What’s this? The opportunity of your afternoon. In monster-hunting tradition, we’re taking an undercooked graphic and working backwards. This is…err…
Sure, a template! Yes. And it’s for a contest! A creative one. We’re making, you know…
Maybe later. The cryptid-seduction community’s pretty demanding. Anyone else?
Absolutely not! But we are making strong stuff. Stronger than any Devil Dog, or normal dog, or budget.
I don’t have a better idea! Welcome to the BIGFEETS Trap Contest. The internet’s second anti-sasquatch competition. The first was a ploy by web-savvy cryptids. We’re taking submissions at [email protected], until October 24th.
I’m sure it is. Instead of going down that road, let’s send our worst cryptid traps to [email protected], by October 24th. If you remember the Custom Van Contest, you get the idea. We’ll feature our favorites on the site, and crown one proud entrant Earth’s Worst Monster Hunter.
Ever caught a cryptid? We haven’t. The Mountain Monsters team definitely hasn’t. Let’s keep that streak going. The BIGFEETS Trap Contest challenges every inch of wilderness knowledge. Each gram of paranormal expertise. The less, the better. Remember: if a child can escape it, Bigfoot can’t.
As BIGFEETS listeners or cryptid-worshiping traitors, you know how important non-traps are to defending cows. One working trap would kill Wild Bill. He’d be gone. Mountain Monsters is one mail-order bear trap from tragedy. If you’ve seen an addict lose a leg, you know it’s hard to get a Spelling Bee back on track.
That man needs your help. Simply fill the form above with an ACME Bigfoot trap. I suggest a visual in the Schematic area and text elsewhere, but I’m not your producer. Go where your muse takes you. Just don’t capture, kill, or photograph a real cryptid. That insults Mountain Monsters’ soul.
It’s time to turn it all around. To finally win. To show the world just how little you know about traps. Come put your training in anything but engineering to work. Ideally, nothing. Mountain Monsters may star fake woodsmen hunting faker monsters, but it embraces real ignorance. (Note: Engineers are welcome to betray their craft. We might side-eye your extra syllables, but it won’t impact judging.)
Send your Wumpus Traps to [email protected], by October 24th. You might be the next Buck! The bandana is heavy, but your will is strong.
As a new podcast’s first contest, there are countless frequently asked questions. We’re happy to clear the air.
1900HOTDOG’s podcast recapping Mountain Monsters, an inept monster-hunting show with more episodes than the nightly news. Hosts Robert Brockway, Seanbaby, and Jason Pargin attempt to decipher how it exists. And find answers! Stupid, embarrassing answers. You’ll love it.
Alongside improvised cryptid lore, Mountain Monsters features hillbillies imitating broad outsider stereotypes of hillbillies, an act of triple-theater no one is qualified for. Everyone looks like a retired Yosemite Sam, and acts like a prime Yosemite Sam. Meth cameos.
In the wreckage of this almost-show, BIGFEETS finds inept traps, lazy lore, improv comedy, inept traps, crippling addiction, confused extras, inept traps, and transcendent human beauty. Transcendent human beauty is hard to draw, so this contest’s about traps.
Absolutely. BIGFEETS mocks and celebrates West Virginia monster hunters. Said hunters often present kindergarten-grade traps as foolproof. You’re invited to send the worst trap you can think of, by editing the template above. We’ll showcase our favorites, and crown one winner.
Yup.
I can’t explain how far ahead that puts you.
Confident! I like it.
Nice. Back up all this big talk, and you’ll be the Triple H of filling two-foot holes with water. You definitely won’t catch any cryptids.
You can do better than this. Or rather, worse. But here’s an example of a low-level Bigfoot snare.
Darius has a lot to learn about nontraps. Someone should show him how it’s done.
Intrigued? Of course you are. Submit your beautiful creations to [email protected], by October 24th. And LISTEN to BIGFEETS. Zero cryptids, guaranteed.
