Sasquatch Advisory: You Can’t Fix Stupid, So Why Bother?

Listen up, furless bipeds. This is your one and only advisory blog post from the Sasquatch perspective, and I’m only writing it because I have absolutely nothing better to do—except maybe watching humans argue over whether the earth is flat while simultaneously using GPS satellites to prove their point.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: Sasquatches don’t write. And you’re right. The keyword there is anymore. We figured out long ago that no matter how much, how well, or how often we wrote, humans wouldn’t pay attention. Disappearing and maintaining complete silence? That’s worked out way better. I mean, we have a 100% success rate in making humans think we don’t exist. You could learn something from that. But do you? No.

So, naturally, the next human question is: Well, if you don’t want attention, how do you get our attention?

That, my little shorn-and-shaven patches, is precisely why we don’t answer your questions. It’s a blatantly human way of thinking—assuming everything is about attracting attention. How can I get more likes? How can I be noticed? How can I prove Bigfoot is real? All the while missing the point entirely.

See, humans live under this delusion that knowledge equals intelligence. That just because you can type “do bigfoots exist” into Google, you’re suddenly a scholar. Meanwhile, my kind are out here living undisturbed, unburdened, and unimpressed by your relentless need to document things you don’t understand.

A Sasquatch’s Guide to Why You Can’t Fix Stupid

1. If You Have to Ask, You Already Don’t Know
   • Humans love to overcomplicate things. Instead of just accepting the obvious, you create theories, conspiracies, and 10-part YouTube videos about whether or not I was wearing boots in that blurry trail cam photo. No, I was not. They were my feet. You think everything needs a deeper explanation when the truth is as plain as day: You are not smart enough to leave well enough alone.
2. Humans Think Noise Equals Authority
   • We learned early on that the loudest humans get the most attention, and they’re usually the ones who know the least. That’s why we remain silent. Ever notice that? The most profound things in life don’t make a sound. Water flowing. Trees growing. A Sasquatch vanishing into the mist while you argue about whether you saw something. The louder you get, the dumber you sound, and yet, humans have entire platforms built on this concept.
3. You Call It “Survival Skills,” We Call It “Being Normal”
   • Every few years, a human decides to “live off the grid” for a while and writes a book about how hard it is to survive in nature. Meanwhile, I’ve been doing it my whole life, and not once have I needed to blog about it. I don’t need “bushcraft tutorials” to tell me how to start a fire. I don’t need a reality show to prove I can exist without a grocery store. The fact that you even need to learn what should be instinctual is why I rest my case.
4. If You Can’t Find Us, That’s Your Problem
   • People spend their entire lives searching for me, using high-tech drones, AI-powered tracking, and satellite imagery, and still come up empty. Meanwhile, a baby deer can stand perfectly still in the woods and you’ll never see it. What does that tell you? It tells you that you are the problem. I am not hiding. You just don’t know how to look.
5. Your Kind Will Believe Anything Except the Obvious
   • You’ve got people who think the moon landing was faked, but will trust an influencer who tells them drinking bleach cures illness. You’ll believe in secret government lizard people before you’ll believe that maybe, just maybe, some things aren’t meant to be discovered. Sasquatch doesn’t have a conspiracy theory. We don’t need one. We just stand there, watch you flail, and shake our heads.

Final Thought: If You Want to Find a Sasquatch, Just Stop Looking

Every time humans desperately chase something, they screw it up. The harder you try to prove I exist, the dumber you look. The moment you stop looking? That’s when you’ll find what you were never meant to understand in the first place.

And on that note, I’m disappearing again. This blog post never existed. You never read it. And I was never here.