Presented by The Art Institute of Pittsburgh

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


All I want for Christmas.

alligator meat

I know. I know.  I haven’t written anything in days and the reason for that has nothing to do with me stalking the Mayor in order to exact revenge on behalf of AIP over the tuition tax.  It does however have everything to do with … uh … something else and I’m not going to tell you what so that you’ll have plausible deniability when you say, “No, I don’t know anything about that.”

I also spent some of my free time over the last few days combing through the internet to find the perfect things to include on the list I will leave laying around for Norm to accidentally discover — my list entitled, “Things I Want for Christmas, and if You Know What’s Good for You, You Will Buy Them for Me or I Will Hurt You While You Sleep. Rawr.”

And look at what I found!


No, it is not a dating service.  It is a place to buy exotic meats for that special dinosaur in your life named Rex.

They have EVERYTHING!  Deer meat, lion meat, alligator meat, llama meat, wild boar meat!

Now, calm down, animal lovers.  I’m sure 1-800-exotic-meats doesn’t go around shooting llamas.  I’m 100% sure they just walk behind the llamas waiting for them to drop dead, and THEN they take their meat.

Regardless,my “Things I Want for Christmas, and if You Know What’s Good for You, You Will Buy Them for Me or I Will Hurt You While You Sleep. Rawr.” list goes like this:

1. Lion meat, but only if the lion suddenly dropped dead so as not to get the animal lovers writing me nasty letters

2.  One whole week without me waking to find a tranq dart sticking out of my snout because you are a lousy shot who couldn’t hit my butt if I painted a bullseye on it.

3.  Bull meat.  See number 1.

4.  Ten minutes alone with the Mayor

5.  The return to me of the Stanley Cup that I rightfully stole

6.  A chance to speak at Barney’s funeral

And boy, if Norm gets me number 6 for Christmas, I already know what I’ll say at the funeral.  I’ll say, “BOO-YAH! Told you I’d outlive your purple [redacted by Norm], you [redacted by Norm] piece of [redacted by Norm].

‘Tis the season!


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Rex Remembers Again.

Tonight is the Portraits of the Past Gala here at AIP and yours truly is not only going to be there, daintily snacking on pterodactyl munchies (which is what I assume they serve at “galas”), but I’m also sure to be featured in some of those historical AIP photos.

For instance, here I am a few decades ago checking out the students doing sketches of each other:


You can’t really tell, but in that picture, I was sitting for a portrait being sketched by a total babe.  And I wasn’t wearing any clothes.

Don’t tell Sally.  It was ART.

Here I am sneaking up on AIP’s founder (left, holding the hat):


If you think his screaming was funny, you should have seen him throw that hat at me in stark terror before he realized it was me.

That was a fun day and since it was before AIP invested in a stockroom of highly powered tranq guns, I basically got away with it.

But here’s something I didn’t get away with.  Admiring the lovely ladies while they worked so hard in class:


All I did was breathe a little and it shook the windows, maybe exploded a few of them and then all this crazy screaming and throwing hats and pencils and purses at me.

Excuse me for breathing, ladies!  They did eventually forgive me when I agreed to be a sketch subject for one of their classes.

Again without my clothes.  It’s the story of my life.

In honor of this event celebrating our past, I decided to dress for the occasion and I dug up some of my oldest accessories:


I can see you’re rendered absolutely speechless by the sheer magnitude of my dapper-ness, but just wait until you see me in my tuxedo tonight.

Also, completely unrelated, do you happen to know the best way to get sheep blood out of a tuxedo?



Crafty little Christmas card of amazing handsomeness.

You have no idea how many fans I have and the reason is because I’m not sure there’s a number that goes that high.

And because I have so many fans, if I wanted to mail each of you a Christmas card, it would probably cost Norm about six trillion dollars in postage.

And since Norm is a stingy wrangler who has fits of dry heaves every time I ask him to open his wallet and spare me a few dollars, I’m pretty sure we can safely assume there aren’t six trillion dollars available in AIPs postage budget.

So I went to my friend Jordan, a student here at AIP, and I said, “Jordy, could you design a Christmas card for me?  About me?  OF me?”

And he said, “Don’t call me Jordy, Barney.”

And after we had a little argument that turned into a blazing fight, LOOK AT WHAT HE MADE!


Look at the Terrible Towel replica, just like the one I wept into this Sunday!

