Presented by The Art Institute of Pittsburgh

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

Rex

I AM WEARING LIPSTICK.

Of course I lost a bet!

Do you think a fearsome monstrous death lizard wakes up one morning and says, “Today looks like a good day for cross-dressing complete with thirteen inch stilettos?”

No, what happens is that a student brings me four goats and says, “Bet you can’t eat just one.”

The gambler in me takes the bet. The dinosaur in me loses the bet.

And this is what happens:

Is “haute couture” French for “mandibles of death” because that’s the only way that sentence makes any sense.

The only good thing about this lost bet? They’re piping Lady Gaga music out of my very severe shoulder pads.

Hey, even a fearsome predator like me can appreciate a little “Rawr rawr ah ah ah.”

Rawr.


era: Prehistoric . species:
Rex

Salt to taste.

I don’t know what country this is from or what language it’s in, but someone needs to tell the humans that dinosaurs eat them, not the other the way around.

Gee, I wonder what recipe one would follow to cook that up? I bet it goes like this:

Buy dinosaur meat. Preheat oven to 800 degrees. Open dinosaur meat. Sit and wait for certain death when that dinosaur’s mama comes and swallows you whole. Be digested alive.

Now, on the other hand, the recipe for this:

Would go something like this:

Steal 97.80 of whatever that currency is from Norm’s bank account (no, Norm, of course I don’t not have the numbers), purchase sabertooth meat, open sabertooth meat, devour sabertooth meat raw, use saber’s tooth as a toothpick, get tranqued with triple the necessary juice for pilfering Norm’s bank account for which of course I don’t not have the numbers. Lose three days.

Worth it.

Rawr.


Rex

Hunting … something.

I’ve been very quiet for almost two weeks now and that’s because I’m up to something — hunting wabbits.

Just kidding. Like I would hunt rabbits. Those little hoppers wouldn’t satisfy my appetite unless I had about twenty dozen of them, buttered up like popcorn, which incidentally butter-drizzled rabbits are my favorite movie snack.

As I was saying, I’ve been up to something very … Canadian. I’ll fill you in someday when I can be sure I won’t be arrested for sharing it.

In the meantime … I don’t know anything about this:

All I’ll say is this: That Justin Bieber kid sure can run.

Rawr.


era: Prehistoric . species: ,
Rex

Let’s go Pens!

As you can see, I am showing my Penguins pride today by wearing my white shirt for tonight’s White Out as our boys take on the Senators in game 1 of the first playoff round.

I wish I could do more to help the Pens’ mojo, but Norm has this really ridiculous rule about me not being allowed to eat Senators.

Rawr.


era: Prehistoric . species: , ,
Rex

Googlesaurus

Norm informed me that today is Google Day here in Pittsburgh, and so I figured that means I’m supposed to Google stuff.

So I decided to Google dinosaurs, specifically I decided to Google “dinosaurs are the best” because I figured I would find some really great dinosaur fan sites maybe being run by some really great and cute babes.

However, I didn’t get past typing “dinosaurs are” before Google decided it knew what I might want to search for:

Dinosaurs are Jesus ponies?

Dinosaurs are dragons?!

Dinosaurs are a myth? Yeah, come here and I’ll show you all the pointy myths in my mythical mouth.

Norm walked into the room as I was sending a strongly worded email  to every website that came up when I clicked on “dinosaurs are a hoax.”

Norm: Why are you banging on your keyboard so hard? And why have you destroyed my room again?  Also, have you seen my calculator watch?

Rex: Hmph.

Norm: What are you doing? You’re not sending Chachi hate mail again are you?

Rex: It’s Google Day, you said, so I’m “Googling” and I discovered that Google is prejudiced against dinosaurs because as soon as you type the word “dinosaur” into the little box, it starts spewing lies at you.  I mean, “JESUS PONIES?!” 

Norm: Oh, relax.  Try typing in “Barney is” and I think you’ll feel better.

What do you know?  I DO feel better.

I’d rather be a mythical Jesus pony than a very real, very flammable antichrist.

Rawr.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species: ,
Rex

Insanity defined.

Einstein defined insanity as “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Webster defines insanity as “mental derangement.”

Blor defined insanity as “boodee meechie fu ma” which roughly translates from Stupid B.C. to “setting dinosaur’s tail on fire.”

Would you like to know how I define insanity?

Paying $12,000 to wear dinosaur poop on your wrist.

Vesenaz, Switzerland-based company Artya says the watch set in fossilized feces will sell for 12,000 ($11,290) and comes with a strap made with skin from an American cane toad.

New business idea!

You come here to the school, line up, and for the low low price of only $5,000, I will tell you what time it is and then I’ll poop on your wrist.

Rawr.


Rex

Kiss me, I’m awesome and I have perfectly useful arms.

This Saturday is the Pittsburgh St. Patrick’s Day parade, and as it is for all downtown parades, I’ll have the best spot on the sidewalk to watch the action as the parade rolls right in front of me.  And this year I borrowed a camera from the Photography Department so that I can take pictures of the action.

