Dear Dr. Eldritch,
I've lived deep in the woods all my life, seeing only my family and the occasional backpacker or hunter. I had a happy childhood, despite being raised in such primitive circumstances, but when I taught myself to read from abandoned copies of "People" magazine, I realized the world is much more than just forest. I've probably seen less than fifty people in my life, so the thought of cities with millions of inhabitants is almost incomprehensible. My parents and siblings are terrified by the concept, but I am fascinated. The nearest cabin with a satellite dish is two days away on foot, but I've made the trip numerous times just to peer through a window at the images on the television screen. I'm only just learning how much there is that I know nothing about! I yearn so much to be a part of that magical world that I've taken the name of one of your most revered celebrities.

One day, as my family sat eating, I casually mentioned that I was considering a trip into the nearest town. I might have gotten less reaction by suggesting we eat Grandmother. My mother wept, and my father launched into a tirade listing the horrible things that would happen to me. They confiscated my magazines, forbade me to go beyond a day's walk from home, and told me to stop thinking about such terrible things. I've tried to obey, but I cannot. The thought of the outside world haunts me more and more. I can hardly think of anything else!

So I've decided to leave the woods, make my way to civilization and seek my fortune there. This is not an easy decision. If I go, I fully expect my family will shun me forever, so I could never return home. And my father's concerns do have merit; our kind have never mixed well with people. You see, I am what you call a Sasquatch or Bigfoot. I may be killed or taken for study, yet I must try. If anyone would know how a nine-foot-tall, hairy simian could find acceptance in the human world, it would be you. Please, can you help me make my dream come true, or must I accept my arboreal home forever?

-- Regis, near the Canadian Border

Dear Regis,

Thank goodness you had the foresight to write to me, rather than just strike off on your own. At best, you would have ended up as the prize possession in a big-game hunter's trophy case, stuffed and mounted in some absurd, aggressive pose. At worst, you'd be caged as some podunk roadside attraction by a hand-lettered sign reading "See Bigfoot $1", where you'll feel lucky if the bored children of vacationers merely glance up from their PSPs just long enough to say "Oh, that's so fake!", instead of trying to poke you with a stick while their parents aren't looking. Rather than suffer from the ignorance of humans, you're going to exploit it.

While considering your options, I quickly rejected those requiring extreme depilatory procedures. You'd spend a fortune, and I assume you don't have much scratch to start with. I also wasn't satisfied with the typical cover stories for the extremely tall and hirsute (such as a scientific experiment gone horribly wrong, or being a lumberjack or Belgian). I wondered, in what realm could your unusual size and hairiness be surrounded by such freakishly bizarre appearance and behavior as to make you seem completely normal? Then the answer was obvious: Professional Wrestling!

Rather than an actual sport, Professional Wrestling is soap opera with hitting. Fortunately it's all choreographed, and professional wrestlers are highly-athletic, specialized actors. You won't need to study acting, however, all you need to portray are rage, mostly by yelling, and pain, mostly by yelling. You will need to learn how to "wrestle" without injuring your fellow performers, as they are actually quite nice (and sane) people when they're not doing a show. You won't even need to create a persona, just bill yourself as "Bigfoot." It needs no explanation, and everyone will just assume you choose to always appear in costume.

Even if you're not one of the most popular wrestlers, your natural size and strength will ensure an adequate fan base to get you in the international circuit. Hire an agent to book your gigs, a publicist to tell everyone you're the most important thing in the world, and a therapist to keep you from believing your publicist. Insist on some sight-seeing time between bookings, and your dream of seeing the world will come true. Don't get caught up in the trappings of fame, and write me when you eventually long for the quiet of the forest. I'll tell you how you can go home again.

Good luck, and let me know how it comes out!

-- Dr. Eldritch