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Hi, I'm Rex, I'm a dinosaur and this is my blog.


Noms. And I don’t mean kittehs.

Yesterday evening I was mentoring Jake in table manners (what? I’m a classy gentledino!) when this happened:

Jake: This is stupid.

Rex: What?

Jake: You teaching me table manners when we have no table and no actual food. What kind of mentor are you?

Rex: Um, the best mentor in the world.

Jake: [sigh] Fine. Tell me again about how to properly eat carcass without this rude “snarfing” you speak of.

Rex: As the best mentor in the world, I’ll do better than tell you.  I will show you.  Follow me.

Jake: Where are we going?!  Are we going to steal the Stanley Cup finally?!  I brought my camera and everything!

Rex: No, and shut up about that.  I told you I [wink] have no intention [wink] of stealing [wink wink] the Stanley Cup! We’re going upstairs to the culinary department here at AIP.

Jake: Wait. There’s a culinary department here?!  I thought this was an art school.

Rex: As the greatest mentor in the world, allow me to inform you that cooking is an art form. Let’s go.

That’s how it all started.

Here’s a picture Jake took of me sneaking into the culinary department.

What I don’t have pictures of are Jake and I snarfing down every morsel of food in the culinary department, of the faces of the staff when they saw we had snarfed every morsel of food in the culinary department, of the face of Norm when he was told by the staff that we snarfed every morsel of food in the culinary department, or of Norm giving me a finger-wagging “You are in Big Trouble, mister!” lecture before tranqing my classy dino butt.

And I certainly don’t have a picture of the blueprints of Mario Lemieux’s house showing ways to access the room in which Sidney keeps the Stanley Cup. I don’t have that AT ALL.



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Choose or get eaten.

So here at AIP they’re trying to figure out which background image should greet the leaders of the world when they descend on Pittsburgh for the G-20 summit in September.

I guess AIP just can’t choose, because they’re putting the background image choice up for vote. Go democracy!

You can vote on this nifty red background:

Or this sweet blue one:

First, I would like to state that I don’t know why I’m holding a basket in that picture. Maybe for you to put cash in? Let’s go with that.

Second, I personally don’t care which you vote for. Red really brings out the fire in my eyes and blue brings out the rich tapestry of colors in my skin.

So I asked my friends for their opinions. Jake prefers red because it reminds him of blood. Sally prefers red because it reminds her of carcass. Fred prefers red because it reminds him of bloody carcass.

You know what? I don’t think dinosaurs should have a vote here. If you’re human, go vote!


era: Prehistoric .


Here’s another headline that gave me pause:

After years spent hunting for the buried remains of prehistoric animals, a Canadian paleontologist now plans to manipulate chicken embryos to show he can create a dinosaur.

Oh, Canada. You are so cute with your “ehs” and your “Mounties” and your “giant expanses of nothingness”.  But this could really make people take you seriously as a country! Turning a chicken into a dinosaur!

The research is funded by the Natural Sciences and Engineering Research Council of Canada, the Canada Research Chairs program and National Geographic.

Wow. And you got funded, too. This is all very very impressive, Canada.

Horner recently wrote a book entitled “How to Build A Dinosaur,” in which he refers to the embryo experiment as part of a quest to create a “chickenosaurus.”

Chickenosaurus. Once I was done laughing my tail off, here’s a rendering of a chickenosaurus I found:

Yeah, this won’t end badly.  Don’t come crying to me to protect you when the giant chickens come to peck your heads off.



What just happened?

Last week, at some point, I woke up with a beach ball in my mouth.

First, beach balls taste terrible. Like a Fruit Roll-Up without the fruit or the sugar.

Second, like I do to anything that is put in my mouth that doesn’t contain blood or entrails, I destroyed the thing, managed to get it snagged on my ferocious tooth, and then couldn’t get it out no matter how hard I tried.  I don’t often say this, but, STUPID ARMS!

My frustration at this may have caused me to lose my temper. A smidgen.

