For years the debate has raged about the feeding habits of the Tyrannosaurus Rex. There is very little doubt on its carnivorous nature, but paleontologists are divided on whether it was primarily an active predator or a scavenger. On one side, scientists will cite the Tyrannosaur's well-developed sense of smell as evidence that it sniffed out carcasses over long distances. Additionally, it's questionable as to whether the Tyrannosaur would've been able to pursue much of the swift animals that undoubtedley comprised its diet. According to paleontologist James Farlow, "If T. rex had been moving fast and tripped, it would have died." This evidence paints a portrait of the Tyrannosaur not as a vicious killing machine like in Jurassic Park, but as a fearsome scavenger that used its size to chase away other carnivores from carcasses.
Those who view the Tyrannosaur as a predator refer to the fact that its ocular cavities are positioned so that it would've had binocular vision, which is found mostly in predators. Some have also speculated that it had relatively large leg muscles and hollow bones, which would have enabled it to run with speeds of up to 45 miles per hour.
And so, the question remains. Perhaps we shall never know the true nature of this magnificent creature. But one thing is for certain: the results of this important debate will certainly determine the state of the world for years and years to come, and will continue to capture the minds and inspire the hopes and dreams of youth all over this wonderful Earth.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyrannosaurus (4, Nov, 2007)
In other news, with eyestalks a-glowing, massive teeth a-bristling, Amadeus had wriggled free of death's icy grip to roam the desk once more. His life spark had been contained within the sharpie marker all along, and so the tragic destruction of his first body during the Algebra II era had failed to erase his thirst for glory. Amadeus' eyes were spread and stretched, searching for his spouse in hatred. Just then, when the rectangular plane of the History class desk had seemed all but vacant, the winged menace Gun Butterfly unsheathed his many cannons, culverins, muskets, and lasers from beneath his luminous, scaly wings. The battle to end all battles was about to commence.
With a blast from his monstrous maw, Amadeus let loose a cloud of Hydrogen Cyanide that spread with black ink spirals all over the bottom half of the desk top. Gun Butterfly flapped his wings to dissipate the deadly gas, but to no avail. The spirals of gas engulfed the entire desk and both creatures were made unrecognizeable and buried beneath the marker lines. I stared at the drawing and smiled, and giggled. Wow, what marvelous things lurked in my imagination. A butterfly with cannons. A toothed mollusk with a troubled past. Hydrogen Cyanide gas spreading through the air. All imagination. All in my head.
"Um, I need to use the bathroom. I need to use it now," I blurted out in the middle of Dr. Shrub's speech. he turned his lens-distorted eyes towards me and said,
"Eh? What was that?"
"I need to use the-"
"Eh? Speak up boy, I can't understand a damn thing you say."
"Bathroom! I gotta go, man!"
"Eh, go ahead boy, you don't have to ask," he replied and resumed his talk on ancient Mississipian civilization, or something. I got up and strode to the door, became dizzy and teeter-tottered for a moment with my hand on the door.
"Are you all right, boy? Do you need to see the nurse?"
"Holy God no."
"No, I'm fine, I guess. I just need to use the bathro-"
"No!" I yelled, swung the door open, and staggered outside. My stomach began to churn. I wasn't just dizzy, I felt sick. I wasn't just nervous, I felt fatigued and dehydrated. But it was fine, as long as I made it through this day I could leave at 3:00 and go back home and my parents and brother would be waiting. I imagined them now; my dad was probably at the mill working double time so that he could come home early, my mother was preparing a snack for me. My brother was still on his couch, the lazy bastard, and my sister would've finished her last class and was probably battering on his door, bitching about his loud music. I charged into the lavatory and locked myself in a stall. A multitude of dicks and balls were crudely drawn on the inside of the door, multicolored and of all shapes and sizes.
