Nobody Loves a Bigfoot Like a Bigfoot Babe Read Free

brain ass so hard he'd come back with snow on his boots.
    "Well, you know what to do, Noreen. Go next door and tell them to switch their two-ways on, or I'll be real pissed with them and put them all on report."
    "But Annie's baked a special cake for Dwight with lots of frosting and whipped cream and stuff."
    "Isn't that so nice for Dwight," Lou replied sarcastically. She warned herself not to raise her voice realizing it would only give her headache further reasons to get more pissed than it already was.
    "Well . . . seeing as it's Dwight's special birthday with his special birthday cake, I won't ask the sweet thing to come out here and clean the sign. So tell Will or Bill to move their good- for-nothing butts, right the hell now!"
    Shit
. . . that did it. Now Lou's hangover had jumped into overdrive. The hammers were pounding the back of her head.
    "Okay, Sheriff," Noreen answered timidly.
    Lou hooked the radio back into the patrol car and stared at the sign.
    "Shit," she muttered, opening her flask and pouring black coffee into a silver plastic cup. She sipped her lifesaver and sighed as the caffeine rush kicked in. Out of the corner of her eye, the sheriff noticed a bush quivering across the road. She smiled as she drank her coffee.

3
    CONCEALED BY THE QUIVERING BUSH squatted Chief Mocking Bird. The 30-year-old bachelor was better known to his friends—and some not so close to him—as MB. His shimmering, raven-black hair was tied back in a ponytail, giving him the desired appearance of a local Native American. There were some who said he was good-looking, and he would have to agree.
    He was perfectly concealed in the undergrowth covertly watching the sheriff. His lean face was camouflaged with streaks of mud and dark green facial paint. He wore his usual camouflage fatigues that gave the desired effect of the local flora. MB was a wannabe member of the BFRO—Bigfoot Field Research Organization. He wished that one day he'd become a fully-fledged member, but after his last attempt they declared him a raving lunatic.
    MB aimed his directional microphone at Sheriff Lou and listened intently. So far all he had was a boring conversation between the sheriff and Noreen over those dumpling deputies. He was tempted to go across the road and say hello to his friend, hence the quivering bush.
    But MB guessed quite correctly that Lou was in a particularly bad mood because of what those mischievous teenagers had done to the town welcome sign, and let's not forget that humungous hangover due to the amount of tequila she'd drunk at Abe's Bar and Grill the previous night with himself, and his best friend, good ol' Duane-o.
    MB chuckled quietly, and mused, she'd never find out who was responsible for defiling the sign. The law hardly ever did find out those responsible for scribbling on the town welcome sign. It just wasn't a priority—not that there were any priorities in Big Beaver.
    MB regarded himself as a stand-up, law-abiding citizen and knew he should tell the sheriff who was responsible, but he—Chief Mocking Bird—was no snitch. And besides, he didn't want to give himself away, not just yet.
    As for that Chief thing, well, Mocking Bird liked to stretch the truth for the tourists, for Old Indian legend tells us that man is judged by his nickname, and if he gains respect from nickname, then he is a fortunate man to be sure. Not to mention, said tourists were always ready to buy him a beer or two or three, and have their photo taken with the Big Brave Chief.
    MB smiled to himself when he thought back a few years ago-fifteen years to be exact-to when he'd been just a mere pup. He'd been hiding in the undergrowth in this exact spot-something he often liked to do, and had watched Lou Magic-Marker the sign with something lewd. She had done it on a dare-dared by Duane, and as far as he knew, she had only done it the once. It was something that he would never let her forget and would often tease her about.
    MB