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The Tired Dinosaur

November 18, 2016

I am the last of the Triassic era; I must be the last of the tired dinosaurs. When I turn on the television, I know that I am surely a museum piece. That becomes crystal clear with every commercial and every nuance of every news broadcast and every breath of every television show.

Yesterday morning, I turned on the television to help nurse a bad night’s sleep over a cup of coffee. I watched a plug for a new shoe that laces and pressurizes itself by using an app. I couldn’t help but wonder what the harm would be in just lacing up your own damn shoes. Would an Android application really make the task any better or quicker? Dino thinks not.

I also saw a news clip in which a person uploaded their credit card to Snapchat and then was surprised when $80,000 worth of fraudulent charges appeared within minutes. I know I’m an old reptile, but that just seems plain plumb stupid to me. With everyone trying to steal your very soul, why would you put your credit card up publicly on the internet? Things were better back in the Jurassic for sure.

Perhaps, I have been asleep for centuries or at least decades. Wanting to see if we were at war or under terrorist attack, I flipped on a different news channel only to be greeted with a series of Hollywood-esque promotions. One featured a bra with a built-in heart monitor. Where was that one when I was in Jurassic Junior High School? Where did my morning news disappear to? I need to know if it’s safe to go outside and the news is proffering smart bras. What gives?

Last night, I thought I would check-out the major networks for a television show. Yes, I know that only a dinosaur would refer to major networks; you know, those are the ones with non-jazzy acronyms like ABC, NBC and CBS. I think they were around in the days of the woolly mammoth. The first channel featured a new show based on DC Comics. I remembered DC Comics from my youth but not the digital drivel I watched: Something about a group of ass wipes with super powers. Hell, I remember when we all had super powers and got together as a nation to get things done. I changed the channel only to find another story based on futuristic fantasy. The old dino brain just didn’t get that one. The third try brought me to a crime series where people were getting shot at a rate of one per three seconds. This scaly old beast wondered if this could all have something to do with a population that can’t deal with reality and shoots one another instead. I wonder if the gun control folks have considered this. Probably not. It’s always the gun’s fault anyway.

Done with the television and its reflection of the world we live in, I ambled off to bed to dream of better days and soft visions of pterodactyls; these are the things I know well.

The above Brontosaurus was painted for the Sinclair Dinosaur Book by my great-uncle James E. Allen in 1934.

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One Comment
  1. Very funny. I can just hear the angst in your voice. 🙂

    Like

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