In northwestern Montana a night ago, a forty-four-year old man was run over while trying to stage a Bigfoot sighting. He had donned a Ghillie suit—a military camouflage outfit resembling foliage but which could be mistaken for coarse fur—and was standing either on the shoulder or in a traffic lane of State Highway 93. Instead of being seen and mistaken for a sasquatch, he went unseen and was just plain squashed when hit and run over by first one car, then, for good measure, another. Needless to say, the man, whose name was Randy Lee Tenley, died on the scene. Tragic, unfortunate, family is in our prayers and so forth, but let’s not even pretend this isn’t funny. Even the most moral among us (our girlfriends) have to smile morbidly at this. Picture this poor guy lurking by the highway, probably giggling inside his Ghillie suit, feeling quite clever and doubtless imagining the next day’s headlines—which you can be sure he did not think would read “Local Idiot Fatally Flattened.” We know, we know—tragic, unfortunate, family is in our prayers and so forth. You know what the worst part is, though? Not only did the guy die in brutal fashion, but his death was completely in vain—no Bigfoot sightings were called in that night.