Triceratops are the worst. Seriously, they move like 15 miles per hour, and they take up two lanes! It’s bad enough you trying to pass one, but then you gotta worry about that tail swinging around. They’ll damn near take the front of your car off. That’s why insurance rates are higher than a T-rex’s gonads.
Man, I just don’t get it. To think just a few years ago when they discovered that stuff in the tar pits out there in California. I leave DNA and all that science talk to the eggheads. I’ll tell ya what though—they should’ve watched that movie where that tall goofy looking guy, you know, the one that was in The Fly, where he gave that fat Santa Claus the whole “you didn’t stop to think if you should have” speech. Yeah, I know that ain’t the quote, but you know the one I’m talking about, everybody’s seen it. JESUS CHRIST, if this guy behind me doesn’t lay off his horn! Seriously, it’s like, buddy, do you NOT see this friggin’ 20 ton lizard’s ass in front of us?
So anyway, where was I? We’ve all seen the commercials. Happy suburban families all ridin’ around in these things, “Plenty of legroom! Great for the environment!” I don’t buy it. I know they do that genetic modification to them or whatever the hell it is, but I mean, the things gotta eat right? And even if you’re not pumping’ gas and oil into ‘em, they’ve gotta crap, right? Or fart? I read an article that said all the farts from those cows McDonald’s owns down in Brazil burnt a hole in the ozone layer. A dinosaur fart has to be worth, at least 5000 cow farts, right? HAH, wouldn’t that be something? If dinosaur farts finally did us in with global warming? That’d teach all those bleeding heart liberals, and their paid off buddies up in Washington P.C.
That’s another thing that really chaps my ass. You see all these politicians getting on the news, preaching about the environment and how these monstrosities are “protected species” and all this other nonsense. How they’re going to create thousands of jobs, making dinosaur lanes and fixing all the damage the damn things did to the roads and highways when they first came out. I still can’t believe they let anyone take ‘em out there before some “genius” figured out how to rubberize the feet. I mean, I’m a working class guy—don’t get me wrong—I’m all for putting shovels in hands to fix up potholes, but you and I both know all those fat cats are sipping champagne and figuring out new ways to spend our tax dollars and…hold on…dammit, that thing STILL hasn’t moved. We’re so gonna be late for this meeting. Anderson’s gonna give us hell.
He has one of those things now too, you know. Friggin’ Anderson. Him and all the other top suits went out and bought them after Mitchell in Sales rode one into the parking lot a few weeks ago. Damn thing knocked over a bunch of bushes and accidentally stomped Shirley’s car flat as a pancake! Hah! Idiot. Man, you should’ve seen Shirley’s face. She came tearing out the door like crazy, screaming like a banshee. Read Mitchell the riot act in front of God and everybody. I nearly wet my pants I was laughing so hard. But you know, as soon as one of them has a new toy, that’s when the pissing contest starts. It’s bad enough when they get into the “mine’s bigger” conversations in the crapper, arguing over whose trophy wife goes to the more exclusive pilates class. Now we gotta worry about them bringing these giant lizards into the parking lot. Like the parking spots aren’t small enough already, right?
Seriously though, can you even imagine it? “Hey, sorry my new ride BIT YOUR CAR IN HALF.” The lawyers must be sweating bullets every time they look out the window. I’d hate to see the mountain of paperwork someone has gotta file for a something like that. If that was me I’d be too embarrassed to ever show my face around the office again. What are you gonna do though, the rich get richer, right?
All the top brass are parading around overcompensating, and us working stiffs gotta pack ourselves like sardines into this station wagon just to save a few bucks a week on gas. And for what? So I can come home to a kid whining that his friend’s mom dropped them off at school in a red Brachalosauron, or Brachyaladon, or, whatever the hell it’s called. Some giant godawful monstrosity with a tail and too many letters in its name. My kid knows them all by heart. Memorizing things he don’t need and his old man can’t afford. Seriously…it’s bad enough they don’t even ride the big yellow bus anymore. Whatever happened to kids just getting on the damn bus? It’s like all of them want their own personal chauffeur now, and these parents are jamming up the streets. I miss the days when the only dinosaurs they wanted were on their tee shirts and backpacks.
Hey, it looks like we’re finally moving. I bet you anything it was some soccer mom that was too busy fixing her makeup or taking pictures with her phone to pay attention to where she was going.
Bah! Just a speed trap. Wouldn’t you know it? It kills me when everybody slows down to rubberneck at someone getting stopped. I’ll tell you what though, I miss the good old days when cops rode motorcycles instead of those raptors.
Those raptor things give me the creeps.
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