big dinosaur. Pornography.

My brother is a fancy big city lawyer. Well, that’s only if you count St. Louis as a fancy big city, I suppose. And actually there’s nothing too fancy about doing a deposition in Wisconsin wearing nothing but umbros and a ‘coed naked tennis’ shirt, but that’s exactly what he’s gonna be doing today, as someone mistook his carry on bag for their own last night. The phrase that my brother used to describe the perpetrator is not suitable for print here, but suffice it to say, he’s bummed at the mentally challenged person of questionable sexuality.

I mean, I feel his pain. He’s got nothing but the clothes on his back and he’s gotta give off the air of professionalism. And if he’s anything like I remember him, he just reeks of farts, so there’s that to contend with. That’s why my standard life-advice maxim has always been ‘never get yourself into a position where you can’t do what you need to do while high as balls and in nothing but a pair of cutoffs.’ It worked for Ozzy. It worked for Steve O and Henry Kissinger. It worked for Jayna Oso. It worked for the guy who created ALF. It can work for you too.

Anyway, speaking of things that are completely unrelated, have you guys watched the Dinosaur Train? It’s the story of a young, pre teen tyrannosaurus rex and his adoptive family traveling through time and space on a train run completely by dinosaurs in conductor outfits and southern accents. It’s one of the trippier things that you can watch at 830 in the morning and it’s also kind of mindbending because it’s full of paleontological jargon and long, ten syllable words, but, you know, it’s about time traveling dinosaur kids so there’s a bit of an intellectual disconnect that you can’t quite ever get over which really is saying a lot under the circumstances. It’s the kind of thing that you can probably ONLY come up with if you’re simultaneously a ‘wacky’ paleontologist and the type of guy who sits around all blasted eating peanut butter with a spoon and staring at your fingers.

The dinosaur train is apparently a huge hit. My kid loves it, and I see the characters on backpacks and stickers at the pediatrician’s office and such, but it’s on PBS which makes me think that if it weren’t for the marketing aspect, this poor, stoned paleontologist wouldn’t really be making a dime for his hugely successful hit. As it stands, I’m sure he’s got plenty of golden microscopes and jars of fluffernutter, you know, because of all the backpacks and notebooks and pencil boxes and stuff, but we’re talking about a huge hit here. If they could sell ads on the Dinosaur Train, this dude (or lady? Nah…probably not) would be filthy rich. I mean, fuck. It’s the only show that I’ve watched consistently this year. It’s kind of a bummer, but then I remember that I’m not making any money either and I stop feeling so bad for the guy.

Which brings me to my point. People can, and often do read this blog and refer to it as juvenile or puerile or purely scatological and therefore immature, and yes, yes, yes. It’s all that and less. This blog is little more than dick jokes, beaver discussions, poo humor and beer and boob enthusiasm. It’s working at a consistently low level as long as nobody dies and makes things too serious. But here’s the thing:

Critics have been known to refer to me as someone who has refused to grow up, or someone who still indulges in the childish pursuit of pornography and booze and hilarious anecdotes about dongs, but those are all mature topics. I didn’t get into the idea of wanting to see boobs until I was what….nine? Twelve? Well, twelve for sure. By twelve I think all boys are practically beating off to memories of geodesic domes, so yes, mothers, I’m functioning on the level of a twelve year old (who has a cool uncle that lets him drink beer). But you know who the real man-children of the world are? Paleontologists! They’re still indulging their interests that they developed when they were fucking two! Nobody ever gives them any shit for it though. I mean, it’s not really as though they’ve done anything practical except completely piss off religious nutjobs.

Nobody really gives two fucks about the way an Icthyosaurus’s tail protruded or which dinosaur was the smartest (it was apparently whatever the conductors of the dinosaur train are, btw) except for two year old boys. That’s the ENTIRE public interest in the science.

I mean, sure, we bring dinosaur bones to museums and tour them around the world and all that. But you know WHY those bones are popular enough to tour? Because in every country in the world, there’s a parent of a two year old boy pulling their fucking hair out trying to get them to not destroy what precious few grown up possessions they still have. They NEED to get them outside, if only to calm them down, so they take them to see the bones. Period.

There’s no adult interest in dinosaur bones. Nope. There isn’t. And ESPECIALLY no female adult interest. Paleontologists are, in fact, nothing but a bunch of manchildren who have hornswaggled our higher education institutions to fund them to indulge in a pretty useless infatuation that they developed before they stopped shitting their pants. And you call me a child because I watch pornography all day? For shame! The human asshole can do amazing things, people. Things that dinosaurs and their bones never dreamed of trying. AND, my interest in pornography is at the very least contributing to an economy (ha!) and perpetuating the stardom of several young ladies. That’s way more than I can say for any paleontologist.

Well, no. They’re entertaining kids…if I’m being fair. That puts them on the level of the Wiggles or Raffi, or DJ Lance (who is almost fifty by the way! I mean, he looks fucking AMAZING! If you’d told me he was 23, I would have believed it. Man…), but the difference is that Raffi teaches you about the color red and liking music and DJ Lance teaches you not to bite your friends, shit that you’ll keep with you until you die (unless you’re Marv Albert) while Dinosaur train teaches you a bunch of stuff with no practical application that will be tossed aside for eternity the second you see your older sister’s friend in a bathing suit.

I dunno…I used to love dinosaurs too. Maybe I could get a job doing that somehow.