FAUX NEWS 4 ATLANTA -- online news Saturday, July 11--LOCAL NEWS
Fulton County commissioners extend medical contract for jail despite accusations of corruption	6 injured, public horrified by shooting at Alpharetta carnival	unfit mother gets hair done while her 5-year-old suffers from brutal beating by boyfriend	officials seek to identify 'suspicious' substance found on Georgia Tech campus
7 men arrested for soliciting sex in Lumpkin County human trafficking operation	Flowery Branch man arrested after child porn allegedly found on phone	Coweta County tax commissioner arrested on drug charges	Human remains found in Yellow River may be that of missing college girl

Hi, Jerri Poole reporting: your favorite fun-loving, sky-diving, pop-savvy, haute cuture journalist chick for Faux News Atlanta, with today's report of the coolest goings-on in the sunniest city of Georgia. At present, for example, our oh-so fair city is being visited by some real live Sasquatches from the Great Pacific Northwest. That's right: the Singing Sasquatch himself, Adam Leroy Forest and his Chrome Squatch Concert Tour arrived yesterday, meeting up for an afternoon press conference before performing a sold-out show at the Tabernacle Theater downtown Atlanta last evening. Today they have a day off so maybe you can even see them being tourists around town.

But yesterday I made sure that I was personally in on that press conference. I mean, culture is my job, right? But mainly it was indeed personal, because I've always liked Adam Leroy Forest and what he does-- and especially because I had been informed that a certain man I hold in extreme disdain intended to be there in order to malign Adam's reputation and win brownie points with some rabid Christian Nationalist goons.

But first about Friday's Chrome Squatch Concert Tour: as I'm sure you already know, there are also several of your standard-issue human musicians participating in the show, most of them already famous from Chrome Pie concerts and albums (like Scott Richter and Charlie Madison), but the three squatches (Adam, Masnia & Magga) do get most of the attention. If you have been following their trail on the Internet, you might have heard about a leaked "secret document" causing some kind of moralist uproar, but I'll let you Google that for yourselves. I'm not interested in snitching uncomfirmed accusations about them, they are musicians and artists, give them some slack.

Their concert last night was a prime example of talent and cleverness, offering a generous mix of new original songs and virtuoso performances of some well-established standards. Notable were several pieces showcasing the rather incredible range and power of Adam's singing voice, such as the multi-octaved French-lyriced "SOS" and his very own "I Like to Run", which had the entire audience on it's feet, dancing to the beat, feeling pretty neat. Also some good old Chrome Pie sci-fi favorites like "98 Light Years" and weird-love songs like "Please Don't Kill Me Baby". This was high energy stuff, a good show. But then I've always been a fan of both CP and S&F independently and feel that the two of them together are simply double the fun.

Just before last evening's concert, a press meeting which I attended was held to interview the band, so for a brief moment I had a chance to meet Adam. I was thrilled. Yes, yes, I'm a fan. So much for unbiased journalism.

But any inclination I had to remain unbiased about this encounter was doomed from the start, because among those attending that press conference was one of Atlanta's most scandalized ex-televangelists (and my very own family's decidedly worst enemy), the despicable Reverend Nathan Jerome Thrallson himself, who was obviously out to dig up one more newsworthy scandal just to get his name back into media circulation. But more about him later, now back to the Bigfoot.

Like most Americans, I've watched Adam grow up on nationwide TV. Twenty years ago, back when I myself was just a 9 year old girl, that poor cute little Baby Bigfoot was found wandering orphaned and alone in the wilds of the Great Pacific Northwest. I, like everybody else, assumed he was a wild animal and me being the kind of girl who really liked animals, thought he could be a really nifty-neat-o pet. Like a fox puppy or a bear cub. At that age I was no more surprised that "Bigfoot" actually existed than if he had been a giraffe, hippo or any other exotic creature you don't usually meet on American sidewalks.

Eventually we all heard him speak words, then coherent phrases and I was almost disapointed to learn that he was not a potential exotic pet, but just a regular old everyday person like you or me, although a bit bigger and bushier.

