If You Were the World’s Smallest Dinosaur, Who Would You Eat?

Mahakala omnogovae

Here in the old-fashioned but not prehistoric offices of The Curmudgeon, we have been following the story of the new tiny dinosaur discovery.  Mainly, we’ve just been waiting for them to come up with a name for the tiny terrors before rushing to press.  They have finally tagged the miniature meat-eaters as Hesperonychus elizabethae, or Mahakala omnogovae for a moniker, but that’s just as hard to say as the scientific name so we’ll just call ’em MO.

MO is a relative of Velociraptor, the drool-dripping, razor-clawed dinosaur who scared us out of our petrified shorts in Jurassic park, barelly a meager 2 feet long (70 centimeters) and weighing about the same as two cans of Mountain Dew.  Unearthed in the Southern Gobi Desert, the little darlings lived during the Cretaceous, between 146 and 65 million ago.  Imagine a herd of the little buggars – not that  there is any evidence of dinosaur buggary – going after prey like a school of piranha.  Now imagine yourself as the prey.  Now imagine Rosie O’Donnell.  Now that’s scary.  Now imagine Rosie being eaten by the dinosaurs.  Double scary.

That’s what I did, and it occurred to me that this would make a nice little horror film, except for the Rosie part, not because I don’t want to see Rosie be eaten by a pack of chomping chubby chasers, but because it wouldn’t be real, and since it wasn’t real, I would be disappointed.   Tragically disappointed.  Which took me to who should they eat in the movie?  Because movies are dependent on box office, and pretty girls are good box office, it follows that the carnivorous critters should eat a pretty girl…or two.

My vote goes to Nicole Kidman.  Or Halle Berry.  Or Charlize Theron.  Now there’s three ladies who look good enough to eat.  I would like to eat them.  Mmmmm, tasty.  Oh I’d eat ’em and I’d eat ’em good, not because I don’t like them, but because I love them.  Now they may not be to your liking.  That’s ok.  You can have your fantasies and I’ll keep mine.

That’s about all I have to say about the smallest dinosaur ever discovered.  If there are any additions to the story – any new information – I’ll tell you about it.  Heck, maybe they’ll even find some smaller ones some day.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a film script to write.  I wonder if Sandra Bullock is available?

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Voodoo Dolls, Cardboard Robbers, Rosie O’Donnell, & Football Fornicators

Voodoo doll of French President Sarkozy

Here at the Crusty Curmudgeon, information comes across our desk from every corner of the globe. Rain or shine, it just keeps coming. The Curmudgeon staff sifts painstakingly through this info to garner only the juiciest, wickedly titillating, system shocking, stomach-churning, digestively disgusting tidbits from the disturbing world in which we live. And most of the time the stuff is so stupid it’s funny.

Hoodoo That Voodoo That You Do

From across the pond in the land of snails, surly cabbies, and ladies who wear no pants, comes this tale of a pissed-off President. An outfit is marketing voodoo dolls of French President Nicolas Sarkozy – himself no stranger to ladies with no pants – which the lucky owner can prick in various body parts and nether regions. There’s no word on whether the indiscriminate pin-sticking actually hurts the President physically, but emotionally, he’s as stewed as a pig-brain cassoulet. Sarkozy demanded a ban on the evil dolls, but a lower court rejected his case citing “the right to humor.” Now an appeals court has concurred, but the judge stuck on this caveat: The dolls must carry a notice saying that pricking them harms the President’s dignity. Those French always were a bunch of pricks.

Law and Disorder

Back on this side of the Atlantic, in a place called Montgomery Township, N.J., a scene familiar all across the US played out in real time on a quiet Thanksgiving evening. A bank alarm goes off. Police respond to the alarm. They witness the figure of a man—a possible suspect—visible through the window blinds inside the bank. A standoff ensues. The area was sealed off. Three nearby apartment buildings were evacuated. Bullhorns roared. Telephone calls were made. There was no answer. There was no response. Having failed to establish contact with the perp, the SWAT (Shocked With A Taser) team is summoned. They stealthily make their way to the entrances, crouching and leap-frogging into the ready position. It was a go!

The SWAT team storms the bank, semi-automatics at the ready. Quickly and skillfully they encircle the perpetrator and…this is where it turns from an episode of The Shield into Car 54 Where Are You. What they had captured was…here it comes…a cardboard cutout! Yes, my friends, twas a cutout of a dude hawking IRAs. Maybe some of those cops should think about getting an IRA or two, cause retirement must be looking pretty good right about now. Watch for further news in Bank Robbing for Cardboard Dummies!

Rosie O’Donnell and Her Thanksgiving Turkey

Bank robberies weren’t the only thing that happened during Thanksgiving. There was truly something to be thankful for. Yes, friends, you’re thinking, “You, Mr. Curmudgeon? You’re thankful?” Yes, even old Curmudgy can feel deeply and even get a tear or two, time to time. Especially in a movie where they kill the dog. My good news is that the new Rosie variety show crashed and burned. Bombed big time. (Hmmm. Voodoo dolls…Rosie…that gives me an idea.) Natch, I didn’t see the show cause I wanted to keep my dinner down, but the reviews concurred that the show stunk up the place. That puts a big smile on my mug. Let’s hope this pushes “The Thing” into forced retirement with an IRA from a cardboard guy in N.J. It’s not that I don’t like Rosie, gosh, I’m sure she’s got her good points, but…it’s just…you know…she’s the Devil’s spawn.

A Whole ‘Nother Ballgame

Rosie is the opposite of sex, which reminds me… it seems the football game between the Minnesota Gophers and the Iowa Hawkeyes got a little boring with the Hawkeyes well on their way to a 55-0 trouncing. A couple of Iowa fans, not to be denied their randy recreation, decided to play ‘hide the bratwurst” in a handicapped stall in the bathroom. The couple—a 38 year-old woman and a 26 year-old man—went at it like a couple of gophers and drew a crowd of drunk, cheering fans. But when anybody is ever having any fun, it’s gonna get penalized by the man and the long..er…arm of the law. The university police—tipped off by a security guard—interrupted the couple and cited them for indecent conduct, off-sides, and backfields in motion. I’m sure these enterprising citizens felt pretty embarrassed, but they hadn’t felt nothin’ yet: The man was released into the custody of his girlfriend and the woman into the custody of her husband. Lucy, you got some splainin’ to do!

Which brings us back to voodoo dolls. I don’t know if they work or not, but I sure would like to give one a try.

Well, the clock has ticked into the wee hours of December and the first snow of the holiday season has begun to fall and blanket the ground, like a harbinger of good will towards men and holiday festivities. We’ve shared poking a doll, poking fun, a pig-in-a-poke, and poking for pleasure. Mmmm. Good times. Old Curmudgy has a tear in his eye…cause he’s gonna have to get up early and shovel snow.

The Crusty Curmudgeon

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