"Oh, that's nice. What a creative group we have here…" I said to myself, "Notice the subtle shading on this dick over here by the handle… yes, that's nice… and this one here has three testicles and breathes fire… how imaginitive… how creative…" at that point I slumped over and banged my head on the wall. Something warm spread over my forehead and I began to fall asleep. One penis had a little smiley face on its head, and arms growing from its shaft. One penis had wings… This one is green… this one is bleeding… this one sounds like a bell ringing…
The tech booth is unlocked. We climb up the stairs, into the darkness. Some light comes from the auditorium through the windows. We sit on the floor under the light board. She tells me about her childhood. About moving out here from the big city. They only got here a few weeks ago.
“Tell me a secret,” she says.
“Tell me a secret,” she says, “I’ll tell you one.”
“Why do I have to go first?”
“’cause I asked first,” she says.
“But I’m a junior.”
“Then be the bigger man.”
“I’m a virgin.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a secret, but, fine. I’m not.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a secret,” I say.
“Another one,” she says.
“You go first.” If she just says it first—
“I smoke weed.” I don’t know what to say. “Come on,” she says, “you’re turn.”
Fuck. “I like girls. Maybe.”
“Okay. Me too. Your turn again.”
“I didn’t agree to a third round,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. She stands up and steps towards the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I ask. She shrugs. “Okay,” I say.
She sits back down. “Okay?”
“If I give you another, you give me one more, okay?”
“That’s not so fair,” she says, “but okay.”
Shit. “I think you’re really pretty.” She waits. “You know, really pretty.” She waits. “I kind of have a crush on you, maybe.”
“Okay,” she says, “my secret is that my dad has dirty magazines. And sometimes, when he’s out, I sneak in and look at them.”
“One more,” I say.
“I steal my parent’s alcohol sometimes. Except they caught me. And now they say I can just take it, as long as I don’t overdo it. Occasionally, and not in excess.”
“What do you want me to say?” she asks. I look at her, and she smiled back. “Okay, she says, “I like being hit.”
“I don’t like the idea of relationships. I think that’s stupid. But sometimes I don’t tell boys that, because I want them to fuck me. Sometimes I just cheat on them. And then I feel really bad about it. And I break up with them and make up some stupid excuse.”
“This is getting a little one-sided,” she says, “what do you want me to say?” she asks again.”
“Just one more?”
“It’s not a secret,” she says, “I think your pretty too. But another secret? I think you need to be a little bolder. This was getting a little stupid.”
“But I feel guilty ‘cause I just broke up with my boyfriend.”
“Okay. Whatever. Don’t put the emotional shit on me, though, and I can deal with it. If you want to, if you don’t want to, okay, just tell me, and don’t fuck around with me, okay. I hate when people won’t say how they feel.” She jabs me in the arm. “Okay?”
“You got to either learn how to say how you feel about shit, or not pull out any wildcard feelings.”
“So how do you feel about shit? I don’t think you’re ready to not be confusing.”
“I want to kiss you. And then. I don’t know. I want that to be as simple as that.”
I kiss her. And it’s nice. “Now I want you to tell me more about your childhood.”
It's 1. I need to do something. I find a phone in a classroom that's empty. Doesn't work. Go to the office, use the courtesy phone. Have to dial 9, I hate that. They won't let me use it, tell me there's a line. I see no line. I'm at the front of it. Only one person. Apparently they were there before I was. I guess everyone's called home by now, while I was crying in the bathroom. I sit down in a chair and wait for the girl to finish her phone call. I'm shaking. 20 minutes go by and I realize I'm in the fetal position on the floor. No one noticed. Phone's open. I stand up. Dial 9. Then my mom's cell. It rings. It rings a lot. Voicemail. Hang up, try again. She answers.
Mom. Her voice has never made me so happy. I'm suddenly bawling. She tells me not to worry.
“Is Dad okay?”
“I said is he okay, Mom?” I sound hysterical.
“I don't know, Matt. We'll….we'll just have to wait and see.”
“I can't do that, Mom. I need to talk to him. You guys were still asleep when I left. I didn't get to say goodbye.”
