This is a story I wrote in February 2014 that typifies the sort of thing I used to write for fun - and probably still do, given the chance. An anthropomorphic dinosaur who used to host a children's show is living as a washed-up nobody in New Jersey, drunk, divorced, and miserable. I've edited this piece to read more smoothly, and changed the tone a bit. The original was a little histrionic - everyone was screaming, the dinosaur was an anti-semite, the whole thing was cranked up to eleven. It's a ridiculous story to begin with, but I took it down a notch to ground it a little more. An interesting note is that if the protagonist of this story was a human, this would just be a serious piece. But because he is a dinosaur, it's a comedy. I thought it was worth preserving on Trash Skunk.
-Sean
Extinction Event
He sat hunched over the bar, head hung low, a cigarette in his hand that was in desperate need of ashing. In front of him was a half-empty Miller Lite and a tray full of bent and extinguished butts. It seemed like everything was half-empty or extinguished these days for Randy the Dinosaur.
“Excuse me, uh, mister?” came a voice from down the bar. It was a young man in his thirties, wearing a button up shirt and holding a Stella Artois. “You look familiar, do I know you from somewhere?”
Randy the Dinosaur lifted his head, tilting it to one side and glancing at the man. He took a long pull of his cigarette and blew a thick cloud of smoke up into the air, where it hung like a marine fog in the dim light above him. “I doubt it, bud. Lotta people look familiar these days. Too many fuckin’ people, that’s the problem.”
Randy stubbed out his cigarette and went to light another one. The man kept looking at him, but after a few moments he went back to talking with his friends. Randy took a long sip of his beer, draining it in one gulp. He had always been impressive like that.
“Hey Gino,” the dinosaur coughed, motioning to the bartender. “C’mere will ya?”
A middle-aged barkeep in an apron put down the glass he was polishing and made his way to Randy. “Whats up, Rand?”
“I’ll take another Miller and a shot of Old For'ster when you get a sec."
“Sure thing,” replied the barkeep.
“Oh, and Gino,” said Randy, squinting and holding on to the bar to calibrate his balance. “You know anything about that asshole over there?” he asked, pointing to the man with the Stella Artois.
“No,” replied Gino. “I think he’s here with some friends.”
“Hmmm,” said Randy, eyeballing the stranger. “You don’t think he’s one of those fuckin’, what do you call them, like a P.I. for those blood-sucking divorce lawyers?”
“I think you’re being paranoid, Randy,” said Gino as he filled up a shot glass and popped open a fresh Miller Light. “You want a bowl of peanuts or something?”
“Nah, nah. I’m all right,” said the dinosaur, puffing his cigarette. Gino went back to his business behind the bar, and Randy took down his whiskey.
“You know what? I do know you,” exclaimed the man with the Stella Artois, walking back over. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere! You used to have that kid's show, right? You’re that dinosaur!”
Randy looked up at the young man, and took a swig of his beer. “Yeah, somethin’ like that. Used to be a lot of things.”
“That’s awesome! I can’t believe you’re here! What was your show called, again? 'Randy and Friends'? Where you’d have the adventures - with the kids, right? And they’d touch your magic tail? Man, that was a great show!"
“Thanks, bub,” Randy grunted, hoping his curtness would discourage further conversation. It didn't work.
“Do you mind if I get a picture with you?” the man asked.
“Tell you what,” said Randy, cigarette dangling from his mouth, bloodshot eyes half-open, “you buy me another shot here and we’ll take a picture, how’s that?”
“Sure, of course! I can’t believe I’m buying Randy the Dinosaur a shot, this is wild!” the man said, motioning to Gino. “Excuse me? Yeah, hey, I’d like a beer for myself and a shot of - I’m sorry, what did you want?”
“Old For'stor, you know the deal Gino,” grunted Randy. Gino shook his head and reluctantly poured another shot for the dinosaur. “And uh, if you wouldn’t mind, take a picture of me and this kid, will ya?”
The young man handed Gino his phone and posed with Randy, giving a thumbs up and smiling. Randy looked semiconscious, a trail of smoke from his cigarette drifting in front of his face. The flash from the camera caught him in mid-blink. Gino handed the phone back to the young man, and Randy downed his Old Forester, gritting his teeth and squinting as the harsh liquor burned his throat.
“So, um, Randy, can I ask you a question?” the young man said after a moment.
“Sure kid, go ahead."
