Dinosaur Ghost Chapter 11: Heartbreak at CPAC (It's Evolution, Baby!)

Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!

The leaders of the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) debated whether or not to cancel their annual gathering.  By any standard, they were a prime target for an all-out assault by dinosaur ghosts.  Through a series of emails among the most esteemed and powerful members (the 1% of the 1%), it was finally decided that the show would indeed go on, if for no other reason than to figure out why they were being targeted and to find a way to stop it from happening.

The usual festival-like atmosphere was deliberately subdued this time around.  Dignified blue and gray suits replaced the more ostentatious displays of colorful golf shirts and kaki pants seen in previous years. Whereas some of the more happy-go-lucky participants might have skipped their bi-weekly haircuts, this year cooler heads prevailed.

The Daughters of the American Revolution closed down their information booth and the Daughters of the Tea Party Revolution closed down their disinformation booth.  Everyone agreed that the women-folk were best left at home. 

In addition to scaling back the celebrations, the CPAC organizers took the added precaution of changing their name from CPAC to DPAC, because everyone knew the dinosaur ghosts would never attack the Democratic Political Action Conference.  Unfortunately, the conference members revolted--calling themselves democrats was a betrayal of their principles-- and after the threat of a boycott, the name was re-changed to EPAC, with the E not standing for anything in particular.  After that, the conference was back on track, though twenty five hundred t-shirts had to be destroyed.

Regardless of whether or not the dinosaur ghosts were deceived by the name change, Helen Fonzarelli wasn’t fooled.  She arrived in her very revealing, very sexy white dress, and immediately caused a sensation.  She was a little surprised to discover that she was the only woman there.  There were usually at least six or seven. 

She strolled through the crowd of staring men, trying in vain to blend in. She considered playing one of the many games that remained despite the cut-backs.  There was the ‘Dart Throw’,  in which conservative players took turns throwing darts at a picture of President Obama.  Then there was the ‘Bow-And-Arrow Shoot’, in which conservatives took turns firing arrows twenty yards or so at photo of Obama placed on top of a stuffed turkey.  There was also a pistol range, a rifle range, a machine gun range, and a bazooka range, all featuring various Obama-related targets.  (The exception being the knife throw, in which a photo of Nancy Pelosi was used.)

While Helen considered her options, she caught sight of a familiar face, one who, unfortunately, had spotted her as well.

“Helen, is that you.”

“Oh, hello, Eric,” she answered coolly.  “What are you doing here?”

Eric was silent for a moment and then answered quietly. “I come every year.”

“What?” Helen asked, dumbfounded. “But you’re a scientist.”

“Yeah, well I guess my faith is a little stronger than my ability to reason.”

“But why,” Helen said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Eric sighed. “I thought it would be better if we had a clean break.  I knew that eventually the dinosaur ghosts would come after me.  I didn’t want to put you through that again.”

“Oh Eric.” She grasped his hands, gazed into his eyes.

Nearby, someone started yelling and generally attracting  attention to himself.  He was a middle-aged white man with thinning hair and bright pink eyes.  His breath reeked of whisky.  “I don’t care what anyone says,” he said as he stumbled down the sidewalk.  “I’m a conservative, damnit, and I’ll shout it from the rooftops!”

“Quiet, you fool,” barked the nearest authority figure, Mitt Romney.

“I’m not going to shut up and you can’t shut me up,” said the drunken conservative.  “You can’t shut me up,” He pointed to Romney.  “And you can’t shut me up.” He pointed to Paul Ryan.  “And not even you can you shut me up.” He pointed to one of the dinosaur ghosts, who promptly ate him.

Pandemonium ensued.  Conservatives started running everywhere.  Mitt Romney danced in place, drifting first in one direction and then another while chanting to himself, “Which way should I go? Which way should I go? Which way should I go?” 

Paul Ryan ran and hid behind Eric.  He grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him and called out, “What would Ayn Rand do in this situation?”

Eric turned and slapped him. “Get control of yourself, man.  Your future is entirely in your hands.”

Paul Ryan straightened up.  He patted his face with a handkerchief.  “You’re right,” he said, obviously coming to his senses.  “You’re a hundred percent right.”

He was then eaten by a tyrannosaurus.

The stampeding crowd separated Helen and Eric.  They reached for each other, barely touching fingertips.

“Go on,” Eric said.  “They won’t come for you.”

“How do you know?” Helen said, refusing to budge despite being repeatedly jostled by fleeing conservatives.  “I hold many nuanced social and foreign policy positions.”

“You do not,” Eric said.  “You’re a silly little liberal and you always will be.”

“I’ve changed,” Helen said.  “I’ve evolved.”

“I don’t believe in evolution,” Eric said.

“Eric, don’t say that!”

But it was too late.

They heard a deep growl and saw a flash of leopard skin.  A club bashed into Eric’s stomach.  He bent over, gasping for breath.  Slowly, he looked up and saw, standing over him, a  seven-foot-tall monster.  Wild-looking, with a protruding forehead and lower jaw, poor posture, hairy elbows, and wearing a coat made of saber-toothed tiger with the head still attached, the Monkey Man Monster (MMM for short) lifted his club for a second blow. 

“Eric!” Helen cried. “Run!”  She tried to move toward him, but there were still too many republicans in the way.

“Stay back,” Eric said.  “Don’t come any closer.”

“I won’t leave you,” Helen shouted.

“You must.”

“I won’t.”

