The shocking answer?
Oodles.
Back in 2000,
an anonymous
woman mailed two
photographs to the
Sheriff’s Department
of Sarasota County that
depicted what looks to be
a large, foul-smelling, hairy,
ape-like creature RIGHT
HERE IN OUR BACKYARD,
the city of “We Live Where You
Vacation” fame.
I can’t speak for anyone but as far as
I was concerned? I felt super violated
and endangered from the moment I heard
about this two weeks ago.
With such a threat
lurking in the suburban shadows right here,
how could anyone even think of going to work
or school instead of dealing with this crisis-level
skunk ape situation?
For what it’s worth, the Internet claims
that someone was able to figure out
who this skunk-ape-photographing
woman was but that she preferred
to remain anonymous because she
didn’t “want any
fuss or people
with guns traipsing around her
house.” That’s understandable. I’m
suspicious of people who
“traipse” as well.
insider
THE STINK OF SUCCESS
Note to self: look up the definition of the word “traipse.” Is it
perhaps related to “trapeze”?
I was determined to sleuth out the truth. And who better to
embark on such a mission with me than “Ralph” (I will continue
to use false names so you won’t be able to tell that it’s my crazy
friend “Mike”). “Harry” has a digital camera with a 3x optical
zoom, for one thing, and he owns a cooler big enough for a 12-
pack. Plus, he found a fishing net in his garage that he was 84%
sure might be strong enough to “catch us one of them ape folk”
and allow us the chance to find out what terrible secrets it was
hiding - through enhanced interrogation methods, if need be.
MAY 2018 | SARASOTA SCENE 89
Laughing MATTERS
by Ryan Van Cleave | Illustrations by Darcy Kelly-Laviolette
Good news/bad
news.
First, the bad
news. I had
not-so-covertly hoped to make
$11.3 zillion off my online
comedy program outlined in
excruciating detail last month.
To everyone’s surprise, I fell
a bit short of that goal, largely
because I never got the domain
name www.TheGreatBigHaHa.com,
since all of my GoDaddy coupons
were expired. As someone wise once
said, “Hope is tomorrow’s veneer over
today’s disappointment.”
Note to self: look up the definition of the
word “veneer.”
Note to self: It rhymes with “beer.”
Note to self: Promising!
The good news. Now that I’m not lounging poolside
by my new mega-mansion in St. Croix, I’m able to
contribute to the pages of Sarasota Scene Magazine
for another month, which—and let’s be truthful
here—means I have yet another chance to win
a Pulitzer.
Note to self: Send anonymous note
alerting the Pulitzer committee!
To that end, I did what any good enterprising humor
column writer would do. I joined my pal “Steve” on a mission to
locate and (possibly) subdue the Florida Skunk Ape.
Now the Skunk Ape—A.K.A. “Florida Bigfoot,” “swamp cabbage
man,” and “swampsquatch”—is an elusive figure that allegedly
haunts the Florida Everglades and has just been named the
FBI’s official #1 cryptozoological menace to the state of Florida,
according to my friend, who knows things like this.
So right about now, you might be thinking that hey, the Everglades
are way over yonder. What danger do skunk apes pose to us right
here in sunny, skunk-ape-less Sarasota?
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