Since then we've all heard Adam speak many times on YourTube, in perfect well-enunciated American English and occasional fluent-sounding Spanish, even when he was still only a kid. Later he'd be giving talks at Universities and intellectual forums and now finally is singing his own original songs with a voice like God could only wish for. I finally began to understand that Adam was not only human, but more than human.

That Bigfoot was never scary to me: I felt that I knew him, as if he was an old friend of mine, same as we all tend to do with our favorite celebrities. I knew all the numbers about how big he is: well over 8 feet tall, 500-plus pounds, now 22 years old and all that; so I felt quite prepared to be meeting him in person.

But I must admit that suddenly standing face to face with that fully grown buck Bigfoot yesterday was quite intimidating: he IS just SO effing enormous; head and shoulders perched at least two feet higher than anybody else's; his chest so wide, arms and legs so thick and bulging, just a mountain of hairy muscle. Me, I've always been considered an above average-sized woman at 5'8", but standing next to him I felt really tiny and quite humble.

His special relationship with "human" band members Melly and Lissandra has been potential scandal fodder for years, there must be thousands of pictures and videos of them together-- including those nude beach fotos taken of them when they were much younger-- them always looking so cute and tiny standing beside Adam, or riding up on his shoulders. I was surprised to see that both girls are actually rather tall (5'10") in real life, hardly little at all.

I had always assumed that the three of them were innocent victims of an exposé-hungry media, accepting as fact that Adam was just too big to actually engage in sexual activity with any human women, extrapolating his proportions to include a prodigeous endownment of his you-know-what. Besides, he had always behaved so properly in public that it was obviously something he just wouldn't DO, being such a morally correct good boy.

But coming face to face with the three of them, plus the two Bigfoot girls, Magga and Masnia, I suddenly KNEW that Adam was having a good time with all four of them. It wasn't his demeanor that gave it away so much as theirs-- they were clearly all devout volunteers, happy to engage.

I'm not saying this to accuse anyone of anything --hey, I'm on their side --way to go, you guys.

Considering that there has been so much current speculation about Adam's relationships, due to that recently leaked famous/infamous AooE document on the internet (is it true or not?) with all those erotic details, I couldn't help but imagine... well, you can imagine.

So here's the skinny: the guy does radiate a charismatic power, you can feel it from fifty feet away in a crowded room. Am I admitting that I feel attracted to a Bigfoot? Well, I'd probably better not, bigots might judge me. But I've always been attracted to the IDEA of Adam Leroy Forest: the speaking and singing sasquatch, musician, song writer, anthropologist, rock star, potential superhero. There's no denying that he's got star power up the yinyang. Suddenly I could no longer see him as an "innocent kid", but more like a really hot guy. Maybe even dangerous, physically and emotionally. Well, let's be realistic: you know how entitled hot people can get. And this one's absolutely HUGE!

I've read Melly Wielson's uncensored contributions to the AooE document (if we are believing she actually wrote them), she too fretting about the size and weight of a Bigfoot lover--and all this was mentioned years before any indiscretions might have actually transpired... allegedly.

For a second I had to wonder just how careful I should be about whatever questions I asked him, because the ones I had in mind might just offend him. But then he smiled and spoke and I was reminded that this guy was one of the most cultured, noble, intelligent, fair-minded superheroes you could ask for. I recalled why I've always been an AooE fan. Any dread I felt evaporated immediately and I knew I could ask him any honest question.

But I found that I really didn't want to ask him a question to put him on the spot about his private life-- knowing I'd only get a trite "no comment" response anyway. Why bother to ask? I wouldn't want to answer questions about my own (alleged) sex life either. Would you?

But rising up out of the press conference crowd was that once-famous local TV media person who was not so delicate about putting Adam on the spot. A scrawny-looking, white-haired, elderly man dressed all in black, except for a priest's white collar, who shouted out: "Harken, you sinful beast! I accuse you in the name of God the Father Almighty!"

Yeah, it's that bad guy I mentioned earlier: the self-proclaimed Reverend Nathan Jerome Thrallson, once one of Atlanta's most rich and famous TV evangelists, now a parolled ex-con trying to make a comeback. He's notorious for several legal scandals a few years ago, but especially notorious to me personally because my whole family considers him the worst scoundrel and swindler we have ever had the misfortune to deal with. He plucked my parents for everything, caused us to lose house and home, also both our cars at once, casting us deep into poverty.

