Coming to a multiplex near you.
Scene: Dr. HENRY WU, chief scientist at InGen, is hunched over a microscope. He is working in his lab while VIC HOSKINS, head of InGen security, hovers over his shoulder. Vials and test tubes cover Wu’s desk. Next to them is a copy of the book The Grumpy Guide To Life.
WU: We’ve isolated the most fearsome traits from several different species in order to create this new hybrid.
HOSKINS: Excellent. I can’t wait to weaponize it and wipe out despotic regimes like the North Koreans and Cincinnati Bell. Tell me — what can it do? Run up to 50 mph? Camouflage itself in the wild? Incapacitate sauropods with its razor-sharp sickle claw?
WU: Well, no. It actually can’t do any of those things.
HOSKINS: It can’t? What can it do then?
WU: It can nap for extended periods of time — in some cases up to twenty-two hours of day.
WU: It has a voracious appetite, compounded by a new wrinkle I just threw in, a variation on the hyperthyroid disease, which allows it to consume massive amounts of food, drink several bowls of water a day, promptly vomit all of that in any location it so chooses, and still manage to leave behind some really foul-smelling excrement that not even Fresh Step Lasting Power litter — you know, the one that clumps and activates carbon to eliminate odor? — can handle.
HOSKINS [sweating]: Dear God.
WU: That’s not all. We dug up Marcel Proust’s grave and extracted his genetic material, then spliced his DNA into this hybrid to create the most erudite, French, condescending creature one could possibly imagine.
HOSKINS: In other words, a monster.
WU: Of the highest order.
HOSKINS: And what are you calling it?
WU: We call it … the Scootersaurus Rex.
HOSKINS soils himself and passes out.
Scene: Dashing animal trainer OWEN GRADY and buttoned-up but plucky female CLAIRE DEARING are alone in Jurassic World, where a Scootersaurus Rex is on the loose. They are walking through a forest. The trainer is holding a gun.
GRADY: What kind of creature did you create that could hide itself from thermal recognition sensors?
DEARING: We used cuttlefish DNA so that it could camouflage itself from its prey, but it’s the tree frog DNA specifically which allows it to remove its own thermal signature. That’s why you were, uh, left for dead back in its holding pen.
GRADY: Yeah, we’ll talk about that later.
DEARING: What do you think our odds are of catching it?
GRADY: Depends. The more I know about how it was made, the better our chances. What else can you tell me about it?
DEARING: Well, it approaches its prey by assuming a supremely condescending pose … tilting its head back, staring down at you through its nose, so to speak. Sometimes holding a snifter of brandy and a cigarillo. Making offhand remarks like, “What did you think of that Economist article about street theater in Bogotá? Oh, that’s right — you subscribe to US Weekly and are still broken up about Bennifer, you intellectual midget.”
GRADY: Sounds like a real menace.
DEARING: You have no idea.
GRADY: So … help me with this part. What I still don’t get is that the park wants to drum up business and increase traffic, so they come up with a brand new attraction — this Scootersaurus Rex, right? But … what exactly is the draw again?
DEARING: Listen, to be honest, something went wrong in the lab. The creature is a complete disaster. If it’s not constantly napping in its pen, it’s regurgitating its food everywhere. I mean everywhere. And its feces could kill a Futalognkosaurus. Which, as you know, are quite large.
GRADY: No wonder this franchise is floundering.
Scene: Night. Two brothers are alone in the woods with the park on shutdown. Scootersaurus Rex could be anywhere.
OLDER BROTHER: It’s getting late. No search parties will find us now. Let’s set up camp by this stream and pray we see the sun rise tomorrow.
YOUNGER BROTHER: I’m glad this near-death experience has afforded us the opportunity to bond in ways we never did before!
OLDER BROTHER: Shut up.
Boys lay down on the ground and close their eyes just as a terrible wailing pierces the night air.
YOUNGER BROTHER: What was that?
OLDER BROTHER: The plaintive cry of the Scootersaurus Rex. It’s like a mournful warble. It’d be almost sad if… if…
YOUNGER BROTHER: …if it wasn’t the most ear-splittingly pathetic sound you’ve ever heard in your life and you were just on the verge of sleep?
OLDER BROTHER: Yes. Exactly.
YOUNGER BROTHER: Too bad we can’t lock him in the basement!
OLDER BROTHER: I hope they don’t put this on the soundtrack, otherwise ear drums will bleed.
Scene: The climactic moment when the Tyrannosaurs Rex and Scootersaurus Rex are doing battle. Four puny, non-CGI humans — GRADY, DEARING, and the BROTHERS — are running about like idiots in what appears to be a sincere effort to get trampled to death.
TYRANNOSAURUS REX: Roar!
SCOOTERSAURUS REX: [looks bemused, licks himself]
TYRANNOSAURUS REX: ROAR!
SCOOTERSAURUS REX: [lays down, yawns]
DEARING: What will happen?! The suspense is killing me!
GRADY: I’m calling my agent after this shot to remind me why I signed up for this movie. I better be getting serious jack for this.
YOUNGER BROTHER: Will you both be my new parents?
OLDER BROTHER: Shut up.
TYRANNOSAURUS REX [confused, looking off-camera for cues]: Um … ROAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR!
SCOOTERSAURUS REX: [begins gagging, then barfs out a large clump of semi-digested dry cat food]
DEARING: This is terrifying!
SCOOTERSAURUS REX eats her, then puts on his reading spectacles and begins smoking a pipe while perusing a copy of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. TYRANNOSAURS REX throws his twig arms up in disbelief and storms off the set.
YOUNGER BROTHER: We’ll live! Let’s hug!
MOSASAURUS jumps out of the water and devours him.