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Gold Digging with Sasquatch

Gold Digging with Sasquatch

Carl the Flamingo’s on-again-off-again-but-mostly-off-again fiancé, Turlana Quackenbush, was thrilled when she got an invite from Sasquatch to go gold-digging.

Perpetual bachelor Carl had been giving her the cold shoulder for weeks. She was determined to show that commitment phobe who’s boss!!! The nerve of some middle-aged, pansexual, kleptomaniacs, thinking they could ignore the likes of the one and only most illustrious Turlana Quackenbush!!! Didn’t they know who her daddy was?! (Well, actually, no. Technically, no one here really knows anything about Turlana. We’ve actually never seen her. This story was cobbled together via a combination of recountings by Sasquatch and angry voicemails received by Carl. Could it be that spotting Turlana in the wild was even more difficult than proving Sasquatch exists?!)

Determined to show Carl that she could hook an even more successful bachelor than a sunglasses mogul, Turlana spent weeks researching gold-digging. All of the blogs she read said that a bodycon dress with sky-high heels and a fur coat were the way to go. She settled on a light-orange bandage dress, light-blue strappy stilettos, an albino possum fur coat, and an oversized pair of light-orange sunglasses. For hours, she waited patiently in her hairstylist’s chair, getting an impeccably voluminous blowout. Her nails were lacquered and sculpted into the perfect talons. A vision of glamour, she was ready for the hunt.

You can imagine how totally mortified she was when she showed up to discover Sasquatch dressed in a cabbage tree hat, heavy leather boots, and a pair of heavy-duty dungarees holding a shovel. As she exited her vintage Stingray, Sasquatch was shocked by the sight of her.

“Turlana, what the f*ck are you wearing?! I mean, you look fabulous, but you’re dressed to go clubbing.”

“You said we were going gold-digging!!! I thought we were going hunting for sugar daddies. Are you telling me that I wasted $300 getting vajazzled for NOTHING?!”

“Uhh, didn’t you think it was weird that we would be looking for rich guys in the middle of nowhere in the woods in broad daylight?! I meant digging for gold. Literally.”

“We can’t even get bottle service out here!!! Hmph. My outfit is going to get totally ruined!!! This freaking sucks!!!” she whined.

“Just send Carl the dry-cleaning bill. Look, you’re already here; why not make the most of the day and have fun?! C’mon, you might even find some gold!!!” He thrust the shovel into her perfectly manicured hand.

Turlana grumbled but picked a spot and proceeded to dig. Sasquatch decided to try his hand at panning for gold in the stream instead and wandered off. A few hours later, he couldn’t wait to show Turlana the tiny flecks of gold he had harvested. He returned to where she’d been digging and was stunned to discover Turlana had dug a hole about 3.5 feet wide, 8 feet long, and 6 feet deep. She turned to him, her eyes wild, her face smudged with dirt, the pits of her dress stained deep orange with sweat.

“I was SO wrong about this place!!! Isn’t it wonderful what a little outdoor activity can do for the soul?! I feel AH-MAZING!!! I can’t wait to bring Carl here. I’ve already left him a voicemail telling him we’re camping here next week!!! Hey, you know, if you and I hurry, we still have time to freshen up and hit the clubs!!!”

Cautiously, Sasquatch replied, anxious not to tip her off by how disturbed he was, “You know, I’m actually pretty tired, I think I’m just going to head home…but thanks SO much for coming out!!! Lunch soon?!“ He gave her a hug and waved as she drove away.

As soon as she was out of sight, he immediately called to warn Carl, who, per usual, did not take anything Turlana does seriously.

“Carl, you’re not listening to me!!! She literally dug a GRAVE. And I’m pretty sure it’s for YOU.”

Carl poo-pooed him away and instead used the story for inspiration to crank out these Gold Digging With Sasquatch light orange BFGs with ice-blue lenses. He couldn’t wait to show them to Turlana on their camping trip. (Carl’s “love” language IS sunglasses, ya know.)



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