India Insight Out The real reason dinosaurs are extinct

By Susan Hague


When my buddy Cedric and I came back from Symbiosis Institute of Business Management (SIBM)-Pune, we performed surgery on Professor Moody. It was not a success.
We attempted to transplant the animated dinosaur into the professor, which meant we had to flay the dinosaur down to its frame. This, too, was not a success.
Or maybe it was partly a success. We did manage to cut away its rubber reptilian skin and expose its inner workings. To our dismay, we discovered the creature’s jaw mechanism was string and rubber bands, which would not allow it to move inside the professor’s mouth. (Professor Moody is a puppet, and Cedric was planning to use him as an alter ego to help him teach his classes).
Same thing for its legs—not strong enough to move the mass of the puppet professor. In my mind, I could hear Scotty from “Star Trek” telling Kirk, “The dilithium crystals, sir, they just can’t take it any more.” Which, even when I was a kid, always struck me as ridiculous. In the future, the Enterprise or any ship should be able to convert human waste into fuel. Human waste could be used as torpedo filler for weapons, too. My friend Sujane wrote a play when we were in sixth grade, “Cats in Outer Space,” and I think the cats did that with their poo. If the USA dropped a cat crap bomb on ISIL today, it would force them into an immediate surrender. But I digress.
When the dinosaur was stripped down to its bones, it looked like a bird, one that could roar like a T-Rex. It still worked with the remote control, although it looked like Terminator-Rex. I told Cedric he could always put Professor Moody in the corner of the room and activate the roar by remote control, which should get the attention of his students.
But Cedric then proceeded to cut the leg tendons, crippling the mechanism that controlled the roar. I heard him muttering while he worked to re-attach the leg strings. As a kid, Ced took apart his transistor radio and couldn’t get it to go back together and work, which should have been a clue of how this operation might turn out. But then he clicked something back into place, and the dinosaur walked again, tottering across the kitchen floor. Then it fell over.
We looked at our failed experiment, on its side, feet twitching and catching only air as its voice box activated and roared.
“You could cover it with black felt and make it into a crow,” I said, trying to be helpful.
Cedric said nothing, but he picked up the dinosaur skin and put his hand into it as if it were a puppet. He gave the dinosaur Professor Moody’s voice, which had a British accent, and berated us. “You bloody idiots! You stripped me naked, skinned me alive, then you broke my jaw and my legs, bloody all hell.”
Or something like that. Cedric and Mini came to visit the USA in December. When he told me he had bought a crow puppet, I didn’t need to ask what became of the dinosaur. I already knew.

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