Thrallson had been your classic billionaire televangelist, living the affluent tax-free life, perched in his multi-million dollar church-mansion in Atlanta's Chandler Park, complete with his fleet of Cadillacs, his own private airstrip and jet planes. But he lost it all when his various pyramid schemes collapsed and he spent a few years in jail for swindle, fraud and-- oh yeah --trafficking with underaged girls. Maybe he still has some money, stashed away until getting released from prison, although the mansion and jet plane are long gone. He still owns his Church of the Most Rightuous God Almighty-- but only as an intellectual property, no longer occupying any buildings.

So he's trying to build up a new following. Now he needs to make some waves, drum up some business, get mentioned in the media by taking a "moral stand" against something sinful. Preferably something currently generating a significantly popular media presence. I assume he considered Adam a perfect target.

That press conference was taking place inside the Tabby, down in the orchestra pit in front of the stage, the room full of journalists and media folk calling for the band to give them sone quotes, so the noise level was quite high. Thrallson had to shout to get any attention, but then he'd always been a shouter. Actually, I think what catches everyone's attention are his crazy-looking bright-blue eyes. He's always looked and sounded like a raving madman. I grew up afraid of him because I knew just how bad a man he actually was.

Of course Adam was hardly afraid of this crazy little old human twerp. And being from out of town he probably had no idea who Thrallson was. But he recognized the tone, registered the insults and tried to ignore the man.

But Lissandra, the band's very pretty dark-haired cello player, could not resist commenting. "Hey, looks like we've got us a crackpot here."

Thrallson ignored the hecklers. "Harken, all of you," he cried, "this hairy animal is the very Beast of Revelations and I have been assigned by God to punish him!"

Pianist Melly, beautiful blonde (daughter of movie star Sally Rathers) also reacted to the drama. "Punish Addy? What, are you going to spank him?" She couldn't help smirking.

"Jest ye not! Punishment for sinning shall be administered by the Lord God Almighty Himself!"

The band's road manager, Australian Ewan Shandler, took Thrallson's accusatory demeanor more seriously, shouting out: "Hey, is that bloody bastard armed? Someone check him for a weapon, please!"

There was almost a moment of panic, but Thrallson held up both his empty hands and did a pirouette to demonstrate that he wasn't packing. "I have no need of mankind's diabolical weaponry, for I am far more vastly armed with the Perfect Authority of God!" Sounding crazy enough to convince a few journalists standing nearby him to reach over and pat him perfunctorily here and there just to make sure there were no hard lumps hidden in his clothes, and there weren't, so everyone calmed down.

Adam finally addressed Thrallson, "Oh all right: exactly which sins are you accusing me of?"

"Fornication! Beastiality. Immorality. I challenge your right to be among decent Christian folk!"

Yes, that beliggerent old bastard insisted upon harassing a gigantic Bigfoot, although only from safely within a crowd of journalists and interviewers, addressing Adam with his self-justified scorn.

Thrallson got scorn in return: "And just who the f### are you, a##hole?" Expletives courtesy of Benny Joe Thaddon, Chrome Pie's infamously irascable drummer. And from Lissandsra, "Yeah, rilly, what he said!"

"I am the Reverend Nathan Jerome Thrallson and have been appointed to speak in the hallowed name of God."

"Appointed by whom?" Adam bothered to ask.

"By God, of course. He is here with me even now."

Thrallson took a beat to wait for some kind of recognition or applause, but all he got was a rasberry from the crowd.

Adam only shrugged and said, "Okay, I've heard of God-- but you, not so much."

"But He has heard of you, Beast. In the Book of Relevations 13:1. And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a BEAST rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns..."

"Sorry, I've only got one head and no horns. Look, see? Nor have I come up out of any sea, but from the woods. Your symbolism is way off."

"It may seem that way to you in your ignorance..."