Just like a woman, Eric thought.  They never listen and they never know what’s good for ‘em.  He stood up tall then and faced the MMM (Monkey Man Monster).  Summoning all his strength and courage, he shouted “I don’t... believe... in evolution!”

“Noooo,” Helen cried. 

The next swing of the club lifted Eric off the ground, sent him flying straight into the mouth of the tyrannosaurus, who promptly chomped him into butter.

“Hey,” the Monkey Man Monster (MMM) shouted at the dinosaur. “That belong to me.”

Both the tyrannosaurus rex and the stegosaurus ghost turned toward the new intruder, angling toward their pray.

The Monkey Man Monster (MMM) smashed his club against the ground as a warning to the approaching predators. The ripple effect through the splintering concrete caused the dinosaur ghosts to stumble.

They hissed and roared.  Their message was clear. There were two of them and only one Monkey Man Monster (MMM).

The stegosaurus began swinging its tail like a medieval knight warming up his mace. While the MMM (Monkey Man Monster) studied those spikes, the tyrannosaurus rex ghost rushed forward. It could have gotten ugly then, but the Monkey Man Monster (MMM) had certain evolutionary advantages, including opposable thumbs and a frontal lobe. He caught the swinging tail of the stegosaurus with one hand and the head of the tyrannosaurus with the other, pulling them together, sinking stegosaurus swords into scaly tyrannosaur flesh, and flooding the area with hundreds of gallons of translucent ghost blood.  With one ghost down, the Monkey Man Monster (MMM) leapt onto the back of the stegosaurus and dispatched it with several devastating punches to its peanut-sized brain.

Falling off his kill, the MMM (Monkey Man Monster) crawled to his knees, panted heavily and searched the vicinity for additional predators.

Hearing a low growl behind him, he spun around, and found himself faced, once again, with two healthy dinosaur ghosts.

“Dominoes Pizza,” the Monkey Man Monster (MMM) cursed.  He kicked an abandoned briefcase into a tree.

The two dinosaur ghosts let loose with two tremendous roars.  Again, the message was clear. “You can’t kill us. We’re already dead. Oh, and we find your disproportionately tiny feet comical.”

With that, the prehistoric specters disappeared. 

Helen fell to her knees and wept.

Just then, Stumpy Wilkinson appeared, carrying her book bag filled with weapons.  “Sorry, it took me so long.  I couldn’t find the popcorn machine.  What’s been going on?”

He was startled to find the towering figure of the very MMM (Monkey Man Monster) he had predicted a week earlier, and even more startled to find Helen about to hurl a rock at it.  Acting on instinct, Stumpy threw his cardboard container of popcorn into the air, and, using the falling puffed kernels as temporary camouflage, he grabbed the devastated Helen and ushered her through the exit.
Go to chapter 12 

Dinosaur Ghost Chapter 10: Trouble at the Creationist Museum

Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!

The room cleared out when someone threw open the doors and shouted, “Dinosaur Ghosts are destroying the Heritage Foundation!”

As the crowd poured out of the auditorium, individual statements could be overheard such as, “Wow, this I gotta see,” and “Who had Heritage Foundation in the pool?  My money was on CPAC.”

Soon the room was empty except for Helen, who was methodically gathering up her things, and young Stumpy Wilkinson, who now approached her.

“There’s something else you should know. Something I forgot to  tell the panel of liberals.”

“Make it quick,” Helen snapped.  “I’ve got work to do.”

“It’s not just dinosaur ghosts we have to worry about.”

 “What are you talking about?” Helen said, unable to conceal her annoyance.

“There’s another monster,” Stumpy continued, “one completely separate from the dinosaur ghosts.  It’s from a different era. If my calculations are correct, it will arrive in our time within the next few days.”

“You best start making sense, Ass Boy,” Helen said.  She wasn’t sure why she called Stumpy Ass Boy.  It just came out.  All things considered, he had a normal-sized-and-shaped posterior, and his face was not at all ass-like.

“Have you ever heard of the missing link?” Stumpy asked.

“You mean an undiscovered species between human beings and apes?”

“Oh yeah, that is what that is.  Okay, this is slightly different.  This is a species between human beings, monkeys, and monsters.  I called it the Monkey Man Monster or MMM for short.”

“A Monkey Man Monster?” Helen said, shaking her head. “Is that like Bigfoot?”

“No. The Monkey Man Monster, or MMM for short, has surprisingly small feet. They’re quite dainty.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“I’m afraid they are very real and they are very dangerous. Not the feet, though. Just the rest of the monster.”

“And is the Monkey Man Monster also eating republicans?”

“You mean the MMM?  Inconclusive.”

“Then what what exactly does the MMM do?” Helen asked.

"You mean the Monkey Man Monster? Let me put it this way.  Just as the dinosaur ghosts have come back from extinction in order to take revenge on conservatives for their over reliance on fossil fuels, the MMM, or Monkey Man Monster--really it’s whichever you prefer--exists primarily to whack the shit out of people who don’t believe in evolution. Probably with a big club.”

“Republicans are really having a rough month.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Helen said.  She had packed up all the gadgets she needed to do battle with the dinosaur ghosts, but then remembered that she had forgotten to change outfits, so she had to unpack everything again because the outfit she wanted to wear was underneath all the doodads.  She then went into the nearest women’s restroom and changed clothes.

When she returned she was wearing a virgin white dress, cut low in front to reveal her cleavage, and cut short on bottom to reveal her thighs.