Let’s discuss the rules again, in case you’ve forgotten:

1.  Do not sit on me.

2.  Do not climb on my back.

3.  Do not climb on my head.

4.  Do not touch my tail.

5.  Do not put anything in my mouth except carcass.

6.  Do not bring food within 30 feet of me if you don’t plan to share it with me.

7.  Do not stand in between me and any of the horses taking part in the parade.

8.  Do ignore all of these rules if you are a cute babe.

As you know, the Art Institute of Pittsburgh is partnering up with WearPittsburgh to provide three shirts you might want to wear at the parade.

Norm asked me which I wanted to wear and this is what happened:

Norm: Whaddaya think?

Me: Do you really need to ask?  A shirt that instructs cutie pies to smooch me or two shirts that don’t?  Do the math.

Norm: Math?

Me: Dinosaur plus handsome times a billion plus instructional shirt minus Sally equals lots of smooches for Rex.

Norm: That’s a hell of an equation.  I see you borrowed a camera from Photography.

Me: I’m going to take some unbelievable pictures of the parade.  You might want to clear a date at the art gallery for a showing of my photographs.  I’ll sell them for $40,000 each, easily.

Norm: Have you taken a picture with a camera ever in your life?

Me: Hmm, can’t say that I have.

Norm: I see. Why don’t you go ahead and practice on me?  Go ahead. Pick up that camera and hold it up in front of your face and click the button.  Go on.  You got it in your hands?  Got it?  Okay, now using your GIANT LONG arms, lift that camera up high enough in front of your face so you can see the view-finder.  Up. Up. This is up, that is not up.  Up. Higher. Higher.  Are you lifting, Rex?  That’s all the higher you can go?  To your throat? Do you see my point, Rex?  Don’t stomp on the camera, REX!

Dear Photography Department, about that camera you loaned me.  Yeah, I don’t know anything about that.

Rawr.


Rex

Blor’s kid Blor wuz here.

When I told Norm that I was pretty sure it was Blor’s Kid Blor that left me that cryptic message a few weeks ago, it took Norm about five minutes to regain his breath what with the falling down and pointing and laughing at me.

Well, look what I found scrawled on a whiteboard in one of the school’s classrooms while I was NOT on my way to raid the culinary department:

First, this proves that I’m not paranoid.  Blor’s Kid Blor is somehow alive and he has picked up English and he is stalking me in an effort to exact revenge.

Second, the only thing Blor’s Kid Blor ever did to my butt in a cave fight was watch as it sat on his ugly face, making him really regret that I ate month-old mammoth meat that morning.

The cavemen had to invent a new word to describe the smell.

Rawr.


Rex

[redacted]

The other day, Norm and I had this conversation.

Norm: Hey, Rex, first, did you see that promo for “Tyrannosaurus Sex?” And second, I’m getting some complaints about you lighting students’ backpacks on fire with your Olympic torch.

Me: First, TYRANNOSAURUS SEX?  Did we suddenly subscribe to DinoMax and you didn’t tell me? And second, I don’t know anything about that.  Kids are liars.

Norm: They showed me their burnt backpacks and the hair on the back of their heads.  Most of them have reverse mullets now thanks to you.

Me: Hee. Yeah, I don’t know anything about that.  So, what’s this about dinosaur sex on TV?

So on Valentine’s Day, I tuned in to the Discovery Channel of all places to watch as scientists attempted, quite poorly, to explain dinosaur sex to the humans.

You can watch a video here, but as a real live dinosaur, I am telling you that these so-called “scientists” didn’t get ANYTHING right about dinosaur sex.

Let me explain to you how it REALLY works.

[redacted by Norm]

I know. Amazing. Try not to be so in awe of me the next time you see me.

Rawr.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species:
Rex

Wah wah wah.

What?!  What?!  I’m sorry, can you speak up?!

I can’t hear you over all the moaning and the whining that Pittsburghers are doing just because we got a measly 30 inches of snow.

Live a couple million years during the Ice Age and 30 inches of snow is cause for play, not WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE panic.

The first night of the storm, I walked over to the CMU campus to see how the smartypants were doing, and I accidentally stumbled into an epic snowball fight:

(source Boring Pittsburgh)

See those two guys by the light pole, kind of looking down at the ground like they’re hunting for something? Yeah, they’re looking for their brains because taking a dino-sized snowball to your face will definitely result in spilled brain matter.

Then, it was again with the whining and the moaning and the “Rex, YOU KNOCKED OUT HIS BRAINS!”

He’s a CMU student.  I’m sure he has brains to spare.

The next morning, there was so much snow on the ground I was able to play hide and seek with the children in Squirrel Hill.

(source)

You should have seen the look on that kid’s face when I jumped up from underneath the snow pile and roared at him.

Then it was again with the whining and the moaning and the “Daddy, I peed my snow pants.”

I headed from Squirrel Hill to the University of Pittsburgh where again, I found myself in the middle of a snow fight.

(source)

There’s a couple of things you can learn from that photo — but the most important thing you can learn from it is what TOTAL AND ABSOLUTE PWNAGE LOOKS LIKE.

Rawr.