"Nope, I am quite familiar with comparative mythologies," Adam says, "Campbell, Zodiak, the Illuminati, all that cool stuff, me being an anthropology major. And I've memorized the entire King James version of the Bible, so I can also swap biblical verses with you all day long, if we must. But I really don't want to, since you don't seem to have anything nice to say."

"I am not here to be nice, Spawn of Satan."

"Apparently not, nor are you concerned with facts, for I am no more a foul beast nor spawn of satan than you are. I could just as easily accuse YOU of being Antichrist or False Prophet; Matthew 7:15 to 20."

"How dare you! I speak for the Lord God Almighty Himself! Amen, hosanna!"

"Somehow I doubt that 100%. But then I can only claim to speak for myself. Anyway, you started with the insults, what do you expect?" Then Adam turned his back to Thrallson and offered to answer questions from other journalists, including me.

I tried to ask a question, as did others, but Thrallson wouldn't shut up, he kept interrupting the press conference, insisting upon his right to preach to the congregation, whether they wanted to hear it or not. He continued to harangue Adam and became a major irritation to everyone.

As a journalist myself for a local news media (Faux News 4), I am required to report an event without personal prejudice or opinion, but in this case I just cannot let it go unmentioned that I --or rather, my whole family-- had personally encountered Reverend Thrallson before. About fifteen years ago. Which time frame might remind local readers of a certain Atlanta scandal that became quite newsworthy, concerning Dawson's Pray for Pay grift.

At that time my parents were followers of Thrallson's TV program, my mother being especially devoted to his cult. In fact, both of my parents believed in his version of religion, which constantly demanded generous donations of money. Tithing: the Lord blesses you if you give a tenth of all your income to Him so that He can do good works with it. Although 20% would be even better and you'd be twice as blessed. Just send the money to Reverend Thrallson's private church; he'll take care of getting it to The Lord for you.

But collecting tithes wasn't enough--Thrallson's private jet always needed more fuel, so he offered to perform a special personal private prayer for everyone who sent him a cash donation with a letter defining what kind of prayer they needed. Got a sick kid? Need a prayer to cure your cancer? How about a snappy prayer to resolve a current heartache in your life? If you need divine help, just send money and God will personally be at your service. Guaranteed.

I was just a 13 year-old kid at the time, I figured my parents knew what they were doing, but even I noticed that we had less money for food and expenses. We were eating macaroni and cheese a lot, the cheapest version. Later it got worse, like our power being shut off.

And then all those bags of letters were found by an honest church volunteer who had been ordered to burn them, thousands of unanswered letters asking for special prayers, post dates going back for years, obviously ignored and unattended. Of course, all the checks and dollars had been removed and cashed in long ago.

"There were just too many letters to personally read them all," was Thrallson's excuse, "I'd never have time for my own minestry if I did!" And then came those sex scandals, the divorce, the exploited young choir girls.

Even my parents finally jumped ship and found another church. Although my mother still peeks over at Thrallson's web site now and then (the TV show long gone): she has a forgiving Christian nature. Me, not so much.

Thrallson's brand of Christianity is classic Old Testament fire and brimstone fundamentalism, preaching a harsh discipline of eternal damnation in a flaming Hell for those who do not adhere exactly to his specialized version of old-time religion. He was mostly popular with an older audience who enjoyed his vociferous complaints about "all those God damned modern kids" these days. He seems to have put Adam into that category, only worse because he was a damned modern Bigfoot.

Anyway, I finally got to ask a question: "Adam, you don't seem to get angry about these people who deliberately try to harm you. Are you a saint?"

"Neither saint nor sinner," he said, which gave Thrallson the perfect segué and he jumped on it.

"LIAR!" he shouts at Adam. "You are indeed a callow sinner! You even admit it in that revealing document chronicling your life-- and sins."

Adam couldn't let that one go by unchallenged. "I don't lie." he said.

Another journalist (John somone from Atlanta YourTube) sees his chance and hops in: "Right, according to that same document Adam cannot lie. Just saying."

And another (Marge someone from NSMBC): "Besides, according to mainstream Christian dogma, we're ALL sinners who need to be forgiven."

