An innocent, well-meaning Whistleblower dino had come forth five weeks ago with credible, urgent information that pointed a claw to some dino inside the Oval Dwelling, perhaps even the Tyrumposaurus.
The Simonandgarfunkel minstrel dino tells us that heaven holds a place for those who pray. Especially those in search of the Big Story.
The Manuraju, a young, earnest Mediacircustops, leaned against a rock pillar and yawned. It was late in the day in the Kongrus Kave.
The dino judge, the Emmetsullivan, squatted upon his judicial bedrock. It was Monday morning. Following a nice, leisurely weekend dining on Denversaurus sandwiches in Hell Creek, it was back to work. …
The Stephenmillerus looked out at the overflowing dino crowd and frowned. He had a bad feeling about this. The Tyrumposaurus had wanted to do yet another vanity roadshow to win over middle-of-the-rock-sitting dinos.
But here at the biggest Feminist Movement in the Milkanhoney Preservation? …
“He’s coming!” hissed the Linseygraham. “Quick! Everyone, hide! And wait for my signal.”
A dozen dinos scurried for cover in the Oval Dwelling behind large rocks and piles of discarded Cheezbuggabuggas and soggy Dietcoker leaves.
The Tyrumposaurus sauntered into the cave
Slurp. Slurp. Lick. Lick. Slurp. Lick.
Tongues wagged, saliva dripped and the mass exfoliation continued upon the Tyrumposaurus’ soiled, stinky feet. It was the daily foot-licking session in the Oval Dwelling.