“Whoa,” Stumpy said, drooling a little.

“Now I’m ready.” Helen said.

“What are you going to do?” Stumpy asked her boobs.

“Well, if I’m going to sacrifice myself, I figured I better dress the part.”

Stumpy continued to stare at her boobs.

People filtered into the auditorium again, chatting about the spectacle they had witnessed. A paleontology grad student ran up to Stumpy excitedly.  “Dude, you missed it.  Dinosaur Ghosts totally ate the building across the street.”

“You mean it’s over?” Helen said.  “Where are they now?”

“The dinosaur ghosts? I don’t know. They took off,” the grad student said to her boobs.

“Damn,” Helen said, leaning over slightly, just for the hell of it.  “I guess my plan will have to wait.”

Less than twenty four hours after the collapse of the Heritage Foundation, Kevin “Grammy” Graham, 72-year-old founder and CEO of The Crafty Craftsman, now with 372 locations nationwide, stood in the center of his latest triumph, the soon-to-be opened Worldwide Bible Theme Park and Creationist Museum in downtown Kansas City, Kansas.  Years in the making, with no expense spared, the series of interconnecting structures, rides, and exhibits was guaranteed to be the new favorite vacation destination--a Mecca of sorts--for some of the most devout and willfully ignorant upper-middle class fundamentalist Christians in the country.

By far, the most noticeable feature of the park was the one hundred foot-tall replica of Jesus’s head (the white version), known informally as Mega Jesus. The sign out front featured a painting of a regular-sized Jesus with a word bubble pointed at his mouth, which read, “See the world through the eyes of Mega Jesus!” 

How could any visitor, young or old, fail to climb the spiral staircase along the inside of Mega Jesus’s neck, leading to the immaculate tongue where they might kiss the inside of his cheek, gaze at his majestic tonsils, or have a seat on one of sixty four perfect pearly whites.  A short elevator ride through the nasal passageway would lead them to the ocular center, the brilliant cerulean eyes of Mega Jesus, where for only twenty five cents, they could look through telescopic sights and literally see what Jesus sees--pretty much the whole park.  After that, why not take a quick dip in one of several tear ducts (bathing suits required), or, for a few dollars extra, go for a full baptism?  Ministers would be standing by.

And this was just the beginning.  Someday, Grahammy hoped to erect a body to support the giant head.  Expected to rise some one thousand feet in the air, if all went well, people from every corner of the state would able to look into the distance and witness the holiest skyscraper the world had every known.

Of course there were many other attractions to which visitors could avail themselves.  Children could play games like ‘Beat the Devil’ and ‘Seat of Judgment’ or enjoy any one of the many wonderful rides such as the ‘Siege of Jerusalem’, the ‘Carousel of Locusts’ (“Look Mommy, I’m on the plague!”), ‘the Cain-o-nator’, or sit back and enjoy a ride on the ‘Exodus Train’, which just seemed to go round and round. 

Teenage couples were encouraged to take a spin on the ‘Chastity Belt’, a giant spinning cylinder in which the couples were separated, strapped down, and then spun around until they were too sick to act on their basest impulses. 

But perhaps Grahammy’s favorite attraction was the Old Testament Creationist Museum, featuring wax figures of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, Moses parting the Red Sea, Aaron sacrificing a lamb, Abraham sacrificing Isaac, and Daniel in the lion’s den.  It also featured state-of-the-art three-dimensional digital representations of each of the six days of creation.  Grahammy imagined one of his new employees barking, “Step right up and see the universe created before your eyes!”

Grahammy was certain, however, that the museum’s appeal would stem mainly from the Noah’s Arc Exhibit.  Children would love to play on the still-massive scale model arc, ride the backs of stone elephants and crocodiles, and behold just how many animal statues Graham’s designers had managed to cram onto the thing.

 Graham and his partners had debated endlessly on what to do about the dinosaurs.  People had no problem believing that Noah could fit two of each of the nearly eight million species of animals on Earth on a structure that measured 300 cubits by 50 by 30, but Noah himself must have asked himself how the hell he was going to fit all those dinosaurs on his already crowded boat.  After much prayer and soul-searching the Lord had evidently given him the go-ahead to nix the prehistoric beasts.  That’s why, in Graham’s replica, he had submerged all the dinosaur models up to their necks in the surrounding whirl pool and positioned them to stare up at Noah, silently begging him to let them on board.  Everyone knew what happened after that.

Graham stood on the Arc, and wrapped his arm around the statue of  Noah.  This was truly as close to Heaven as a person could get in this wicked world, and in a few hours the rest of the world was going to know it too. 

He only wished the right wing of the Supreme Court hadn’t recently been eaten by dinosaur ghosts before they could rule on his case. In Billinglsy VS the Crafty Craftsman, Graham had hoped the court would decide once and for all that a company could claim a religious exemption from contributing a share of health insurance premiums to homosexual employees.  His argument: by helping to keep gay people alive, he was in fact contributing to their lifestyle, a notion he found unconscionable.  Now, he was almost certain to lose the case.

He tried to push the negative thought out of his mind.  Today was going to be a grand day. Soon the gates of the park would open and Graham would be surrounded by a comforting throng of like-minded individuals. 

