Dino Drop #11

Since I’m on vacation in Oregon, I decided to ask my parents to help me out with one of the Dino Drops.  And, rather than saying, no, that’s ridiculous, or, we don’t have time to do that, Mom got all excited and said, “Really?  I love Dino Drop!”  She abandoned her groceries, and Dad actually set down his book and got up out of his comfy-swivel chair in the sun to come inside and scroll through dinosaurs with her.

Because my parents are weird and awesome like that.

After much hilarious back and forth debate, they settled on this one:


Mom: I want to do this one.  He looks like he’s dressed for dinner.  He’s got a vest on.

Dad: He has super thin arms, though.  He can’t catch his dinner.

Mom: His teeth are too tiny in his flat little face.  It looks like he ran into a mountain and messed up his snout, and now he can’t reach any food.  All dressed up and nowhere to go.

Me: Personally, I like the truck.  That is not a functional truck.  And they abandoned one of their people.

Mom: It’s a dining cart.

Me: It’s a what?

Mom: You know, one of those dining carts.

Me: That doesn’t help…you mean a food truck?

Mom: Yeah! A dining cart truck.  The dinosaur couldn’t find any food in the wild, so he’s taken to chasing food trucks.

Dad: If he hadn’t had that last beer last night, he could maybe even catch it.

Mom: Now, the food cart, unfortunately, only has spicy foods.

Dad: And a dinosaur with a hangover doesn’t want spicy foods.

Mom: He’s not hungover, he just had one extra beer.

Dad: He thought there was aspirin on that food truck.

Me: What about his googly eyes?

Dad: He’s nearsighted.

Mom: I want to know where he found that vest.  He’s obviously nearsighted, because he wouldn’t have purchased that vest at Goodwill if he could have seen it.  No taste.  Did they have Goodwills back then?

Dad: He’s mad because people keep making fun of his goofy-ass clothing.  People who drive food trucks should not piss off dinosaurs.  Um…do you have a following for your blog?  Like, are people going to see how odd we are?

Me: Maybe a small one?

Mom: Didn’t Matt send you info about that?

Me: Yeah, but he was like, use Google Analytics, and I was like, the Christ is that?  So I still have to go back and read through things and ask questions.  So, what else about this dinosaur?

Mom: Ask Matt if dinosaurs had Goodwill.

Me: No. That is a ridiculous question.

Mom: Could you Google it?

Me: You want me to Google if dinosaurs had Goodwill…

Dad: That dinosaur would look way more intimidating if he had a tattoo instead of that damn vest.

Mom: He needs to toughen up.

Me: So you’re both advocating aggressive tattoos for dinosaurs?

Dad: Absolutely.  Especially for bad-dressing, nearsighted, big-footed weirdo dinosaurs.

Mom: But at the last minute, they threw him a taco and a burrito, and he was happy.

Me: I thought the food was too spicy?

Mom: He told them to hold the hotsauce.

Me: So, this dinosaur is chasing the foodtruck, and instead of screaming STOP or RAWR, he’s screaming, HOLD THE HOTSAUCE…?

Mom: This is our story.  You don’t like it, make up your own.

Me: Any parting words, Dad?

Dad: No. Well.  Don’t eat me, eat her.

Mom: He won’t eat me, he’s busy eating tacos and burritos.

Historian, novelist, musician, and imagination professional.

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