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Begone DOGMAN

Moon’s high. MAGA Sasquatch Buckhair Johnson spots movement by the goat pen.
Dogman Mahmoud steps out — fur matted, keffiyeh swinging, eyes like green LEDs. Growls “FREE PALESTINE” and charges.

Buckhair roars “NOT ON MY FARM” and swings first.
Dogman counters with a hummus jar to the jaw.
Sasquatch grabs a “Build the Wall” sign, uses it like a riot shield.
Dogman lunges low, teeth snapping, trying to drag him down.
Buckhair knees him in the ribs — sounds like two watermelons colliding.
Dogman rakes claws down Buckhair’s arm; Buckhair headbutts him so hard the crickets stop chirping.

Mud, fur, and goat poop everywhere. Both breathing like steam engines, circling, waiting for the other to blink.

Neither does. They slam together again — pure cryptid thunder.

Some say the shockwave knocked over three counties’ worth of lawn chairs.

The Dogman came at dusk, clad in black with a red anarchist patch sewn to his jacket, eyes glowing with hostile glee. He prowled through the trees like a shadow with teeth, kicking over garbage bins and scratching anarchist symbols into the siding of the shed. His target was clear: the quiet house nestled on the edge of the woods, where warmth and order still lived. But before he could breach the backyard, something stirred in the gloom. A hulking figure stepped from behind the pine trees—Sasquatch, massive and unwavering, the bill of his red MAGA hat catching the last rays of sunset. He cracked his knuckles, snorted once, and stood between the creature and the porch light like a wall of ancient muscle and conviction.

The Dogman growled something about decolonizing the forest, but Sasquatch was done listening. He had seen this before—creatures twisted by chaos, masquerading as rebels while leaving only ruin behind. With a single thunderous roar that sent birds flying for miles, Sasquatch lunged forward. They clashed in a blur of fur and fury, Dogman’s scrappy rage against the old beast’s righteous might. When it was over, Dogman lay in the brush dazed, his bandana torn and ego bruised. Sasquatch adjusted his cap, looked back at the house, and with a grunt of satisfaction, disappeared once more into the trees. Order, for now, had been restored.