Staring in the direction of the park gate, he failed to notice the water churning below him in an unusually aggressive manner, nor did he observe the emergence of two great beasts who had been denied a place on his arc.  A shadow fell over him then, a pair of shadows, that cast him into their darkness.  Slowly he turned, and his expression became a mixture of horror and confusion.  He’d prayed this wouldn’t happen.  Not today.  But here they were.  Dinosaur Ghosts, and...Were they holding hands?
go to chapter 11

Dinosaur Ghost Chapter 9: Think Tank Tumped

Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!

“I don’t know how I could have been so wrong,” Helen said.  She buried her face in her hands.

“It happens to the best of us,” Eric said.  He eyed the television longingly. 

A football game was about to start, and it seemed like they’d been sitting at the table for hours, talking about the same things over and over again.  The dinosaur ghosts are eating republicans.  Why are the dinosaur ghosts eating republicans?  How do we stop the dinosaur ghosts from eating republicans?  Blah Blah Blah.  He rolled his eyes. 

Not three feet away, there was a perfectly good couch and a perfectly good television set. Unfortunately, both were walled off by perfectly good yellow police tape, put there not by police, but by Helen, to prevent her from accidentally stumbling into her late boyfriend’s favorite spot in the apartment and bringing back all those painful memories.  Even worse, James’s second favorite spot in the apartment, the bathroom, was also off limits, which meant Eric had to go down the hall and use the bathroom of some guy named Tito whenever he needed to drop a deuce.

“Somehow they’ve managed to penetrate that invisible membrane between the third and fourth dimensions,” Helen continued. “If I could figure out how, I bet I could find a way to stop them.”

Eric leaned in close.  “Hey, Baby. You wanna take this to the bedroom?”  He raised and lowered his eyebrows suggestively.

“Eric!”

“What’s the big deal? We’ve done it before.”

“A girl likes a little romance.  Besides, this isn’t the time.”

“It’s never the time,” Eric said angrily.  He stood up from the table.

Helen looked at him incredulously.  “We just had the time last night.  And then we had the time again this morning.”

“Yes, Helen, but now is a different time.  It’s game time, Helen, and I wanna watch the football game.”

Tears flooded Helen’s eyes.  “I can’t have football on in the house,” she said.  “It’s just too soon.”

“Aw, everything is too soon.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know!” Eric shouted.

Helen’s grief turned to anger.  “What is this, Eric?  What are we doing here?  We’ve spent the last three nights together.  Where is this going?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Eric said, his anger turning to fear.  “We’re just two people bonding over our troubles and a paranormal phenomenon in which dinosaur spirits wreak havoc on...”

“Is that all this is to you?” Helen interrupted, her anger turning to outrage.  “Just some fling?”

“Um, I don’t think, I mean, I didn’t mean...” Eric stuttered, his fear turning to backpedaling.  “It’s just... Oh, Helen.  I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Again the tears came rolling down her face.  Her voice got all squeaky.  “Are you breaking up with me?”

“I didn’t even know we were going out.”

“Get out!” Helen shouted, her sadness transforming into rage.  She’d been on a serious emotional roller coaster lately.

Eric started to say something, but decided against it. He turned and quietly walked out of the front door, leaving Helen with her smoldering resentment, which would likely convert to depression at any moment.

“No,” she said, slamming her fist against the table.  “Eric is just another silly little boy obsessed with sports and afraid of commitment.  I’m sick of them all.”

From that moment on, she told herself, she had no time to waste on the likes of him.  She had dinosaur ghosts to stop from eating any more republicans.

She stared at the arrangement of thingamabobs spread across the table.  One of these doohickeys was going to help her blast those damned dirty dinosaur ghosts back to the Paleozoic era.  She picked up a screwdriver and went to work.

Three days later, having made the short drive to Washington D.C., she popped her head in on a rather heated debate between different factions over at the Heritage Foundation.  There, she sat through much screaming and accusatory innuendo, with the majority attributing the recent spate of dinosaur ghost attacks to Obamacare, taxes, and a massive governmental conspiracy to cover-up actions following the attack on the embassy in Benghazi.  After several minutes, it became obvious to Helen that she’d come to the wrong place. 

Across the street, she found another meeting already in progress, this time at a liberal think tank, the Center for Progressive Progress.  A young man was making a presentation to a panel of distinguished experts chaired by none other than Harlington University’s dean of paleontology, Dr. Brenda Bellingham, she who had once blocked Helen from matriculating in her department way back in chapter 1.

“Darn it,” Helen said, taking a seat in the back row.  “Not this bitch again.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Mrs. Bellingham was saying condescendingly to the young man standing before her. “You maintain that the recent spate of dinosaur-related hallucinations are in fact actions perpetrated by actual dinosaurs.”

“No, Professor, they are the ghosts of real dinosaurs. My data shows conclusively that these dinosaur ghosts are extremely pissed off about how their remains have been used to wreck the environment.”

Professor Bellingham lowered her head into her hands and sighed. “You’re referring to the burning of fossil fuels?”

“Yes, you see over the course of millions of years, buried organisms such as the dinosaurs were slowly converted into fossil fuels such as coal, oil and natural gas.”

“I am aware of how fossil fuels are created, Mr. Wilkinson.  And what evidence do you have to support the assertion that this has infuriated the dinosaurs?”

“I’ve provided each member of the panel with my report,” Stumpy said. “As you can see, starting on page 15, one of the conservative journalists killed, Herman Bainbridge, had recently started his own business based on wasting fossil fuels.  Rock Benson, the cable news pundit, did a show deliberately obfuscating the debate on climate change the day he was killed.  Two days before the Supreme Court was attacked, the conservative majority handed down a ruling that said that since global climate change isn’t mentioned by any documents associated with the founding fathers, then the government has no obligation to do anything about it.”

