We Asked A Man On Meth If He Believes In Bigfoot And He Stole My Wallet

As a journalist, I am bound to a few simple rules: always get the interview and always find the truth. Well, today it seems the truth found me, because today I asked a man on meth if he believed in Bigfoot, and now I don't have my fucking driver's license. The truth is, I didn't want to be a journalist anymore.

My boss reamed me today. I totally just ate shit. "Why would you just ask a random guy," he asks. "What possible insight could he have had?"

Well, boss, I believe in the common man. I believe we all have a story in our hearts, and I thought this fine gentleman looked like he might have insights into Bigfoot, and whether or not we could track him down.

How was I supposed to know he had a knife on him? How was I supposed to know he was tweaking out? How was I supposed to know he didn't give a shit about Bigfoot? I'm a journalist, not a meteorologist, I can't predict the damn future.

Well, that's that. I'm done with journalism. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to talk to this fine gentleman who's standing at a 90-degree angle and ask him what I should do now that I'm unemployed, and take whatever advice he gives me.