Then it becomes a free-for-all; "Yeah well, it depends upon your definition of sin, doesn't it?" "Sure, a Catholic might define sin as eating meat on Friday..." "A Muslim woman sins by allowing her face or hair to be seen by men..." "A Baptist sees sin as sex out of wedlock..."

"And I say sex with another species is a Major Sin," Thrallson insists, pointing at Adam, then indicates Melly and Lissandra. "Regard these two harlots."

An anonymous male voice in the crowd mutters: "Hey, I'd sin with either one of them any time!" Laughter, snickering, guffaws.

"Oh boy," Lissandra cheers, "we've finally graduated to being harlots now." Melly adds "Yay!" and does a fist pump. They appear to be more amused than offended. They're used to it, I guess, having endured years of such inuendo from sleazly tabloids like the National Inquisitor.

"Admit it: human women do appeal to you?"

"Of course, they're wonderful. But I don't persue them."

"But if a human woman was to offer herself?"

"Well, that's called consent, isn't it? The law is pretty clear on that."

"I have no interest in Man's Law," Thrallson claims, "only the Immaculate Law of God." "Right, which is at best vague and open to endless interpretations," Adam argues, "perhaps so that moralists and puritans like yourself can impose your extremist religious opinions upon everyone else. I would say the only actual sin is to deliberately harm others for your own gratification-- as you are attempting to do right now."

Applause for a good debate point goes up from the journalists. Amused, Adam bows to the crowd.

Melly steps up and asks, "Why is it that some white-haired old geezers think they have a right to forbid-- and punish --sexual freedom for everyone else, male or female?" "Yeah, not cool," Lissandra pipes in, "who gives them the right to do that, anyway?"

"God gives ME that right!" Thrallson insists, "Amen, hosanna! "

"Naw, she don't," Lissandra denies, "I'm rilly purty sure of that."

"Be careful, young lady, you are speaking sacrilige! God is not a She!"

"Oh but She has been, many times," Adam counters, "Aphrodite, Freja, Tiamat, just depends on when and where."

"But right here and now, God is What He is, mortal definitions do not restrict Him. Amen. Glory. Halleluyah!" Then looking up, ostensibly at the face of his buddy God hovering near the ceiling, he begins to rant:

"We open our hearts, thank you God. Now give me the power to execute Your Rightuous Judgement upon this impure creature, Adam Leroy Forest. Now I do so execute punishment upon you, spawn of Satan, disciple of iniquity."

Lissandra simply has to comment again: "Rilly man, you're just being silly."

"Scilence, harlot! I am not to be ridiculed! I, who know the Covenant of God. I, who know His Authority. I, who know His Self. Amen. Ha ha, Mister Devil, you and your principatilies and powers shall fall away now. Amen, amen."

At this point Thrallson spreads his arms to emulate the crucified savior and goes into Old Testament mode: "In the names of God and Christ, I, having been bequeathed standing in Office as a Chosen Disciple of God, hereby cast this Beast out! You seducer, you defiler! You get off this nation! Get off this planet! I demand judgement upon you; I demand, I demand, I demand affliction upon you. You come down, you come down you sodomite, you come down you Beast, you come down crawling on your belly like the prehistoric animal that you are.

"Because you are a creature of wanton lust and degenerate sin, Our Lord God shal hereby afflict you with... eternal sexual impotence!"

Everyone freezes. The Bigfoot frowns. It's a very dramatic moment.

Thrallson drones on: "Never again may he DEFILE the immaculate flesh of our innocent young maidens. Amen amen. Never again may he POLLUTE the whitest purity of our sisterhood, hosanna hosanna. Never again may he JAB and THRUST his brutal HARDNESS into the delicate wombs of our precious womankind, amen amen hosanna."

"May his frustration rage without end, Lord, amen. May his balls go blue and ache forever, amen Lord. May his tumescence never ever again manifest itself, amen, but remain only flaccid for eternity, amen. And and may the utter shame of his lost manhood-- his failed potency --TORTURE him endlessly, amen amen..." Finally Adam has heard enough, he frowns and says. "Hey, that's a pretty nasty curse you're trying to lay on me. Maybe I'd better discuss it with my lawyers," and turns towards Magga and Masnia, standing beside him.

