As a very serious and important character development writing exercise, writer Emma has placed herself in the shoes of a dinosaur to express her frustration with the blatant plagiarism of "Jurassic ParK". Please learn from & enjoy thoroughly:
Crunch crunch crunch grorblew arrrggggchchh. Oh excuse me, I didn’t see you there. I was so thoroughly enjoying my dinner. It being the first of August, a holiday around our parts (seventy-millionth anniversary of scales) I treated myself to some Spielberg with a dollup of sour cream.
Oh don’t worry, I wouldn’t touch the real thing. But after the films came and went, the producers shipped all excess merchandise our way. A trifling token of gratitude intended to quell our hunger for the royalties that are our dino-due. We were after all, the main attraction. I mean when is the last time someone went to see a movie because of Sam Neill? Exactly. So on special occasions we head to the wine cellar (who else would use it now? take that white-haired science man!), where we keep what’s left of the more undesirable Jurassic memorabilia—raptor poison contact lens solution, live mosquitoes, miniature electric fences (functioning!), pre-destroyed public toilets, and cardboard cutouts of the cast and crew from premiers American, European, and Japanese. So when special occasions arise, it is a delight of ours to set our yellowed teeth to some Goldbloum gizzard with a side of crisp Crichton.
But it is a delicacy that is hard to swallow, a bitter reminder of the retched way in which our creed was so maligned by that franchise of falsities. I lie awake at night (or stand, rather, we dinosaurs are too big to lie), aching for the moment when we at last have a chance to reveal the truth.
The world must know who we really are, must see us as we see each other, as friends and as companions, as responsible members of society, and until we get that chance I will from this day on pour my rage into this keyboard and--
Oops. Gotta go. Just remembered I only have six fingers.