Last night, our Managing Editor was wandering through the basement of her new dorm when she noticed something unusual.
Woodbridge Basement, 10:41 pm
This basement is definitely haunted. I’ve only been down here twice, first to start my load of laundry and then to move it to the dryer, but that’s enough for me to be sure. There is something about the exposed pipes and the peeling paint, the overturned desk chairs and the taped-up ovens. There is something ancient, something wild, something –
Where did you come from?
Why are you hanging from this beam in the basement? Who strung you up and left you out to dry?
I’m asking the wrong questions.
Dinosaur, my dear Dinosaur, what is your name? How do you count the passage of time? What can you see from your perch up there above the trash? Do you believe in God?
The discovery of the Dinosaur is too great to be kept to one person. You deserve an epic poem, a series of paintings, or, at the very least, a Bwog post.
Dinosaur. My dear Dinosaur. I have known you for barely half an hour, and yet I feel that your piercing, cartoon-red eye can split open my skin and pierce the lining of my heart.
Is this what my postmodernism professor meant when she lectured us about “the human connection?”
Pros of stealing Dinosaur: Freeing a beautiful beast with whom I have formed a powerful and inexplicable bond. Also, cool centerpiece at parties.
Cons of stealing Dinosaur: Possibly haunted.
No, this Dinosaur will not haunt me. This Dinosaur is my friend.
Photos via Betsy Ladyzhets