As Thrallson continues his diatribe Adam addresses the squatchettes in their own language, which none of us can understand, but it's clear that they are talking about Thrallson with disdain, looking and gesturing towards him. Then Adam wanders off to set up for the concert, but the two squatch women remain, scowling at Thrallson. Scowling ferociously.

He has been preening with satisfaction about his performance, just like way back in his glory days as a money-making preacher, pretending that he actually had God at his beck and call. Up to now he has really enjoyed casting that cruelest of curses upon Adam. He suddenly realizes that those two big hairy squatch ladies are now approaching him, both frowning intensly enough to cause him some anxiety.

Okay, Masnia is small for a Sasquatch; but pretty big compared to most humans; a bit over 6 feet tall, elegantly slim but tightly athletic. She's nothing like Adam, that hugely muscular male mountain of meat. But only an utterly unwise human being would want to get into a fistfight with Masnia. She moves like a ballerina, is clearly strong enough to take on any normal human guy, and although young, she has a certain authority. According to the AooE document, she's been delibertly bred to become some kind of super-qualified tribal Elder when she grows up. Magical powers, stuff like that.

But her friend Magga IS built like Adam, only female. She's way more than big enough to be hairy and scary. She does not move like a ballerina, more like an elegant grizzely bear. Or maybe a goddess. Majestic and mighty. Better not F### with her, guys. But Thrallson finally notices that here she is, coming to F### with him.

The crowd of journalists flows politely aside to allow the two squatch ladies passage through, until they arrive face to face with Thrallson. He cringes, but can't run away in that crowd.

Masnia is the one who speaks best English, so she asks, "Are you really trying to cast a shaman-spell to cripple Dadamet?" She frowns but looks to be in control of her anger.

Dawson, however, is much more concerned about Magga, looming so high over him, tall and muscular like an Amazon. She is also frowning --but snarling and bristling as well-- obviously totally disinterested in controlling her anger.

Sounding a bit scared, Thrallson shouts: "Wait! Don't you touch me! I've already called the police! And there are all these witnesses..."

But we could all see how aware he was becoming that legal threats might not mean so much to wild raging savage Sasquatches, who seem pissed off about him being deliberately mean to their boy friend.

Up to now, I hadn't really gotten involved. I was there as a journalist reporting the news, not as a partricipant causing events to happen, but Thrallson had gone too far and I-- Jerri Poole, journalist-- have had a personal grudge to settle with that wicked old phony for a long time.

Adam, being from out of town, probably knew nothing about Thrallson, but I had first hand knowledge of just what a cruel and malicious swindler he was. So I snitched.

"Adam, in case you don't know, this reverend is a local defrocked televangelist involved in several swindles and scandals, who has spent a few years in prison for fraud. He is in no way holier than thou!"

"Yeah," Adam says directly to me, "I kinda suspected something like that, but thanks for the tip."

The two Sasquatch women move in, pressing a shoulder each up against Thrallson, pinning him tightly between them, not quite squashing him. He's still on his knees and they squat, solidly trapping him as the three of them become locked into an inextricable clump. Then the girls begin to chant what seems to be their own shamanistic ceremony. Made me think of wild-west Indian medicine women, although much quieter. I could barely hear it, which is consistent with Nokhon ceremonies being mostly silent, so as not to attract attention.

Thrallson tries to protest once he's sure that they aren't intending to hurt him. He becomes immediately offended that they are putting their cursing power on the same level as his own Bible-powered hellfire and damnation routine. Unable to slip free, he goes back to his own ranting and raving, attempting to show everyone that he-- and only he-- is on the one true wave-length to God.

But then he defecates in his pants and vomits. The crowd of journalists roars in amused disgust, focusing their various cameras on him. He looks very embarrased. Those two squatch girls continue smoothly along with their chanting, their shaman magic apparently overpowering Thrallson's christian curses. Then he also starts sneezing prodigiously, rivers of snot pouring from his nose, tears bubbling from his eyes, urinating in his pants, until he finally has to give up trying to compete with those squatch chicks.

