Presented by The Art Institute of Pittsburgh

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


Twitter time!

As you know, I often lurk around twitter just to be keep tabs on what Norm says about me, to be sure I don’t need to terrorize any people that are making jokes about my ferocious and enormous arms, and to see what the babes are saying about me.

Usually they’re saying, “OMG. I LOVE REX! HE TOTALLY WINKED AT ME TODAY!”

Don’t tell Sally.

Today, I saw this:

That is the most hilarious joke I have heard all week, no, all year, no, IN THE HISTORY OF TIME!  What an unexpected punchline!

Here’s a joke I just wrote: What lives now, has dog poo for brains, and goes “OW-OW-OW-OW!”?  Whoever wrote that joke, getting the stretchy treatment from me.

Also, here’s what Norm had to tweet about:

I don’t know ANYTHING about that, Norm.


Finally, I just recently discovered that my hero Dr. Sheldon Cooper is on twitter!

I don’t need to click on the link to know that it will probably take you right here to my blog.

It’s nice to be appreciated for the genius that I am.



I rawr for ice cream!

Today at AIP the Culinary Recipe Development Club, or as I call them MY BEST FRIENDS, are hosting a sundae bar in the student lounge.

The bar is available from 11:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. and again from 3:30 to 5:00 p.m.

If you’re looking for me, I’ll be eating delicious sundaes with MY BEST FRIENDS from 11:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. and again from 3:30 to 5:00 p.m.

Sure I’ll get brain-freeze painful enough to cripple a brontosaurus, but still, worth it.

Also, speaking of dinosaurs and ice cream, I recently learned that my old girlfriend Gertie opened up her own ice cream store at Disney.

It was news to me, but not so much to Sally who said, “Well, that explains why she’s so fat.”

Sally + jealousy = mrowr hisssss



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 .


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!



era: Prehistoric .

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.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species: , ,

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 .

Mucking up the gene pool.

Just the other day I said to myself, Rex, being so handsome and perfectly proportioned and fearsome, could you imagine being a dinosaur with the head of an ostrich, the teeth of a horse, the talons of a parrot and the body of an obese kangaroo?

I thought I would feel sorry for such a dinosaur, until I saw the Nothronychus Graffami which lived 30 million years before I was born king:

What I’m feeling isn’t so much pity as much as it’s LOOK AT THE UGLY LOSER!

I bet the cavemen built an entire dialect around all the words they invented to make fun of this thing, the first of which I bet was “BOOFUGAH!”



Mentors don’t let mentees eat glass.

Performing my mentor duties for Big Dinosaurs of America, I took Jake with me to a few places recently and I promised him I would share them with you because 1. He’s an attention-hog 2. He doesn’t have a blog and 3. He’s an attention-hog.

The first place I took him was to Schenley Park to see a Cinema in the Park feature.


It was great fun until Jake saw the Iron Giant come on screen, assumed it was something scary that needed to die, and attacked the screen with a ferociousness I haven’t seen since that day I called Blor’s kid Blor a [redacted by Norm]. Boy, was Blor MAD. While I don’t speak Stupid B.C. as I have told you before, you can still tell how mad you make a caveman by how ruthlessly they start dragging their women around by the hair. True story.

Anyway, of course we kind of ruined the movie for everyone, so I took Jake home and promised him that the next day I would take him someplace he couldn’t get into any trouble.

Phipps Conservatory sounded like it would fit the bill. How much trouble can a meat-eating dinosaur get into in a plant-filled building?

Surprisingly, a lot.

Being quite young, Jake didn’t understand that Phipps is a classy place. He didn’t understand that you don’t sneak up on the old people’s backs and roar until they start throwing canes in fear. He didn’t understand that even to a monstrous killer death lizard, glass is not edible.

Here he is about to eat yellow glass.


Yes, instead of warning him, I snapped a picture FIRST for you and then called to him, “That’ll make you bleed!”

He stopped in the nick of time, until later when I guess the curiosity was too much for him to bear. He waited until he was able to evade me and then …


After we were kicked the heck out of Phipps, I asked Jake how glass tastes and he said, “Crunchy. And bloody. Crunchy blood.”

I bet.


era: Cenozoic,Prehistoric . species: