Save possibly Old Testament literalists and the savants who believe dead voters stole the 2020 election, we can probably all agree with the likelihood that 65 million years ago the Gulf of Mexico hosted a large asteroid strike resulting in global disruption and chaos. The best known result of this catastrophe was the disappearance of all the dinosaurs who hadn’t had the foresight to participate in fathering the descending lines that became emus, chickadees, bee eaters, and etc. What we know/infer about dinosaurs, pre-demise, is the result of years of interdisciplinary study in lab and field: paleontology, climatology, geology, paleo-biology, etc. But, if we are honest, we don’t know everything. Scientists, if only by proxy, we are very careful that any advance in our knowledge is based on objective, responsible science. That said there are, as I recently learned, an impressively large number of people who don’t give a fig for “objective, responsible science.” This demographic firmly believes, “We know what we know.” With maybe just a hint of “Now fuck off.” For example, I was recently and sincerely apprised of a dinosaur that very few people (and certainly no legitimate paleontologist has) have ever heard of – the Tyrumpasaurus or T-Rump. Now here’s a disclaimer: anything scientific, naturally, I prefer to observe the matter at hand. Barring that I might accept, orally or in writing, information of unimpeachable provenance, say a reputable, refereed journal or a lecture sanctioned by a well regarded professional organization. Always, absent the chance to see it, I pay close attention to the source and transmission of information. Having said all this, I now want, and quickly, to say that what follows meets none of these conditions.
I was waiting in a (long) line for my Covid vaccination and started chatting with the guy in front of me. Rudy as it turned out. He was clearly looking for an interlocutor, and I hadn’t brought a book. Betrayed by my default grin and averted gaze, we (using this term very loosely) started talking about dinosaurs. I think he saw a crow hopping around out the window, grinned, and said, “When dinosaurs roamed the earth.” Anyway we had the ensuing paleo-ontological discussion, and this is what I learned. (Just to anticipate, I have captured Rudy’s non-germane remarks inside brackets, “[ ],” so you can distinguish the science from the chaff.)
Rudy said he heard what follows from his cousin, Vincent and thinks it must be true since everyone knows Vincent for a straight shooter. [By the way, Vincent is currently sidelined and recovering from a botched hernia operation. Thank Obama fucking Care for that.] Anyway, Vincent said his neighbor knew a guy, a wholesaler, who knew a guy whose neighbor’s brother worked heavy equipment over in Jersey which is how he knew about a dinosaur called the Tyrumposaurus or T-Rump.
Now apparently, and as I anticipate a round of puerile snickering in the back row, for a dinosaur the “rump” is not the same as “the ass.” For a dinosaur the rump is on the head. It consists of a cluster of a dozen or so long, pale yellowish feather-like features that lie horizontally on top of the creature’s head and project out a few inches over its brow rather like a flattened crest or a visor – think maybe a cassowary goes through a carwash. So, while in our lexicon the rump is the dinosaur’s backside. The dinosaur knows nothing of this and is perfectly content to have his head under his rump. I learned this later in the conversation, and it took me a while to picture this – an unsettling image to be sure. Let’s move on.
The brother of the guy (yada, yada, yada) was right there on the work site sitting in his digger when one of these beasts, fossilized of course, had literally been turned up during a remodeling of the seventeenth hole of a golf course over in north Jersey. Now, apparently, it’s the law that, in the event of such a discovery, work stops until the state scientists have a chance to extract it in accordance with proper paleontological protocol. So the foreman shut everything down, [fuckin’ unions], made the necessary calls and pretty soon the seventeenth is a dinosaur dig. Evidently on the second day of the dig the golf course owner comes around and he’s all harangsaurus. What the fuck did the foreman and the contractor think they were doing! This was costing him an arm and friggin’ leg, blah, blah! He doesn’t care what the law says. He didn’t get where he is today by following the law. They are some really awful people, very bad people, who are trying to bankrupt him and so on. [Banford said it was probably pretty ugly, but this guy was a famous high-pressure billionaire so you kinda had to accept this kind of behavior.] Finally the owner takes the scientists aside. He’s got his hand in his back pocket and is clearly trying to grease their trowels in an effort to disappear the dinosaur The owner stalks off in a rage and the scientists get back to work. A couple more days and T-Rump is out of the ground, documented, plastered up and on his way.
Now the story goes that during the dinosaur dig, the construction guys hung out with the scientists during lunch and breaks and so on. They learned a lot about T-Rump. And it turns out T-Rump is a highly developed species. This one even got buried with several volumes from its diary. Okay, I know, but the line wasn’t moving and Banford is really into it and seems to have no doubts about the veracity of any of this. He’s nuts but it’s a good story and passes the time. Given his fervor, he probably doesn’t read the amused skepticism in my face. He assures me that, after all, these were real scientists. The paleontologists told the workers that the T-rumps even had their own currency called the “copro.” This particular T-rump had a huge stash of these buried with him and must have been a very rich lizard indeed!
At this point, Rudy is really cooking, unstoppable, KC Jones and the 1929 stock market. Fortunately the line is starting to pick up speed. Of course, Rudy and I have been six feet apart through this whole production, so at least the people ahead and behind us have had no trouble hearing all this. He imagines they are as fascinated as he is. When they look at me, I see “why” in their eyes and tattooed across their faces. But I know how hard it was to get this appointment, so I grab a strap and hang on for the rest of the ride.
It seems that on the last day of the dig the crew were allowed a quick look at that diary and were righteously gobsmacked by what they learned. Evidently, T-rump had recruited a large group of herbivores with the promise that, given each provided him with a big bag of copro, he would provide them with a large acreage of good grazing where they could dine without fear. He proposed them to accomplish this unlikely state of affairs by provisioning a large squadron of velociraptors with abundant fresh meat who in turn, sated and in return for their tucker, agreed to guard the grassland from other predators while waiting for their next free meal. This would allow the herbivores to dine unmolested in a manner they never had before. Unbeknownst to the herbivores, T-rump made a deal with the velociraptors. For a hefty fee of copros they could encircle the feeding ground pretending to be well fed and vigilant and then rush the unsuspecting herbivore buffet. This plan was put in effect and resulted in full scale slaughter of the herbivores by the raptors. After the raptors staggered off the field bellies dragging, T-rump sold tickets to the inevitable scavengers at ten copros for an hour gnawing at the scene. As he departed for a new neighborhood, he thought that those herbi-fa had gotten no more than they deserved.
At this point Rudy has to stop. He is wild eyed and breathing hard but looks entirely satisfied. He is gratified in understanding the heavy and relieved sighs of our neighbors as signs of possible astonished belief which of course they are not. They are just glad it is over and happy to see that they are on the verge of the paperwork table. Almost exalted, Rudy starts in on something called a Quanonasaur who supposedly goes around spreading the word that, in fact, T-rump tried to save the herbivores, but no one is listening. He reminds me of people I have seen in the New York subway alone with a few other drunks and preaching to the tile walls. I get to the sign in table and was never so happy to have paperwork and get a needle in my arm.