“And the gun nuts?” One of the other panelists asked.

“Those guys all drove gas guzzlers.”

“I still don’t understand why these so-called dinosaur ghosts would resort to such drastic measures,” Dr. Bellingham said.  “I mean, I know they’re natural predators, but still.”

“Well, imagine if your dog died and you buried him in your back yard.”

Professor Bellingham got a far-off look in her eyes and her voice went all squeaky. “Fifi?” she said.

“Exactly.  Now imagine if someone came along, dug up Fifi, processed his remains and then poured them into the engine of an SUV.”

Dr. Bellingham struck her palm with her fist.  “Those dirty doggy-desecrating dirt balls!”

“Well, that’s exactly how the dinosaur ghosts feel.  That’s why they’ve come back from the dead to seek their revenge.”

“But everyone burns fossil fuels.”

“Yes,” but it’s the conservatives who are hell-bent on keeping it that way.” Young Stumpy unfurled a map and placed it on a waiting easel. “This map of the US shows every confirmed dinosaur ghost attack to date.  Each red mark indicates an attack location.  As you can see, the heaviest concentration of red is here in D.C., but there are also several spots in Detroit and many down in southern states where foreign auto plants have set up shop.  You’ll also note that in recent days, even some southern democrats have been eaten, all of whom, I might add have supported burning fossil fuels in one form or another and blocked legislation limiting carbon emissions.”

“And what is your take-away from all this?”

“We have to stop burning fossil fuels as soon as possible,” Stumpy said. 

The spectators stood and applauded.

“That’s not good enough,” yelled a woman on the back row.  “We have to do something now!”

Stumpy shielded his eyes from the floor lights as he tried to make out who was yelling at him.  “Well, at this rate,” he said, “pretty soon there won’t be any republicans left to block legislation.”

The spectators chuckled and chortled in appreciation.

“That’s your solution?” Helen said, stepping from the shadows.  “You’re going to sit back and allow innocent people to die.” She checked herself.  “Innocent-ish people.”

Dr. Bellingham registered the identity of the new speaker.  “Now Ms. Fonzarelli.  You know you aren’t allowed within fifty feet of me.  I have a restraining order in effect.”

“I promise not to come any closer,” Helen said, “but I’ll be darned if I sit around and let people die without doing something about it.”

“And just what do you propose we do?” Dr. Bellingham asked.

Helen reached into her backpack and pulled out one of her homemade devices.  The panel gasped. 

“Now, Ms. Fonzarelli.  There’s no need to get violent.  Put the gun away.”

“Oh this isn’t a gun,” Helen replied.  “And it’s not capable of hurting people.”

“Whew,” said Dr. Bellingham.

“I call it the Ethereal Specter Disrupter, aka the Ghost Roaster, or the Ghost Toaster.  I can’t decide which sounds better.”

“What does it do?”

“It whacks the shit out of dinosaur ghosts.”

“And just how do you propose to find these dinosaur ghosts?” Dr. Bellingham asked.

“I’ve got a plan for that too.”

Across the street at the Heritage Foundation, members had finally come to a consensus.  The final wording of the official report stated that upon re-invading Iraq, the dinosaur ghosts would greet the Americans as liberators and would, in all likelihood, help them build an oil pipeline across the region.

They were all very pleased with this handy piece of scholarship.  What they didn’t know was that two enormous shadows had just fallen over the building, and that within a few moments, the entire structure would be no more.
Up next: chapter 10

Dinosaur Ghost Chapter 7: They're Real and They're Eating Republicans

Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!

Helen found Eric in his office, boxing up his things.

“Oh Eric, I’m sorry you lost your job.”

“Are you kidding me,” Eric said.  “I’m sorry about your boyfriend.” He gave her a hug.

“It was the ghost, Eric,” Helen said.  “It was the dinosaur ghost.  I don’t understand why it would want to hurt James.”  She crossed her fingers.  “He was such a sweetheart.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Eric asked. 

“There is one thing,” Helen said, wiping tears from her eyes with a wad of used tissue she found in her pocket.  “You have to help me figure out what’s going on.  We have to figure out how and why the dinosaurs have come back from extinction, so we can stop them before they kill again.”

“Okay, I’ll help you,” Eric said.  He tossed his award for outstanding Paleontology into the cardboard box.  “It’s not like I have a job anymore.  When do we start?”

“I was thinking about this in the car on the way over here,” Helen said.  “Can you do a web search of recent suspicious deaths in the area?”

Eric sat down at his computer and began tapping away at his keyboard.  He scanned text for the next few minutes.

“Here it is,” he said.  “I’ve got two suspicious deaths in the last month.  Herman Bainbridge, a conservative syndicated columnist, was killed in a freak car accident, and Rock Benson, the TV pundit, was killed when his hot tub exploded.  Hey!” Eric said.  “I know that guy.  He’s the conservative blowhard and pitchman for gold and reverse mortgages.”

“James was a blogger for Red State,” Helen said.  “That’s the connection.  They were all members of the conservative media elite.”

“But why would the dinosaur ghosts target republicans?” Eric asked.  “It doesn’t make sense.”

 “That’s a good question,” Helen said.  She paced in front of his desk.  “Why would they do that?  Why come all the way back from extinction after millions of years just to target people with a particular political affiliation?  What is it about republicans that they hate so much?”

