The scourge of humanity

30 Sep

I don’t have a daughter (Tyrannosaurus sexies are rarer than a straight dilophosaurus). However, if I did, I would probably lock her in a basement from age 12-17 (not in a Fritzl way, mind you). These emotional timebombs have a greater impact on society than probably any other demographic. It is, most assuredly, more than they deserve. It is because of these pubescent prima donnas that we, as a society, will have to explain to future generations what a One Direction is, and why we let it happen on our watch.

I’ll admit my aforementioned strategy is probably a little on the extreme side (extreme times though…), so maybe I’ll just deny them access to a phone. We rexes are ready-made social pariahs, so this should be easier for me than for the puny humans. No phone, no voting for big brother (really), x-factor/Australia’s got talent (nothing like an original idea), and any other number of completely fucked, un-Australian, crap factories. Now I’m not saying that if we as a collective stood up and said “ENOUGH” to these dateless dropkick dictators, that it would necessarily result in the end of crappy talent quest shows. And I’m not saying that if it did, that the programs “created” by these “creative” “people” who “work” for the networks would be any better, but I doubt they’d be any worse.

 

Surely that’s a gamble that we can’t afford not to take.

T

Advertisements
30 Sep

Of all the fruits, I think mandarins are easily the most obnoxious. If they were a dinosaur, I wouldn’t be friendly towards them (not that I have a great track record of being friendly to other dinosaurs…)

When someone starts to eat mandarin, everyone in the vicinity knows about it. Sure, it’s a NICE smell, but that doesn’t mean I want to be swimming in it, you jerk. All that smell is saying is “hey, I’m a delicious mandarin and you don’t have one”. I could have a mandarin if I wanted to.

Sometimes I do, and the problems get worse. Mandarins come in their own packaging (oh, aren’t you fancy), but that packaging can be a nightmare to unwrap. If mandarins were as good as they thought they were, their packaging would have a damn zipper. I’m told this may not be such a big deal for puny humans, but when you have arms like a splintered toothpick, it’s quite a challenge.

If you manage to get through the orange minefield, you then have to face the spider’s web of string that will drive you mad if any of it gets in between your teeth. THEN you have to break it into it’s preordained segments (why can’t I just eat you whole, stupid fruit).

Finally, you have in your claw a nice, string free segment of mandarin. You put it in your mouth, full of bone-crushing, foot-long death spikes, only to have the momentary joy disrupted by the presence of a pip. After close to an hour of preparation, there’s still a fucking pip. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!! Just when you think you’ve conquered this smug little bastard, it has the last laugh.

Now you’re left with a messy desk covered in string, skin and the odd half chewed pip, sticky fingers, annoyed neighbours, and the strong sense that you had been bested by a pint-sized orange. Fantastic.

From the dawn of time to prime time

30 Sep

I think I speak for all dinosaurs (perhaps not hadrosaurs, those duck-billed lame-osauruses), when I lament over the lack of visibility given to the opinions of our kind. That’s why I’ve decided to take it upon myself to create a blog where puny humans can get an insight into the world through the eyes of a creature that’s seen a thing or two in his 66,000,000 years (only 24 in dino-years).

Enjoy it; should be roarsome.

T