"Fo... fo... foul witches," he tries to accuse them of being, but is too busy retching at his own disgustingness. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to... gaak..." He tries to struggle to his feet, but is too unsteady and ends up sitting on the floor, slumped and sagging, sneezing and gagging, making a big brown wet spot on the floor.

Adam has been watching this show along with his band and all of us media folk, he says something in Nokhontli and the two girls stop chanting and rise up from their squatting position, no longer squeezing Dawson between them and, unsupported, he collapses. Quickly and kindly, Masnia catches his head so that it does not get hammered to the floo, then lets him lie.

Meanwhile the band is setting up for the concert, ignoring Dawson on the floor, floundering like a baby seal. Most of the people in the crowd around him knew who he was and, like me, remembered what an a##hole he had always been. Once a rich and popular televangelist, now a disgraced and disgusting ex-con, there was no one eager to help him. I certainly wasn't interested in helping him up. I mean, I hated the old son of a b####.

But you can't just leave an old man in his 80s laying sprawled out on the floor, obviously helpless. Although I WAS surprised that it was ME who finally approached to make sure he was all right.

He was pretty out of it, looking wild-eyed and crazy, afraid of everything. I don't think he recognized me, although we'd met in court several times, 15 years ago. Of course I'd been just a kid then, it was my parents who'd been litigating, along with 70-80 other plaintiffs who'd also been defrauded.

He looked at me confusedly, but must have recognized that I was a journalist, because he asked, "Don't you want an exclusive interview with me?" It was a feeling-sorry-for-myself wail.

I considered, but then decided that no matter how much I disliked this man, I was still a journalist on the job and this was my chance to make a headline. But I took a while deciding so he started to cry.

"Does anyone even know who I am?" Kinda pathetic-like.

"Yeah, I do know who you are," I admit. "You ruined my family with your swindles. But sure, let's do an interview," and he told me his story.

I interviewed him in the toilet for about ten minutes, while he was trying to clean up his mess. He had a heavy load of brown in his pants, and was quite embarrassed about it. But he narrated as he was busy scraping feces out from the seat of his pants and weeping like a baby. Gruesome.

It was a pretty good story, though, about how the innocent young kid's father was a famous evangelist and raised him to become one too, knowing all the sneaky tricks of the trade and how to live tax-free. But secretly hating the lies and hypocricy he had to commit...

No, wait. I'm not going to tell his story. I refuse to give him a platform. Thrallson doesn't deserve to have his message delivered.

After the concert I had the chance to interview Adam. Actually, he came to me afterwards to ask about Thrallson's health, since I'd been the only one to help the old preacher get back up onto his feet again. Thrallson had staggered out of the Tabby before the concert had even started. I don't know how he got home.

Adam always seems so calm and easy going, but he admitted that Thrallson's curse had pissed him off. It was so arrogant and cruel, a comitting of genuine evil in the name of God. I've read the AooE Document so I knew something about Adam's experiences with Sasquatch shamanism and their magical Syssk tricks. So I asked him if he believed that such a curse could actually affect him-- that is, make him impotent.

"I suppose it could," he said, "but Magga and Masnia are both adept at Nokhon magic and would never allow it to interrupt their sex life."

"Aha," I said to him, "you are admitting at last that you even HAVE a sex life?"

"Nope. Not yet, it's still a secret." But he winked.

He and I were talking alone just outside the Tabby, his other band members relaxing after finishing the loading of equipment into their big truck, and all his "girls friends" were gathered over there too (all 4 or 5 of them?). There were also "groupies" from the audience, interested in meeting and perhaps scoring a famous rock star for the night. Although none of those thrill-seeking chicks had the nerve to make a play for the Bigfoot there, I'd guess they were scared of him.

I suddenly realized that this was my big chance to actually flirt with Adam Leroy Forest, if I wanted to.

I mean, he's a big (literally huge) rock star and I'm single at this moment. Hey, I could be a groupie too! And this Bigfoot guy IS pretty loveable. Scary too, oh yeah, just his size, dangerous even. But the thrill? I think I was actually considering it, pro and con.

But just like Adam and his maybe-lovers, I'm not going to admit anything in public.

Jerri Poole,
Atlanta, Georgia