“Maybe they hate white people.”

“No,” Helen said.  “There are still plenty of white liberals, and as far as we know, they aren’t being targeted.”

“Rich white people, then?”

“Ever heard of George Soros?”

They sat quietly contemplating the situation.

Gradually, they became aware of an argument taking place down the hall.   Dr. Watson was yelling at someone.  Eric and Helen exchanged glances and then followed the voices.  The door to Dr. Watson’s office was slightly ajar, and they could see him standing there, stroking his beard and pointing his pipe at someone.

“Come now, Samson.  Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m telling you it was a dinosaur.  It’s eaten three of my elephants so far this month.  Hell, it tried to eat two of my custodians.  My security guard took one look at the thing, and dropped dead of a heart attack.” Dr. Sampson (the zoologist from chapter 2) stormed into view.  “That man only had three days left until retirement.”

“I think maybe those fraternity boys you told me about went and spiked your zoo’s water supply.”

“I thought about that,” Dr. Sampson said, “but I checked.  The water’s clean.”

“I’m sorry, Old Boy, I simply haven’t got time for this.  My bloody TA lost my stegosaurus.”

Helen ignored Eric’s frantic hand gestures and barged through the door.

“Now, see here, young lady,” Dr. Watson sputtered.  “You can’t barge in here like that.” A spark of recognitions passed through his face. “Wait a moment, I know you.  You’re Thompson’s harlot.  What are you doing here?”

Helen ignored him.  “Dr. Sampson, do you know if that security guard was a democrat or a republican?”

“He was a founding member of the John Birch society,” Dr. Sampson replied, “but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Oh, it matters a great deal,” Helen replied.  “Dinosaur Ghosts are real, and they’re eating republicans.”

“You’re mad,” Dr. Watson said.  “Thompson, escort this woman off the premises immediately.”

“You forget yourself, Dr. Watson.  I don’t work for you anymore,” Eric said.  “Besides, you should listen to her.  She’s been right about everything so far.”

“Why would dinosaurs eat republicans?” Dr. Sampson asked.

“That’s what we want to know,” Eric said.  “But it’s definitely true.  We did a Google search and everything.”

“I’ve heard quite enough,” Dr. Watson said.  “I want all of you out of my office.”

A few minutes later, Helen, Eric, and Dr. Sampson walked through the parking lot, each carrying a load of Eric’s belongings.

“No one will ever believe us,” Helen said.

“I believe you,” said Dr. Sampson.  “I know what I saw.  And I know two custodians in a mental hospital who will vouch for your story as well.”

“That doesn’t really help,” Helen said.  “I only wish we had some idea where the dinosaur ghosts were going to strike next.”

Meanwhile, across town, the annual meeting of the Association of Gun Rights Advocates was coming to order.  President Wade Lafollette stood at the podium, situated beneath a large banner featuring Yosemite Sam firing his pistols into the air.

Lafollette banged his gavel.  “This meeting will come to order.”  

Noise in the convention center gradually subsided.

“It’s such a fine thing to see so many fine Americans strapping heat,” he began.  The audience roared its approval.

“I want to say this in front of all the proud members gathered here today.  Guns have rights.  Guns deserve rights.  They have a right to be owned by every red-blooded American.  They have a right to be fired by those Americans.  And we’re about this close to getting the supreme court to declare that guns are people, with equal rights and full protection under the law.”      

Massive applause followed.  A couple of celebratory shots rang out.  Someone screamed.

“You guys be careful,” Lafollette warned.  “And everybody make sure to turn off your cell phones.  The media has a field day every time one of us accidently shoots himself.” 

There was grumbling of approval.  The gunshot member was carried away on a stretcher with a gushing leg wound. 

Lafollette continued.  “Don’t get me started on the liberal media.”

A chorus of boos emanated from the crowd. 

“They treat every mass shooting as if it was the gun’s fault.  Well, I say if people weren’t shooting up movie theaters and elementary schools with guns, they’d be doing the same thing with crossbows.” 

The audience cheered. 

“You know, people tend to forget all the good things guns do, like bringing food to the tables of our forefathers, and maintaining our hand-eye coordination.  How come the dang media don’t report that?” 

A mixture of cheers and boos came from the audience.  It was unclear to them whether they were supposed to boo the media or cheer the guns.

“And why are they always out trumpeting statistics showing that people with guns are more likely to kill a family member than an intruder, no matter how many times you tie a string to a hundred-dollar bill and use it to lure neighbors through the front door?  Do you know what I say to that?  We need to stop listening to statistics and math and start listening to our trigger fingers.  That’s what we need to do.”

The audience applauded wildly.

Another member accidentally shot himself and was wheeled away.

“Dang it,” Lafollette said.

Suddenly, the great double doors at the front of the auditorium flew open.  A cold wind rushed into the room.  A string of eerie looking mist swirled in the air above the crowd.

“What the?” Lafollette said, just as a pair of terrible lizards appeared in the miasma. 

One stood on two legs.  It had a large head and ferocious teeth.  Along side the monster stood a four-legged stegosaurus, whose tail cut through the air with spikes as sharp as swords.

Instantly, everyone in the room pulled out their guns and began firing in the general direction of the two dinosaurs.  The room filled with gunshots and thick gray smoke, blood and spattered curses.  The dinosaurs shrieked, twisted in  the wind, now heavy with lead. 

