There you guys go, mocking Rich again. Let me tell you, them house slaps and wood knocks, they be for real (or reeelz, if you prefer). You know how my new house happens to be located in a hot bed of wildlife habitat, right? Well, shortly after Mrs. Salmo and I moved into the new abode, after I'd gone to bed, I was hearing this knocking sound, or maybe it was a slapping sound against the daylight basement wall downstairs. Cuz where else would I put a basement, if not downstairs? Geez youse guys are slow sometimes. Anyway, I heard the sound, and I'd read about house slaps in a bigfoot article in the newspaper some years ago when it was happening in suburban Issaquah, of all places. But that ain't far from North Bend, and everyone, well everyone in Rich's BF society knows that there's frequent BF activity around North Bend. Anyway, something was either knocking or slapping, or both, at my house downstairs. Since there are deer, racoons, probably opossums too, along with bear and the occasional elk, why wouldn't there also be a Bigfoot in my neighborhood?

Exercising the precautionary principle, I loaded my Winchester SxS and ventured downstairs. Slowly. Didn't want to spook the slapper or knocker away. I moved to one of the windows that gave me a good view of close to where the sounds were coming from. Sure's hell, it was real all right. Bigfoot caused the transdimensional wind to blow against several sheets of plywood I had leaned against the deck posts, further causing the outermost plywood sheets to slap and sometimes knock against the other sheets that has a more solid lean on the posts.

Now how cool is that, I ask ya'? Only a highly evolved Bigfoot could exercise transdimentional wind and use it to make only some sheets of plywood slap and knock against other sheets of plywood. And knowledge of use of transdimentional wind would be possessed only by a creature from beyond the Outer Limits of dimensionality. Being well armed, not to mention bare ass naked, I unlocked the basement door and went outside and adjusted the unstable sheets of plywood, and came back inside. I retreated to my bedroom and reported to Mrs. Salmo what I discovered about BF's use of transdimensional wind to make the plywood move. She believed me, as she said, "Yeah, did you unload the shotgun before you put it away?" So there ya' be, witnesses and all. What's to doubt?