If you would like a Christmas card from me that you can fold into your very own miniature me and have ME on your desk forever and ever or until the next asteroid, all you have to do is click on this picture:


Print it out and then follow the directions.

If you need help, here’s a video of the card being assembled:

Well done, Jordy!

Oh, did I mention I won the fight?


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A chat with AIP’s President


So the other day, I was sitting with my laptop on the Boulevard, minding my own business while shopping online for Christmas gifts for Norm and Sally and Matt Lamanna and Barney (Play-Doh, diamonds, coal and botulism, respectively) when AIP’s president suddenly appears in front of me and he is pacing up and down the sidewalk, clearly worried about something, so being the kind and caring dinosaur I am, I asked him if he was okay:

Rex: WOULD YOU CUT IT OUT?!  That muttering and pacing and muttering and pacing.  I’m trying to shop here.

George:  Sorry.  I’m very worried.

Rex: Yeah, join the club.  Did you know you can’t just buy botulism online? Is this not 2009?!

George:  The mayor is trying to tax the students.  I’m very worried.

Rex:  You already mentioned.  Why don’t you just eat him?

George:  It doesn’t work that way, Rex.  He’s going to tax our students 1% of their tuition.  Taxing education!  Whoever heard of such a thing?

Rex:  Not me.  You want ME to eat him?

George:  NO!

Rex:  What good is owning a monstrous killer death lizard if you never let him help you?

George:  NO!  You will not harm the Mayor.  Final answer.

Rex:  Stretch him a little bit?

George:  No!  We will deal with this in council chambers and through lobbying and through the courts.

Rex:  Ok.  How about I just pick him up, swing him around like a Terrible Towel, and then fling him into the river for a swim?  He might actually enjoy that.

George:  Rex …

Rex:  You humans are no fun.

George:  Anyway, I’m so worried–


George:  Our students already pay their fair share.  They live here and work here and spend their money here and that means they’re already paying taxes and bearing some of the burden.  Why burden them further?

Rex:  Oooh!  Look! has the Play-Doh Barber Shop on sale.  Norm would play with that for DAYS.

George:  –This is like being punished for choosing to be educated in the City of Pittsburgh.  It doesn’t make any sense.

Rex:  Know what else doesn’t make any sense?  How freaking expensive coal is.  Geez. I might need to sell another piece of art.

George: –is a short-term solution that abandons ethics and logic and will generate long-term damage to the higher education community in Pittsburgh. I’m frustrated beyond belief.

Rex:  Are you SURE I can’t just stretch him a little?

George: —–

Rex:  YES!

George: NO!  I will call Norm.

Rex:  Go ahead.  If he tranqs me, he’s getting coal, too.

George:  I’m going back in now.  Thanks for letting me talk it out.  Behave.

Rex:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Promise.

Then after he left I started tiptoeing up to Grant Street but someone tipped Norm off because I lost consciousness around Cherry Way.

SOMEONE isn’t getting real Play-Doh for Christmas.


Wrangler Note:

Despite Rex’s best intentions the river probably isn’t the best way to influence City Council and the Mayor’s Office. If you would like to oppose this tax you can email your City Council Member from the city’s website.


Caption it! Without the use of the words “tiny arms.”

The Post-Gazette holds a little caption contest each week, and this week, they are seeking captions for this illustration:


I guarantee that some smart-mouthed people are going to send in captions like, “Hey, whaddaya know!  Their arms CAN hold some things.”

MY suggestions:

“It’s a shame.  Steelers lose three in a row and dinosaurs start driving off of cliffs.”


“He was driving by Creation Rex when he became so overwhelmed by Rex’s superiority, and he just froze like that.”


“It’s Creation Rex.  He was trying to run down Barney.  Barney won.”

But that last one is a total lie because the day I’m behind the wheel and I see Barney in the crosswalk all, “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family …”

Mark my words. I will win.


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Fetch, Spike!


While reading the morning news, I came across an article from the Chicago Sun Times discussing that paleontologists, those quacks, have discovered that there were giant crocodiles that once roamed Earth, walked like dogs, and supposedly ate dinosaurs.

I’ll give you a moment to laugh at that.


Okay.  Read:

“We have crocs that ate plants and galloped and ate dinosaurs and were flat as a board,” said Sereno, who unearthed the skeletons over the last several years in the Sahara.

The crocs include:

• BoarCroc (Kaprosuchus saharicus), a 20-foot meat-eater. It used its snout for ramming and three sets of dagger-shaped fangs for slicing dinosaurs it ate.

