In the end it was pride that kept me from posting about the search, online and off, for Bigfoot last week; pride in my own skepticism won out over the hope to see a myth proved. And sure enough, all that jazz about a couple of Georgia boys stumbling onto a Bigfoot corpse last week turned out to be a great big pile of mythical Bigfoot doodie.

It was really tempting to buy into the hype and perpetuate what in my gut had to be a hoax. From the one photo provided, the creature in the freezer looked like a gorilla suit with link-sausage entrails spread across its abdomen. But how, in 500 years or so of exploration had these great primates gone undetected, alive or dead? No Bigfoot bones near dinosaur ones? No clear pictures of anything? Could it really be that 7 ½ foot tall apemen were this adept at hiding? Are they eating their own to keep themselves hidden?

The truth is no less ugly than the grizzly fantasy. Online last week, Bigfoot was all the rage. Last Friday, looking back on Google Trends, searches for Bigfoot were at fever pitch in anticipation of the big press conference planned for that afternoon in Palo Alto. The result of the press conference? Still no body because of an exclusive agreement with Fox News, which would be revealed on Monday? What a gyp!

All that time searching could have focused on the actual video of what observers are calling the elusive “chupacabra,” or something to the effect of goat vampire, in Texas. It looks more like a dog of some kind, now officially overshadowed by a fake corpse. The Web never did find out what that “Montauk monster” was the week before, and we won’t, since the body’s been stolen.

The biggest burning question was why someone would go to the trouble of a media circus for something bound to be found out as a ruse? Sounds like Matthew Whitton and Ricky Dyer had a scheme to wrangle some money out of Bigfoot hunter Tom Biscardi, and perhaps underestimated both the extent of the circus and the thoroughness of those involved. DNA sampling linked the initial hairs provided to an opossum, so maybe they didn’t think anybody’d actually check. The “body” was so encased in ice, according to independent investigator Steve Kulls, posting at Biscardi’s SearchingForBigfoot.com, that it took a few days to discover the rubber foot.

Motive? Well, Whitton, a police officer on leave, and Dyer did just open up a Bigfoot hunting club in the part of Northern Georgia where they claimed they’d found a whole colony. You, true believer, could pay them for guided hunting tours, and they’d gladly take your money and lead you out into the middle of nowhere on a glorified snipe hunt; it’s an old country boy trick. My bet is they tried to drum up some publicity for it and didn’t expect the eager thoroughness of Bigfoot enthusiasts.

You’ll notice the latest fraud revelations haven’t been mentioned on their website yet. Right after Biscardi asked for his money back, the two disappeared—maybe to where the real Bigfoot lives, which probably isn’t in Georgia.

I don’t know. Maybe Mexico?

Your first reaction to the idea some North Carolina parents agreed to let their 16 year-old drop out of school to pursue a career in Guitar Hero is likely similar to mine: um, what? I can imagine asking my parents a similar question in 1992. “Mom, Dad, school’s a drag and I think my time could be better spent playing Sonic the Hedgehog.”

That would have been extra stupid in 1992, when competitive video gaming was featured in an obscure movie only kids of video store owners like me actually ever saw. My dad would have laughed me out of the room while telling me to get on the August-heated roof and clean the gutters before I started my homework. Skateboarding would have been a more sensible suggestion among the “bad reasons to drop out of school” choices.

But in 2008, in the advent of Major League Gaming, your first question probably she be something like this instead: How much money’s in it?

For Blake Peebles, it could be a lot, up to $80,000 per year if he’s good enough—if he’s the best, but his parents, as quoted in this article, haven’t mentioned anything about money. Instead, they only say Blake hated school and wouldn’t shut up about it. I wasn’t aware it was that easy. Maybe if I’d ridden my parents enough, I could have talked them into professional TV-watching.

My grandfather was yanked out of school in the third grade to help “man” the potato fields. Lack of schooling didn’t hurt him much. He retired in his fifties—in the 1970’s. Peebles is home schooled, though, not out of learning altogether, and sometimes those home school kids can really kick academic butt when they want to. Sounds like he won’t want to, though, and his parents are fine with that, it sure seems, noticing how happy he is that he doesn’t have to go to school and can stay up all night playing video games.

Yeah, well, who wouldn’t be?

Air guitar contest at my house. Winner gets…a bag of Doritos.

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