Comedian, musician, host of Chris Crofton's Advice King Podcast and former Nashvillian Chris Crofton asked the Scene for an advice column, so we gave him one. Crowning himself the “Advice King,” Crofton will share his hard-won wisdom with whosoever seeks it. Follow Crofton on Facebook and Twitter, and to submit a question for the Advice King, email bestofbread[at]gmail[dot]com or editor[at]nashvillescene[dot]com.
Dear Advice King,
How do you catch Bigfoot?
—Chris in Eureka, Calif.
Cover the outside of all your windows with a fairly thick layer of SALTED peanut butter. Bigfeet love salted peanut butter, and Lord knows the only thing they like better than salted peanut butter is LOOKING IN WINDOWS. While Mr. Foot is licking the windows, quietly get on all fours behind the beast, and have someone push him over you. Once the monster is on the ground, throw a net on him. Now you have a Bigfoot. What are you gonna do with it? You’ll have to get him an agent. He could be a judge on The Voice — he might even start dating Blake Shelton. Imagine that: a Gwen Stefani-Bigfoot-Blake Shelton love triangle. No one would even care. In 2018, “Blake Shelton, Gwen Stefani, Bigfoot in Love Triangle” sounds like a normal news story.
OK, let’s get serious, Chris. I firmly believe that Bigfoot exists, and you are in a part of the country where you could actually catch one — the creature’s habitat starts in the Pacific Northwest, and extends up through the the dense forests of British Columbia. The first thing you are going to need is a shitload of plaster, because before you can capture anything you have to track it, and there is a law in the United States that says you have to make a plaster cast of every footprint you find that might belong to a Bigfoot. Hey, guess what, Chris — I’M BEING SARCASTIC. There is no fucking law that says you have to make a plaster cast of every goddamn Bigfoot print. And I think we probably could have discovered like 5 million Bigfeet already if these Bigfoot hunters FOLLOWED THE FUCKING TRACKS INSTEAD OF MAKING PLASTER CASTS OF THEM. ARE WE LOOKING OR ARE WE CASTING, FOLKS? Make a fucking decision.
I’m sorry I got so upset, but I truly feel like every Bigfoot gets away because these morons stop to mix plaster. Mixing plaster takes time, and Bigfeet aren’t stupid. They are half man. While these clowns make plaster, Bigfoot slips away into his tunnel network. And if you are like “Tunnel network?” then I really can’t help you, Chris. Because if you don’t even know the basic public-domain facts, how do expect to catch one of these hairy geniuses? Yes, tunnel networks. Thousands and thousands of miles of sophisticated tunnels full of salted peanut butter and rudimentary bunk beds. “But why haven’t we found the entrances, Advice King?” BECAUSE THEY COVER THEM WITH BRANCHES, YOU DUMBASS. I’m sorry again, Chris. I’m just frustrated.
I know what you’re thinking: “He shouldn’t be yelling at me, I’m on his side! I’m a believer!”
Sure, you’re a believer, and I’m glad — but believing on its own isn’t enough. The last thing the cryptozoological world needs is one more dope running around the woods with night-vision goggles and a backpack full of plaster. Not only does it make Bigfeet lose respect for homo sapiens — which makes it even less likely that they will engage with us — but it’s also NOT FUCKING SAFE. Many of the people who encounter Bigfoot report that it “looked like it may have recently eaten a huge powdered jelly doughnut.” Here’s the thing: Bigfeet don’t eat jelly doughnuts. You know what they do eat? Idiots. Human idiots. That isn’t powdered sugar and jelly, Chris — it’s plaster dust and blood. Be careful out there.
