that, don't they?"

"Yeah, what's that about?"

"Reckon this prose is dragging on a bit?"

"Aye- so, you gonn' shop?"

"Yeah sure I'm gonn' shop, you gonn' shop?"

"Yeah."