Hey, paleontologists?   I’m a T-Rex, a monstrous killer death lizard, the king of dinosaurs, the king of beasts, the king of Steeler Nation.  We dinosaurs kept BoarCrocs as pets.

And the only thing my BoarCroc Spike ever rammed his snout into was Blor’s kid Blor, because come on, that’s just funny to watch him run to his dad Blor while crying, “Agooma seechee woo!” which in Stupid B.C. translates roughly to “I am a giant whiny baby.”



Light Up Night 2009!

Because I don’t say this enough, I am a freaking fantastic mentor.

Because I don’t get enough pats on the back for that, please, hot babes, come here and give me a pat on the back.

I took Jake to Light Up Night in downtown Pittsburgh last Friday and while any old dinosaur can use his perfectly right-sized and useful arms to hold a camera and snap some awesome pictures, it takes a special dinosaur, a talented dinosaur, to instead create original artworks depicting the fun of the evening.

This first one is called, “NO, JAKE!”

As you can see, Jake wanted to steal the bag of toys from Santa.  I tell you, you allow your mentor to participate in one teeny tiny Stanley Cup heist and the next thing you know, he thinks he can just steal anything he wants.  I scolded him and lured him away with the promise of fireworks.

As you can see, the city was so crowded it was hard to find a place for two giant dinosaurs to stand to watch the fireworks display.  Lucky for Jake and I, we were able to watch while taking a dip in the river.   If you look at the bridge, ninth person from the left, you’ll see Norm aiming the tranq gun at us.  He failed.

Lousy shot.  After the show, we headed over for some ice skating at PPG plaza.

What?  Don’t you judge me unless you can say that you’ve never flung human beings out of an ice rink to make room for you and your mentee to skate freely.

Like I said, I’m a fantastic mentor.  Come pat my back.



Super Ninja Robot Sea Monster Dino!

While I was angrily ranting and raving about those jerk Geekologie writers making fun of my arms, AIP student Eric happened to be walking by and this happened:

Rex: RAWR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Eric: You okay, Rex?

Rex: RAWR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Eric: Uh-oh. What happened?

Rex: RAWR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  [shows Eric the Geekologie post]

Eric: Aw. Silly nerds.  Here, this will make you feel better.

And Eric whipped out his drawing pad and quickly sketched a picture showing how he views me:


Yes. Robot Ninja Sea Monster Dinosaur rules Pittsburgh!

I asked Eric to be sure to include in the sketch the Geekologie writers, Barney, Matt Lamanna, Scott Mervis and all the other enemies I have and he did.

Don’t you see them?

They’re in that there plane I just sent down in a ball of fire.

I feel better already.



The post in which my anger mysteriously shrinks my ferocious arms.

I am a regular reader of the Geekologie site because they love dinosaurs and all things dinosaur related.

That is until THIS post, pointed out to me by my adoring fan Mike:


Putting aside the sacrilege of the whole thing, they had to go and rip on my arms?!

My arms can’t hold anything, is that right, Geeks?

Then how, dear Geekologie writers, am I able to pick up this tranq gun to shoot your —

Picking up this tranq gun right now and coming to your–

Darn it!

Picking up this –

Pick –


Somebody come here and shoot me already!



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Pitt is still it!

Being the amazing and devoted mentor that I am, I took Jake to the Pitt/Notre Dame game this weekend for some college football fun.

We started our evening with plans to tailgate but unfortunately we couldn’t find a grill large enough for our carcass.  I won’t say what the carcass used to be but I will say this: If any large animals are missing from the zoo — large striped animals that look like horses — Jake and I don’t know anything about that.

Forgoing tailgating, we headed to game.  Here we are in the stands watching one of the more tense moments of the game:

You’ll notice Jake is screaming his head off, which is pretty much how he was the entire game.  I’m not sure he has the constitution to handle the up and down rollercoaster that is college football.  When Baldwin caught his amazing touchdown pass, Jake roared so loud the lights flickered. True story.

After the game and the appropriate amount of Notre Dame fan heckling, Jake and I went to Bettis Grille 36 for a late dinner only to discover that they didn’t have chairs big enough to accommodate our size.

Don’t worry.  I’ve already lawyered up over this obvious dinosaur discrimination.

Jerome better watch his back.  And his mailbox.  That Cindy Berger chick doesn’t take any crap from anybody, not even The Bus.


I’m thinking $87 million sounds about right, Cindy.


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