“Well, not to be rude or anything, but, you know… what happened? You were so popular when I was a kid. I mean your TV show, all those toys and videos... you kind of raised a whole generation of kids. But nobody has heard about you in years, I mean, it’s like you dropped off the face of the Earth!”
Randy closed his eyes, tilted is head back, and guzzled Miller Light. He swallowed in a long, slow gulp, and turned to the young man.
“You really wanna know? Well I’ll tell ya. Managers, agents, the studios… they all fucked me good. Bent me over and lifted my magic tail right up. You get so busy workin’ that you trust your money to some asshole, next thing you know you turn around and poof! - it’s all gone. That business eats you up and shits you out, and all the people you thought was your friends… ha, well, let me tell you kiddo: ain’t no such things are friends in show business. One minute you’re the king, next minute you can’t even get Paulie Shore to take your calls.”
With this, Randy lit another cigarette and belched.
“Hey, Eric, who are you talking to over there?” shouted one of the young man’s friends from across the bar. Taking interest, the group began to make their way over.
“Holy shit, is that Randy the Dinosaur?!” one of them gasped.
“Yeah, dude! And I bought him a shot!”
“Whoa check out his tail, bros,” said one of the men, grabbing Randy’s tail and lifting it up.
Randy was out of his seat in a flash, throwing the man into a nearby jukebox. “Hey! Who said you could touch my fuckin’ tail!?" he hissed, pinning the struggling drunk against the jukebox. “How’d you like it if I touched your fuckin’ tail, huh?”.
Randy grabbed the man by his testicles. “You like touching, huh?! How's this for touching?”
“Whoa, Randy the Dinosaur is freaking out!” said someone. People started pulling out their phones to record the unfolding scene.
Randy let go of the man’s genitalia and stumbled sideways, knocking over a stool. “Put those phones down! There’s nothing to film here! Huh?! Put 'em down unless you want me to take 'em and break 'em, you parasites! Is this all you have? To humiliate me? Huh?!” Randy spun wildly, pointing a claw around the bar.
“Hey! Randy… Randy, bud, I think you'd better go, all right?” said Gino, trying to de-escalate the situation.
“Oh I see how it is,” spat Randy. “These kids come over and get in my face and so I gotta go, huh? That’s fair, sure, I’m only in here every day, keepin’ the goddamn lights on in this shithole with my money."
“Jesus, Randy, it ain’t like that, okay? Just go sleep it off, you’ve had enough for one night,” said Gino.
“Fine! I see how it is, kick out the big bad dinosaur because you’re all scared of what he might do, huh? You know what everyone? Fuck you!”
Randy put up his two middle claws and swept them across the room. When he was done, he slammed $200 on the bar, grabbed his cigarettes and coat, and said “keep the change you ingrate. You’re gonna need it when the bank takes this place away from you because you kick out your best customers.”
On his way out the door Randy paused and asked the man named Eric, “hey, what kind of car do you drive, kid?”
“A Volvo, why?”
Randy didn’t answer. He marched out the door, pulling his brown coat around himself. He went behind the bar to the parking lot and spotted a green Volvo parked by a dumpster. He paused and reached into his coat, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. A moment later he was standing on the hood of the car, wiggling his hips and urinating all over the windshield.
“Some people call me the space cowboy,” he muttered, taking a long and satisfying pull off his cigarette. "Some call me the gangster of love..."
When he was done, Randy jumped off the hood and used his claw to scratch a crude penis on the side of the door. “Asshole,” he mumbled.
Randy got into his Buick Lacrosse and put the key into the ignition, adjusted the rear-view mirror, and noticed his bloodshot eyes. He reached into the center console and got out some chewable mints, shoveling several into his mouth and cranking up the engine. Closing his eyes and chewing enthusiastically, he backed slowly out of his parking spot, clipping a trash can and spilling its contents onto the asphalt. His tires squealed as he peeled out into the street, making his way east. Randy cranked up the radio, and the Don Henley song Boys of Summer filled the car at an incredible volume.
“I can seee you, something-something shinin’ in the sun,” Randy sang, drumming on the steering wheel. He drove through the suburbs of New Jersey for 45 minutes until his car careened over a curb and up onto the lawn of a large two-story house. Randy stumbled out of the driver's side door, slamming it behind him.
“Gina!” he shouted at the house. “Gina! Get up baby! I’m home! Come on out and bring out my daughter! You in there, Britney? Come on out and see Daddy!”
