7

Training Montage

Eventually, I'll get my dinosaur under control, using, oh ... let's say ... my pluck. And although the government and police and clergy will all be pretty upset with me, seeing as I'm the only one who can control this beast, they'll all agree that it's best to leave me in charge. A decision they'd surely reconsider with even the slightest of Googling.

Marcel Oosterwijk via Wikimedia Commons
"Gentlemen, it looks like we might be dealing with a Level 3 Idiot here."
-audible gasps-

The next few days and weeks will be heartwarming as all heck, as me and my new dinofriend learn about each other and what bits of raw meat we particularly enjoy. Expect some hilarious roars and wagging of fingers and chuckles at the sight of half a mailman on my front stoop. And finally, when all is said and done and the final chords of Push It To The Limit fade away, this terror from the past will look at me, flare his nostrils, then bend down for me to climb on his back. I will climb aboard, get raised into the air, punch the sky, and it will be marvelous.

6

Carpool Lane Abuse

That first day commuting to work will be a bit of a disaster, when I find out that Tyrannosauruses aren't actually that fast. Realistic estimates of their top speed max out at about 25 miles per hour, which will be kind of a nuisance for everyone else on the freeway, particularly those in the HOV lane, where I'd naturally be, because honestly who would stop me?

aijohn784/iStock/Getty Images
"Hahahaha, nope, you carry right on."

5

General Traffic Abuse

And, honestly, why stop there? You know who's going to give a Tyrannosaurus rex a parking ticket? No one, that's who. Every day at work, I'd leave my dinosaur chained up to a parking meter with a kiddie pool full of water and half a cow. Parking costs downtown are like 15 to 20 bucks a day, but not if you've got a damned dinosaur. Also not required? Turn signals, yielding, or stopping when other cars stop.

Thinkstock Images/Stockbyte/Getty Images
"Hahahahha, nope, you carry right on."

4

The Ruing Of My Enemies

I've made a lot of enemies in my time here on Earth, ranging from the highest tiers of government all the way down to you, the reader. And as I've been carefully writing your names down in the series of creepy notebooks that litter my house, when I eventually get tired of paying for dinosaur food (they go through three to four half-cows per day) it will occur to me that I really shouldn't be expected to pay for these things myself. I will soon found the first ever Dinosaur Insurance Fund, and it will be run with just all sorts of unethical business practices.

Michael Blann/Digital Vision/Getty Images
"Honey? There's a half mailman on our doorstep. Are we late on our payments?"

3

Dinosaur Tyrant

By this point I will have attracted many followers, the world's 6-year-old boys and men with the hearts of 6-year-old boys flocking to my doorstep to admire my dinosaur. Seeing the value of their fervor and knowing that the government will be tired of all the crushed cars, half mailmen, and copious scat they have to clean up, I will encourage my followers to turn into a cult of sorts.

roman makhmutov/Moment/Getty Images
I'll design the uniforms myself.

2

I'd Go Too Far

Powerless people are often powerless for a reason (rank idiocy, in my case), and my sudden rise to power will surprisingly not turn out too good for me. The dinosaur-themed theme parks will prove popular, but some of my more ambitious restructurings of society will prove less so. The dinosaur-themed outfits won't go over well with everyone, and the world's mailmen will remain furious with me, for some reason. Worse, all my attempts to produce more dinosaurs by breeding will be both unsuccessful and incredibly distressing to witness.

Stolk/iStock/Getty Images
"No no no no no no no YES no no no no no."

1

I'd Learn An Important Lesson About Friendship

A hijinks-filled chase around my palace will follow next, during which my followers will see me soiling myself and pleading for my life in a most unsavory fashion. Although I will survive this initial dinocoup, the basis of the dinotopia I'd established will crumble away, and within a few short months (during which I never stop scrambling for my life, Rexosaurus T hot on my heels), the world will more or less go back to normal.

Marcel Oosterwijk via Wikimedia Commons
"Glad to see you gentlemen all survived. We should maybe do up a postmortem to find out
how society fell to that loser idiot so easily."

Eventually, I'll remember the honest pluck I used to win over Rexosaurus T and convince him not to eat half of me. Our friendship too badly damaged to ever be fully repaired, he'll then disappear into the L.A. underground. Occasionally, I'll hear stories of him, righting injustices and such. And then, as the last final notes of a sad, piano-driven version of Push It To The Limit fade away, a deep ache will come over me as I recall what I once had and carelessly threw away.

Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and at most a Level 2 Idiot. His first novel, Severance, is incredible and available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Apex Books. Join him on Facebook or Twitter.

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