I dumped my original title Twelve Angry Raptors, because I wanted to appeal to a broader audience. Also, I didn’t want to risk seeming to be well-educated, because intelligentsia can turn people off like so many light switches. (No disrespect to my readers, of course. You’re all smart. But, when this post gets adapted into movie form, I want it to appeal to the throngs of idiots who flocked to see Home Alone.)
Just so there won’t be any confusion on this matter, I learned everything I know about dinosaurs from two sources – the movie Jurassic Park and a children’s’ book called Danny and the Dinosaur. Also, please note that I went to great pains, even above and beyond my profound ignorance of dinosaurs and their habits, to ensure historical inaccuracy wherever and whenever the story allowed for it.
Oh, and you are hereby warned that this post is not intended for anyone with a heart condition. It contains scary dinosaurs who would just as soon eat you than give you the time of day. That’s right, many of these dinosaurs do wear watches but refuse to tell anyone what time it is. That’s how mean they are!
Proceed with caution.
The air in the courtroom was heavy with anticipation. Today would be the day Max Hart’s fate would be decided by a jury of his peers. Young and bold and carnivorous, when he entered the courtroom he drew nervous giggling from the back row where three young female raptors were seated. The cutest of the three offered up a shy glance and then quickly looked away.
Max was a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and he was used to getting whatever he wanted. Usually getting whatever he wanted meant someone was going to have to die, and today would be no exception. What he wanted was his freedom, and the only thing he could see standing between him and his release was a skinny, smug prosecuting attorney of the homo-sapien variety. Barely a mouthful. The attorney in question looked particularly oily, and therefore, delicious. Max could never resist greasy food.
Max could barely take his eyes off the attorney. When he finally did, he noticed the jury box where twelve dinosaurs would sit in judgment of his supposed misdeed.
The jury of Max’s peers consisted of two Velociraptors, both male, another T-rex, a Triceratops, a Brontosaurus, three Pterodactyls, and five Hypsoliphodons.
The Hypsoliphodons made Max’s mouth water a little.
Max’s own attorney, who also happened to be a human, noticed him salivating and bravely nudged him in an effort to distract him from his potential prey.
Judge Broodling entered the courtroom rather clumsily and sat down behind the bench. He was an unfortunate looking Allosaurus who seemed to have aged beyond his wisdom. The fact was that the judge would be heading directly to his own competency hearing after today’s proceedings ended. Only the judge and his closest friends were privy to this information, and he saw no reason why his own competence should come into play during a run-of-the-mill murder trial.
The courtroom was quiet. But, Broodling banged his gavel anyway and said, “Order in the court.” He tried visibly to appear regal, but came off as desperate and needy. Although the courtroom remained silent, he banged the gavel again and again. It was as if the bench itself hadn’t quite admitted the judge’s authority in the courtroom, and he had resigned himself to beating it into submission.
Almost instantly after the judge finished beating his uncooperative wood, the prosecuting attorney sauntered too closely to the accused. The accused ate him in two quick bites (and without A-1 sauce).
No more than five seconds after the other lawyer’s shoes disappear down his client’s throat, the defense attorney moves for a mistrial.
To be conti