As the last of the so-called “abominable snowmen” – and no abominable
snowboy anymore, believe me – I thought it was high time I cleared up
one or two (ahem – eight) misconceptions about my kind.
1. Abominable snowmen love the term “abominable snowmen.”
Actually, we prefer to be called “God’s little bloopers.” Seriously,
guys, the term is just as a leetle intolerant. I mean, if they were
called “fiendish Italians,” would you ever order another extra-large
meat-lover’s? Think about it.
2. Abominable snowmen are mythological creatures.
Can mythological creatures roll their eyes? Also, most “fabled
beasts” have, like, four heads and chicken wings and shit. What’s so
“mythological” about a hairy albinoish dude roughing it in the
3. Abominable snowmen are made entirely of snow.
Come on, guys. That’s just retarded.
4. Abominable snowmen are evolution’s “missing link.”
Doubtful. We’re furry, true – but so are Armenians. On the apishness
scale, we rank somewhere between Rhesus monkeys, and your average
cabbie. And we’re not Bigfoot’s cousins. If there are Bigfoots
(Bigfeet?) out there, I’ve never seen ’em. Personally, it sounds a
little made up.
5. Abominable snowmen subsist chiefly on a diet of ice and snow.
The first time I heard that one, I remember thinking, WTF? While I do
eat my share of snow (water can be a little hard to come by), I
certainly don’t live on the stuff. Is that honestly what people
think? That I sit around eating frost cakes, and ice pudding? Yeesh.
6. Abominable snowmen are notable for their savagery.
Not a total lie. I mean, if I don’t get my eight hours, I can be a
little grisly. But on the whole, I’m a pretty decent
7. Abominable snowmen prefer cold weather.
It’s not that we prefer it, no – but have you seen the price of real
estate in Florida? I mean, half a million quid for a scrubby little
bungalow. I’d kill to be sprawled out on a lawn chair, stuffing my
face with Valencias. If heading South were at all an option, I’d already be
8. Abominable snowmen have never been photographed; this is excellent
proof of their non-existence.
Believe me, you don’t see too many shutterbugs skipping from crag to
crag with their 35 mms. And as for the whole “photos as proof”
theory, got any nice 8 x 10s of God that I could take a quick peek at?
Didn’t think so.
That about does it. I mean, I could nitpick, but those are all the
major beefs. A last bit of advice, though. If you’re ever in the
neighbourhood (not very likely, I suppose), and find yourself face to
face with a pale, hairy eight-footer (yours truly), do us both a
favor. Don’t run. Don’t yell. Don’t scramble for your cell-phone
camera. Try shaking my hand, saying “Hello, there, big fella.” I’ll
have you up for coffee. And ice pudding.