Randy stumbled back and forth on the lawn, watching as a few lights in the house flicked on. After a minute the front door opened, and a middle-aged woman appeared wearing a nightgown.
“Randy?!” she said. “What the hell are you doing here at this time of night? Are you drunk?”
“Hey baby,” belched Randy. “I ain’t drunk this time, I swear. I mean, I had a cocktail earlier, bu-”
“Goddammit, Randy! You aren’t allowed to be within five hundred yards of us and you know it! Now get out of here before I have to call the cops, okay? We can talk about this when you’re sober - if that ever happens,” said the woman.
“Cmon, Gina. Just let me see ’er. Bring out Britney for me real fast. I’m her daddy ain’t I? Don’t I deserve to see her? Don’t a daddy deserve to see his baby girl?”
“I don’t want those kids seeing you like this, Randy. Jesus, how many times are we gonna go through this?” Gina replied, exasperated. Then another figure appeared in the door, a muscular blond man in his forties wearing a t-shirt and boxers.
“Oh great,” said Randy. “Lieutenant Dickhead is here.”
“Is everything all right, Gina?” asked the man.
“It’s fine, Todd. Randy was just leaving, weren’t you Randy?”
“Ha, ha,” Randy started to chuckle. “Leaving… that’s funny, isn’t it Gina? ‘Leaving’ is one subject you know an awful lot about, isn’t it? You cold-hearted witch..."
“Hey man, I think it’s time for you to go,” said Todd, pushing Gina gently inside and stepping out onto the porch.
“Oh, yeah, Todd?” said Randy, blowing a ring of smoke, “I was just thinking the same thing about you, ya fuckin’ blond piece of shit. In there with my goddamn wife and my goddamn kids, who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Hey Randy, she isn’t your wife anymore, get it through your fucking head,” said Todd. “And as for those kids, they deserve a better dad than some deadbeat, drunken has-been. You were a shitty husband, a shitty father, and a shitty dinosaur. You had your chance, Randy, but you blew it, just like you blew your career. Now get the fuck out of here before I call the cops."
“Suck my dick, Todd, let’s fucking go," cried Randy, struggling to remove his jacket.
“Daddy?” came a small voice from inside the door. Randy stopped in his tracks and looked up to see his daughter Britney. She was holding a teddy bear and appeared to be scared.
“Britney sweetie, go back inside,” Todd cooed, trying to shuffle the little girl back in the house.
“Britney?! Baby?! Is that my baby?! Sweetheart, it’s daddy!” Randy cried out. Tears appeared at the corners of his eyes. “I’m here for you baby! Daddy misses you!”
But it was too late, Todd had Britney back in the house, and he closed the door and turned to Randy.
“I mean it, Randy get out of here now. I’m going inside, and I’m calling the cops. You better be gone by the time I’m back. Stop disturbing this family. You aren’t wanted here, okay? Can’t you get it?”
Randy wiped a tear from his eye, and readjusted his jacket. “You know what? Fine. I’m going. I’m going. You win Todd, I hope you’re happy. You took everything from me, so you better enjoy it”. Randy tried to compose himself, opening the door to his Buick and slumping into the driver's seat.
“You did this to yourself, Randy. Go get some help man, seriously.” Todd replied, entering the house.
As Randy backed his car off the lawn, he could see Todd and a crying Gina watching from the living room window. Todd kissed his wife on the head, rubbing a hand up and down her arm in a comforting motion. Randy drove home in silence, watching as dark New Jersey neighborhoods passed by his window.
When he got to his apartment, Randy went straight to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of Old Forester. He twisted off the cap and threw it in the trash - he wasn’t going to need it. He plopped down on the stain-covered couch that doubled as his bed and turned on the TV, switching the input to “VCR”. He picked up another remote from his coffee table and pressed play.
A children's show flickered to life on the screen, and a big dinosaur walked out amongst a group of excited kids who cheered his arrival.
“How are you kids doing today?” Randy mouthed the words along with the TV, tears welling up in his eyes. He opened a drawer in the cabinet next to his couch, the light from the TV dancing on his face. He removed a .38 caliber revolver.
"We're doing great, Randy!"
Randy cried softly, still mouthing along with trembling lips.
“Hey kids, I have an idea, why don’t you all grab my magic tail, and we’ll go on an adventure to a happy place?”
Randy closed his eyes, bit down on the cold barrel of the revolver, and touched its magic tail.
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