“Take that, you son of a bitch,” Lafollette shouted as he emptied both chambers of his  trusty derringer into the side of the Tyrannosaurus.  “And that’s just the one I hide in my underwear.”  He pulled back his suit jacket to reveal a pair of six shooters.”  

Men on both sides of him dropped in a hail of gunfire. 

The stegosaurus turned at him and hissed.  A spike flew just over his head, tussling his hair, but leaving him no worse for wear.  “You call that a draw.” Lafollette sneered.  He drew both revolvers at once and emptied both barrels, all twelve shots in rapid succession. 

Across the stage, he heard the sound of people screaming. 

A bullet whizzed past his ear, and then another.  A third grazed his elbow.

“Dag nabbit,” he shouted. “Don’t shoot me.  Shoot the dang dinosaurs!”  He pointed one of his pistols in the direction of the two dinosaur ghosts.  With his chambers empty, his guns useless, he felt he had no choice but to defend himself the last way he knew how; he threw each gun in the direction of the Tyrannosaur, hoping to knock it unconscious.  Instead, the pistols sailed through the dinosaur’s head without it even noticing.

The next bullet caught him beneath the belt, dropped him to the floor.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.  Another bullet caught his shoulder, knocked him flat on his back. 

His last sight was that of a pair of floating dinosaurs looking down at him, looking down at all of them, all those men with guns, now lying bleeding and riddled with bullets, while they--the dinosaur ghosts-- remained, unharmed, and towering above them.  

Both dinosaur ghosts roared at once, but it wasn’t the roar of anger, or pain, or terror; that would have been more satisfying to Lafollette.  Instead it was a mocking sound that would follow him into the grave: it sounded like they were laughing.
go to chapter 8

Dinosaur Ghost Chapter 6: Dangerous Emissions

Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!

Rock Benson swirled his martini and smiled.  He enjoyed the luxurious splendor of his twenty eight-foot stretch Hummer.  The hot tub was his favorite part.  Setting his glass on the side, he eased himself into the bubbling cauldron.

Rock’s career had been soaring ever since Obama took office. Hundreds of thousands of disaffected white people seemed to have sprung out of the proverbial woodwork, and they tuned in each night to watch his stiff-lipped, hard-fisted, knee-jerk reaction to the events of the day.  His talk show, Rock Bottom, was now one of the highest rated “news” shows on cable.  (The network’s legal department insisted on using quotation marks whenever describing their programming as news.)

But it was this part of the day, after taping, that Rock loved best.  Now he could close his eyes and replay that evening’s show against the backdrop of his eyelids, and in transcript form.

Cue Music that relies heavily on timpani and bass drums.

Rock: Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m Rock Benson, and you’ve hit Rock Bottom. Tonight we have two special guests, each representing an opposing view on a controversial topic. Is Global Warming real or is it liberal bunk? We’ll present both opinions and then let you decide. First up is Professor Jeffrey Nerdlemeyer, head of climate science at Harvard University. He thinks global warming is real. Thanks for being here, Mr. Nerdlemeyer. Tell us your opinion.

Professor Nerdlemeyer: My name is Silvermeyer, Dr. Silvermeyer, and it’s not just my opinion.  Global climate change is very real, and overwhelming evidence suggests that human activity has exacerbated the problem.

Rock: Then why am I cold right now?

Professor Nerdlemeyer: You’re sitting underneath a vent. As I was saying, greenhouse gasses, like those released from burning fossil fuels, trap sunlight in the atmosphere, sunlight that would otherwise be reflected into space.

Rock: Space? That seems a little farfetched, don't you think?

Professor Nerdlemeyer: Excuse me?

Rock: This isn’t Star Wars, Professor. It’s 2014.

Professor Nerdlemeyer: I’m not sure what you mean.  As I was saying. The trapped sunlight warms the planet, which is why the poles are melting, ocean temperatures are rising, and every year is the warmest year on record. The consequences of all this could be catastrophic.

Rock: Are you aware that other scientists suggest that you're making all this up, and even if your aren't then we’re all screwed anyway, so why bother doing anything?

Professor Nerdlemeyer: I don’t understand why some people refuse to believe in the greenhouse effect.  It’s something any seventh grader can prove at a science fair.

Rock: (Laughing) Nice try, Professor. Now it’s time to talk with a real scientist. Dr. Kooky Westerball is a professor of Scientific Studies at the Online Institute of Port-O-Prince. Doctor Westerball, you’re a doctor, is that correct?

Dr. Kooky: Yes, Rock. I have a PHD in Factitious Anomalies from The Tennessee Valley Creationist College. I also hold several other advanced degrees, including an MBA, an MFA, an MBFA, a BFF, and an LOL, from various online programs based at junior colleges throughout South America.

Rock: Pretty impressive. Why don’t you tell our viewers why Mr. Nerdlemeyer is a liberal propagandist looking to make a fast buck perpetuating the myth of Global Warming?

Professor Nerdlemeyer: Wait a second. How could I possibly profit from this?

Rock: Come on, Professor.  You’re just out to sell your book.

Professor Nerdlemeyer: But I don’t even have a book.  And even if I did, it’s not like I would get rich.  At best I’d sell a few thousand copies, and maybe make enough to support myself for a year or two.

Rock: You had your shot, Rich Boy. It’s Dr. Westerball’s turn.  Go ahead, Doc.

