I used to tell kids that Bigfoot lived in the woods on our back 40. Honestly? Once a decade there may have been a rabid badger or Cornish game hen with the mange stumbling around back there, but nothing so dangerous or masterful as regal Sasquatch. Yes, there was a time in American history that ole’ coconut head represented the last shred of untamed mystery left in the American Outback. Sadly, these days he’s bastardized everywhere from beef jerky commercials to EDM culture flyers for Hollywood pool parties at the Roosevelt Hotel (see example). He has fallen into that dammed category created by the arch-fiend himself—Andy Warhol— from which there is no escape, where the faulty reasoning of “goofy + random = cool/smart,” or “If it’s wacky and inexplicable, then it must be sourced from big wampum creative genius and HAS to be important.” Let’s look objectively at this flyer, together. The only thing funny here is the fact that Bigfoot’s expectations are about to be foiled, this being predicated by the size of the woman. Old boy is probably used to the shock, awe and terror reaction from women; but he’s not getting it here—she’s a big girl and she knows how to take the meat. Look at her face: “Ho Hum.” He’s like: “Yea! I GOT this!” Right. She’s gonna ride his bat, stare straight back into those wildchild, sex-crazed Neanderthal eyes and she’s gonna… eat… his… shit… up. Burn it down and rip it off. He’s doomed.