Presented by The Art Institute of Pittsburgh

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


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.


era: Cenozoic . species:

The day you’ve been waiting for.

Remember when I wrote that I asked Norm for some art supplies because I had a hunch that after 65 million years of living, I’m probably a fantastic artist?

To Norm “art supplies” apparently meant a tablet of paper and a Sharpie.

It doesn’t matter. He could have given me a piece of cardboard and a broken white crayon and I still would have created a masterpiece called Snow. Talent like this isn’t limited by mere art tools.

My point here is that 1. Norm is cheap and 2. I AM a fantastic artist!

First up, this is my portrait of Norm, my wrangler, my handler, my sometimes friend, and my carcass bringer:

Note the attention to detail. Norm has clearly just unloaded his tranq gun into me and is laughing with evil glee as I fall slowly to the ground. Note his true-to-life nose. Note his dorky hat. I call this one “Norm”. You can buy the original from me for $6,500 or a dead sheep. Whatever you’ve got.

Here’s one I drew of the Mayor reading me the list of things I am not allowed to do during G-20:

You’ll note from my expression that I zoned out somewhere between number 1 and the end of number 1. Also, note the dorky hat. I’m not selling this one because I think “Selling dorky pictures of me” was number 622 on the list. I call this one “Blah Blah Blah”.

Here I am swimming in the river.

Note I’m not wearing any clothes. Note my incredible biceps. I’m selling this one for $7,000, unless you are a babe, then you can have it for free as long as you DON’T TELL SALLY!

Speaking of babes, here is my drawing of some adoring fans seeking pictures and autographs:

Note the babe and the look of adoration in her eyes. Note that I am considering disposing of her boyfriend with the dorky hair.  Note my incredible biceps.

Now that I’ve finally shared my talent with the world, I’m going to talk to Norm about holding a show at the gallery here at AIP. If these sketches alone don’t convince him of my talent, then this one surely will:

I call it “Cow”. I know. It’s terrifying how awesome I am.


era: Cenozoic . species: , ,

The snacks have run amok

Just noticed this on Norm’s twitter:

Uh. If I used twitter this would be the part where I would tweet: “I DON”T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THAT, NORM!” and then I would race home because chances are my snacks have escaped.


But again, Norm, I would just like to reiterate that I don’t know anything about the squirrels.  Or the possums.


era: Cenozoic . species:

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!”



Various Curiosities

1. The Pirates are unloading players like crazy these last few days.

I wonder if the Pirate Parrot is available for trade because if it is, I think you know what to do: trade a pack of gum for him, knock him unconscious with a tranq gun I’ll give you that I totally didn’t steal from Norm, and then after you’ve rendered him unconscious, bring me the giant bird. With some salt and pepper. And a giant toothpick.

Love you.

2.  The Steelers signed Heath Miller to a six-year deal, which was a smart move considering he is the one human on Earth I consider the closest to being a dinosaur. Or a machine. Or a robot. Or a robot dinosaur.

Let’s go with that.

3.  I think I’ll take Jake to the next AIP open house so he can meet some more humans. I take my mentor duties seriously and the lad clearly needs to practice his don’t eat the people skills.

Stop by and say hi to us if you come. We don’t bite.


Get it? We totally bite. Hard.

But still, say hi!

4.  I have been foiled over and over again, mostly by Norm, in my attempts to steal that cuppy thing that lives at Mario’s house.  I’m bringing in reinforcements though, so watch out, Mario. Watch out.  It’s about to get all ninja up in here.

5.  A thought: There needs to be a movie about a ninja dinosaur and I need to star in it.

I’m glad you agree with me.

6. has a post up about the Five Worst Dinosaur Movies of All Time which led me to a movie so bad, so atrocious, so hilariously devoid of anything positive that it might actually make your day.

Let’s do MATH TIME WITH REX!  Making you mathier because I care.

Girl in a brown bikini + dinosaur puppet + director + script – talent – special effects budget – plot – more talent + ridiculousness*763,000 = HAHAHAHAH.  HAHAHAHAH!  HAHAHAHHA!

I can’t pick my favorite part of the trailer. Maybe when the girl leapfrogs to safety, or the giant fake alligator, or maybe when the big fake Graboid shows up.

There’s no telling!

Worst movie ever or WORST BEST movie ever or BEST WORST movie ever?

I can’t decide. But I do know this, Ninja Dinosaur will win an Oscar.



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:

Gobble gobble!

I just learned about this dinosaur, and I use the term loosely, that lived 10 million years before I was born. It is the Hagryphus Giganteus, which I believe roughly translates to “HAHAHAH! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! Look at the stupid-looking turkey! HAHAH!”

Can’t. Breathe. Laughing. So. Hard.


era: Prehistoric .

Food versus Food?

So I caught this show the other night on television in the student lounge:

Isn’t that redundant?

I’m so confused.


era: Cenozoic .

Don’t don’t don’t. Zzzzz.

Here in Pittsburgh they’re really gearing up for the G-20 summit, making sure the city looks its very very best for the leaders of the world when they come for a two-day visit in September.

Mayor Ravensthal stopped by to visit me the other day and boy, did he have a look on his face that was all business.

He stopped by to tell me that it’s important that Pittsburgh be clean and shiny for this event, as the “world … will … be … watching!”

At which point I interjected with “dum-dum-duh-duuuuuh!”

He wasn’t amused and he left me with a list of don’ts.

  • Don’t eat anything that isn’t dead, and that includes the trees. (Psst. Mayor? Me = T-Rex. Me = eat meat. Trees = plant = no blood = ptewie! Blech!)
  • Don’t moonwalk.
  • Don’t jaywalk.
  • Don’t walk.  Be a statue.  A good, non-alive statue. (Soooo ignoring this one.)
  • Don’t throw, kick, flick, or fling any human, animal, or vehicle into any of the three rivers for any reason whatsoever, I don’t care if the President of Mexico puts a sombrero on your head and force feeds you habanero peppers.   (That’s fine.  The side of a building is always a good substitute for the rivers when one is flinging humans. Also, President of Mexico, I like tequila. Just saying.)
  • Don’t yell, don’t swear, and don’t roar. (Crossing that one off, too.)
  • If you choose to yell, swear, or roar, brush your teeth first. (Offended.)
  • Don’t storm into the meetings and demand any rights for dinosaurs.  I will personally shoot you on sight.  (dum-dum-duh-duuuuuuh!)
  • Don’t leave entrails or carcass of any sort out in plain sight.
  • Don’t make anyone, and I mean ANYONE, pee their pants in fright.  (Phooey! Oh, wait. He didn’t say anything about number two. Woo!)

But seriously, I’ll be on my best behavior, Mayor.

And I’m not crossing my fingers behind my back or anything.