Dr. Kooky: Well, Rock, it has been constitutionally proven by world renowned Scienceologists—these are professionals fluent in Einstonian Geometrics, Quasi-Judicial Influenzas, and Bi-Curial Menstruations—that global climate change is easily attributable to normal Paleozoic fluctuations of the Ionosphere—just like the Ice Age suffered by Ray Romano and his friends in that movie Ice Age.  Also, current temperatic abstractions can be traced back to the fact that God is mad about gay marriage.

Rock: (Fascinated) Really? I had no idea Ray Romano was gay in that movie.

Dr. Kooky: He was the way I watched it.

Rock: Well, folks, there you have it. Two renowned scientists with two completely different takes on the whole global warming myth. Personally, I don’t know what to think. I’m stumped.

Dr. Kooky: I thought you were Rock.

(They laugh while the professor buries his head in his hands.)

Rock: Well, that’s it. Thanks for joining us.  Tune in tomorrow night, when, once again, you’ll hit Rock Bottom.  Goodnight, Everybody!

Cue drum music.

Rock pushed the button for the retractable roof and watched as a beautiful night sky opened up above him. He tossed his empty martini glass out of the moon roof, then stood up to see if it landed on a homeless person. Unfortunately, the street was deserted. Settling back into his bath, he reached along the edge of the hot tub until he found a Cuban cigar and a solid gold Zippo lighter with diamond inlays.

With the swarm of bubbles tickling his nether regions, Rock failed to notice a long tail slithering through his legs.  With his eyes closed, he failed to spot the six-foot spikes jutting out of the water.  With his ears full of wax, he failed to hear the giant armored plates scraping his upholstered ceiling.  With his mind so wrapped up in thoughts about himself, he completely missed the seventeen-ton shimmering stegosaurus, now scratching its butt against the side of his hot tub.

It was unfortunate for Rock that his stretch Hummer lacked the prehistoric vegetation that once constituted the stegosaurus’s diet. The enormous reptile had to settle for raiding the mini-fridge, where it quietly devoured a platter of expensive French cheese and escargot. And it was to Rock Benson’s greatest misfortune that at the precise moment he sparked his Cuban cigar; the Stegosaurus let loose a potent blast of flatulence that incinerated him.
Go to chapter 7

Dinosaur Ghost Chapter 1: Everything is Fine

by Christamar Varicella

Dinosaur Ghost is now available for free as a pdf!

Helen tossed her keys on the kitchen counter and stared down at a stack of mail. One letter in particular stood above the rest--the top one.

“That you, Babe?” her boyfriend James asked from the living room.  He was sitting on the couch watching a football game.

“Um,” Helen mumbled.  She honed in on the letter.  She picked it up, studied the return address: Harlington University.  This is it, she thought.  I’ll finally learn whether or not I’m going to become a paleontologist.

Her mind traveled back in time to the interview.  That was the hardest part of the whole application process.  That and shaking the $25 application fee out of James.  She never understood why she did so poorly in interviews.  Maybe it had something to do with the way she nervously smacked her gums when questioned, or how she called everyone, “Bubba.”  She got along fine with people when she avoided talking to them, but whenever she was put in the same room with other human beings, her intelligence and poise seemed to slip away.

She waited through the awkward silence as Dr. Bellingham studied her application. 

“It says here that you already have an advanced degree.”

Helen smacked her gums and smiled.  “You got that right, Bubba.”

“According to your transcript, you have a masters degree in something called paranormal psychology.”

“Yep.”  She smacked her gums again.  So far, this was going pretty well.

“And did you get your degree from watching the movie Ghostbusters?”

Helen thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in Dr. Bellingham’s voice.  “Um no, it was a standard matriculation.”

Dr. Bellingham put down the transcript and peered at Helen over the top of her glasses.  “Ms. Fonzarelli, why do you want to study paleontology?”

Helen thought about the question.  “Well, I guess I want to know why the dinosaurs went extinct.”

“But you are aware of existing evidence suggesting an asteroid, or perhaps even a comet, crashed into the Earth, sending up a cloud of dust that...”

“I just don’t think an asteroid would be big enough to squash all those dinosaurs.  It must have been something else.”

“I think you misunderstand.  The asteroid did not crush the dinosaurs.  It sent up a massive cloud of dust that blocked out the sun and made life impossible.  That is the likeliest cause of extinction.”

But Helen wasn’t listening.  She waited until Dr. Bellingham finished talking and then responded, “I just don’t believe it.” 

This is going great, she told herself.

Back in the present (which has since passed), she ripped open the letter.

“Dang it,” she said, balling up the paper and throwing it into the trash can.  “It’s just another ‘Cease and Desist’ order.  I don’t know why they won’t tell me whether I made it into the program.  Maybe I should write them another email... or call them again.  Honey, what do you think?”

James took a sip of his beer and continued watching the game.  “I don’t know why you want to get some liberal education when you can sit around here looking pretty.”  He let out a gigantic belch and then added, “and working full-time.”

“We will be together forever, won’t we?”  Helen said.  She was so happy to have James in her life, even if he was a republican.

“Either that, or until one of us dies, or you get fat, or I get bored of you,” he said.  He crushed the empty can on his forehead and fired it across the room, where it bounced off the trash can and landed on the floor.  “Two points,” he said. 

“Oh James,” she said, jumping into his lap.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” James said.  Without taking his eyes off of the game, he reached around her body with both hands and squeezed her butt cheeks.

I don’t care if I don’t get into that stupid old program, Helen thought.  My life is still perfect.

chapter 2