“Don't worry about it, Matt. We'll get through this like we do. It's our way. You're strong, you'll make it through.”
“Mom, I just spent the last hour crying and twitching on the floor, I'm not strong at all.”
“We'll get through this. Your father will be fine.”
“What if he isn't though? What the fuck are we going to do.”
“I don't know.”
“I know. We all are.
“They've locked us in the building. I…I can't get out. You need to go down and see if Dad's okay.”
“I can't the air's contaminated. I'm happy they've locked you in, it isn't safe out there.”
“I'm not happy. I need to breathe. This building is suffocating me.”
“We'll be alright, Matt.”
“I know.” I stop for a minute. “It's good to hear your voice, Mom.”
“It's good to hear yours. As long as you're safe.” I hang up.
I sit in another bathroom. This one's empty. I don't think the other one was. Open the stall door, sit on the toilet, try to clear my head. I don't move. I can, but I don't. I'm progressing a little I guess. Ha. Trying to clear my head. Now I'm asleep.
Wake up. Wake up and smell the ashes. No dreams. No dreams ever. I can't do this. I can't deal with this. I'm going insane. I don't know who I am. Can't do this. Be strong. Mom said you could do it. She's wrong. Mom can't handle her own life even. Can't clear my head. Head's too full. What am I doing. Disassociate. Be somewhere else. Somewhere not here. Can't breathe. No air outside to speak of. Drink some water. I need fluids. I don't know where I'm going. Geologically or philosophically. Can't breathe have to stay here. This room is my only hope. I love this bathroom more than I've loved anything else in my life. There are no urinals. I'm in the women's bathroom. Still not leaving ever leaving. No can't stay, chemicals will get in. Mom is dead dad is dead don't want to confront them. Rick is dead. Been dead for years. Slippery when schizophrenic. i miss janice. She was always so nice to me and I fucked that up like I fuck everything up and how is it that rick can be loved while i'm abandoned they abandoned me. I abandoned janice. Apples and trees. I don't think in sentences anymore, just in thoughts and hyperawareness and every word is deliberate and every word is sacred and cherished and loved and I love my words, so many words, at least nine words, 50,000 words. My words are my children and they suck and I hate them but they are still my children and I gave birth to them and they are covered in word placenta I think I have post-partum but I don't have a uterus I want to murder my words and throw them off a building but I must feed them how do you lactate for words i'll just give them formula and what the hell am I doing I dont even get me anymore and I miss janice so much I wish she were here to calm me down she could calm me down if anyone could she could but she'll never come in here because why would she this is the women's bathroom janice isn't a woman just like the principal I dont have a penis either nobody does average person has .96 testicles I need space in here, this room is closing like a trash compactor in half-life or star wars or reverse birth anti-birth death I should kill myself i'm suffocating don't kill myself too much to live for dad's dead fuck fuck I'm out of ideas, the tank's emptyand i'm running on fumes jackson browne is dead not really but I wish he was so it would be more poetic and here it comes the walls have fallen and i'm alone in a field endless field and they want me to get out of it but how do I do that what do you mean you want to use the field how do you use a field why can't I use the field bitch fine i'll leave your field but I can't see where i'm going can't see my hand in front of my face but I can see my face and i'm touching my nose with my tongue I was never able to do that and I always wished I could rick could do it the slimy bastard I hope he burns but I wouldn't make him burn he's my brother I could never do that to anyone especially not my brother I love everyone and I love everyone's hair and bodies and aromas and I cant breather again and i'm back in the bathroom and they want me to leave because they'll let me go home but I cant go home it's not safe there, that's where my problems live in the hallway and they look at me when I sleep and cause anxiety and i'll go home and kill them kill my problems with a knife no a revolver like clint eastwood or lee van cleef and I can't because then i'd leave and you cant make me leave just because you're blue and I cant do it I cant do it and my heart is going like mad and no I said no I won't No.