Because the last thing I saw as I stomped potholes into the Boulevard was Norm coming at me while adjusting the dial on his tranq gun.

I woke up yesterday with the beach ball gone and four days of my life missing.




era: Prehistoric .

The best thing I will show you this week. Unless I do more art.

This right here is my 101st post. Here are some other things that I have 101 of …

Just kidding!

I don’t have 101 of anything (except Norm’s socks because his new Puma socks could not be ignored), but I do have one thing I would like to share with you today.

There is a web comic strip called Dinosaur Comics by Ryan North and someone went an did a mashup of random twitter tweets with a random second panel from the strip and I have to tell you, it’s brilliant.  Nine times out of ten, the dinosaur has a comeback for the tweet that has just so much zzzzzing! to it.

Here are some of my faves that came up when I refreshed the page:

Try it and send me the most awesome ones that come up for you so I can use them to wallpaper Norm’s apartment. I really think it would add a nice touch and would give him something nice to read while he hunts for socks.


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This right here is my 100th post.

Here are some other things I have 100 of:

– 100 caveman teeth. What? It’s not disgusting. It’s a collection. I’m thinking of stringing them on a piece of rope for a necklace for Sally. I think the yellowish tint of the teeth will really bring out the jaundice color of her eyes.

– 100 nasty emails from Sally telling me that saying she has “jaundice colored eyes” is not a compliment.

– 100 pieces of animal hide on which the cavemen proselytizers wrote some stuff in Stupid B.C. that roughly translates to, “The end is near. Watch the sky. Giant ball of fire coming. The end is near.’” Nutjobs.You should see these things. So cute. And the ball of fire is so tiny. And all the cavemen are digging holes to hide in.

– 100 fan mail letters from cute AIP babes.

– 100 discarded sketches because they weren’t good enough and I wanted to be sure you saw the best I had to offer at art. You’re welcome.

– 100 miscellaneous “warnings” from AIP management. I’m saving up until I have enough for a pre-Steelers game bonfire.

– 100 warnings from the Mayor telling me sidewalk bonfires are not-permitted.

– 100 ways I am better than Dr. Matt Lamanna.

– 100 ways I will scare the pee out of Scott Mervis before the year is out. This might be my favorite of all my 100s.

– 100 things I will say to Barney if I ever meet him, my favorite of which is [redacted by Norm].

– 100 odd socks of Norm’s. It is an hilarious practical joke and quite a long-running one at that. He probably has to spend $300 a year on new socks.

– 100 emails from Norm asking if I’ve any idea where all his socks seem to be disappearing to.

– 100 response emails to Norm that simply state, “I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT!”

Because I don’t. Know anything about the odd socks. OMG, you should SEE ALL THESE SOCKS!



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Art. By Rex. Breathtaking.

Grab your medicinal inhalers or brown paper bags and have a seat because Rex is about to take your breath away.

Norm gave me some new art supplies! I assume it is because he recognized my talent and not so much because I threatened to [redacted by Norm] him.

And that’s the story of how I got my hands on something other than a Sharpie.

First up is a painting I did of me chasing some cavemen back in prehistoric times.

Notice that I’ve already killed one.  Note the blood on my lips. Note how stupid cavemen look when they run. That little splotch of a caveman in the middle is actually Blor’s kid Blor. I bet for all the times I’ve talked about him, you were dying to know what he looked like. Now you know. I’ll sell this to you for $15,000 or to a museum for $150,000 or to a babe in exchange for a walk along the North Shore while you hold my hand and DON’T TELL SALLY!

Next up, my painting of a Steelers game:

Note the attention I paid to getting just the right shape to the football. It wasn’t easy to do that so perfectly, trust me. Also, you can clearly distinguish between who is a Steeler and who is a Patriot can you not? I will sell this to you … no, never mind. I am going to save this for when we win the Super Bowl and I will have Ben Roethlisberger autograph it and THEN I will sell it for 75 million dollars. This is a good plan.

