The Terrifying Tale of the Lake Mission Viejo Monster

Gather round, ye landlubbers, to hear the tale of the Lake Mission Viejo Monster.

No, not the Loch Ness Monster. That be a different thing. 

Yaarr.

(Yes, for the sake of this patently false story, I am a grizzled sea captain, leading a cruise on the lake at midnight.)

What? The Enormous Eel of the El Toro Reservoir? ‘Tis naught but a hoax.

But the Lake Mission Viejo Monster? She’s as real as me good eyeball.

I keep me good eyeball in this pickle jar. Don’t be stealing it. Not the jar nor the eye.

They call the monster Lessie. Don't know why.

And she's as terrifying as one o’ those scaly horrors from that picture show How to Train Your Dragon!

Still have nightmares about their grasping claws and—

 ‘Twasn’t a kids movie! It chilled me bones!

Stop laughing! 

Thank you.

I’ll never forget the night I saw her.

It was a cold California winter, 2003. So cold ye would actually consider putting on gloves. Ye’d have changed your mind, but still ye’d still have thought about it.

I was fishing for frogs and mourning the loss of me one true love—the short-lived Fox science fiction television program Firefly.

Aye, ‘twas a great show.

I had just tossed me fishing pole off the side when I heard a HORRIFYING ROAR!

It was me cell phone. Not rightly sure why I chose the “horrifying roar” ring tone.

While I silenced the blasted device, I heard something else splashing on the other side of the boat.

I leaned down to the water to get a better glimpse. For a moment, I thought I saw a scaly flipper flash by underneath the surface.

Then IT HAPPENED!

Me wallet fell overboard.

Yarr, if you’ve ever lost your wallet, you'd know it was truly a mournful day.

Just when I was about to dive in after it, there was a bloodcurdling roar, even scarier than me ring tone.

A great reptilian tail hit the center of the ship, cutting in twain.

…sob...

Sorry. I still get choked up--Most o’ me Spider-man comics were in there!

In the distance, I saw a giant shadowy figure slither away in the fog. It turned its terrifying head toward me and held up a small brownish object in its clawed hand.

It was me wallet.

The infernal beast had taken it!

Since then, I’ve sailed the waves of Lake Mission Viejo, hunting Lessie and searching for me lost treasure—all $15 dollars of it, mostly in coupons to .

So as we voyage along the savage waves of this tiny sea, clip your wallet tight to your jeans, like this old sea salt has done.

For you never know when—

ROAAAAAAAAAAR!!!!!

Sorry, that’s me ringtone again.

Wait. Check your back pocket.

That’s right. Your wallet … is gone!

Ach, fine, I’ll give it back.

I keep telling the police it makes the story scarier if I keep the wallet.