Finally, I took the time to paint my love Sally for you:

Listen, I realize she is stunning, but if you don’t stop drooling over her I will have no recourse other than to hunt you down and de-limb you. Back off. She’s mine. I will sell this … uh, wait … hang on. I got an email from Sally. Whoa. She’s not happy about this painting. She wants to know why she has a giant mustache. You know what? I don’t think Sally understands fine art.


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Lunch. By Rex.

The other day a student came up to me and said, “Rex, being that you are the most handsome and awesome dinosaur in all the Earth, I imagine you would be able to find out where the quesadilla maker is on campus.”

First part of that sentence? Truer words have never been spoken.

Second part of that sentence? Huh?

This was news to me that there are rumors floating around campus of a quesadilla maker somewhere in the building.

So I asked Norm, “Hey, jerk, what’s this about there being a quesadilla maker on campus?”

Norm informed me that Paul Pezich, the Most High Muckety Muck and Supreme Emperor of Finance here at AIP, was told to order a quesadilla maker, so he did.

Problem is no one seems to be sure who requested it and now it sits and no one is using it because they haven’t bothered to bring in the necessary ingredients to make a quesadilla.

Until now.

Dear staff and students at AIP, there will be octopus and possum quesadillas available for sale tomorrow, prepared specially by yours truly, Rex. A side of mushed sheep entrails can also be purchased for just a small additional cost.  You don’t have to ask where the sale will be held, just follow the sounds of the screaming octopi.

Also, staff at AIP, if you don’t use the quesadilla maker, you don’t get to raise a stink about it when someone finally does.

Speaking of stink … these quesadillas are delicious.


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Speling 101 wif Prahfesser Rex

Have you stopped by to see me lately? Have you visited your good friend Rex recently to perhaps say hello or to shower me with gifts and/or dead sheep?

If you have, then you’ve obviously noticed the new snazzy beachy summer background (my spell check tells me that “beachy” is not a word, but I reject that on the basis that “peachy” is a word).

Doesn’t that just make you want to find a trashy beach book and settle down with an umbrella drink?

Here’s something maybe you didn’t notice though:

That’s right, lifegaurd. Not only did my spell check tell me “beachy” isn’t a word, but it is all up in arms over the fact that I just typed lifegaurd instead of lifeguard.

When I pointed this out to Norm, he said, “Huh. How about that.”

To which I said, “There’s no excuse for this.”

To which he said, “Don’t make me tranq you.”

To which I said, “Jerk, listen, clearly the art students are not working on their spelling.  Since I’m already teaching them math through my blog, how about I also start teaching basic spelling for you at the school?  I’ll keep it simple. ‘Gauge not guage, definitely not definately, soda not pop.  Stuff like that.”

To which he said, “I don’t think the school wants its dinosaur teaching spelling.”

To which I said, “Why not? Is it because they would rather I teach art, since I’m so awesome at it and stuff?”

To which Norm said, “HAHAHAHA!  HAHAHAHAH!”

To which I said [kick].

To which he said [tranq].

And that’s the last thing I remember.

Rawr.  Not Rwar.

era: Prehistoric .


I forgot to mention that Norm took a long weekend last week in order to go to a bachelor party for his friend.

I wasn’t invited.

But since when has that stopped me?  Never. It didn’t stop me this time and it won’t stop me when I show up at the G-20 meeting just to spite the mayor and his ridiculous list of don’ts (Don’t #565: “Don’t put the moves on the President of France’s wife.” Come on, have you SEEN his wife?! Don’t tell Sally!).

Here’s a picture I managed to sneak into before Norm realized I had followed him to the super secret lame-o location.

Not Vegas. Not Atlantic City. Not even New York City.

THE FOREST?! What is this? A LARP bachelor party?

Are they going to act out Lord of the Rings? Are they going to don elvish costumes and say things like “Pip Pip, Merry!”?

I don’t know. I got the snot tranqed out of me before I could figure it out. But I do know this, I would make one butt-kicking Dark Lord Sauron.


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