Pretty soon, the line to the little dinosaurs’ room stretched all the way down the hall, and the dinos were coming out refreshed and back to their normal, non-man-eating selves.
“How do you like that, Hans?” I yelled. “Your plan is poo-poo! No one’s gonna pay $12.95 to see humans battling house cats, chickens, and hamsters.”
“You may be right, Viley!” said Hans. “But I bet zey vould pay big bucks to see a giant robot-turkey squash you like an overripe vatermelon!”
“Could you repeat that last part?” said Grampa.
Hans’ podium rose up out of the stands and transformed into a giant robot-bird loaded with missiles, cannons, and spinning blades.
“I vould like you to meet Robo Turkeysaurus,” said Hans. “Ze latest in lethal, fuel-efficient, metal turkey technology.”
“First, I vill show you my flame-broiling skills,” said Hans as he hosed us down with fire from his built-in flame-thrower.
“Zen, I vill demonstrate my carving technique vith my rotating Dino Saw!”
“And no meal vould be complete vithout some mashed spuds!”
“And some home-style hydrochloric acid gravy!”
“The meal he’s describing just doesn’t sound appetizing,” said Jubal.
All of a sudden we heard a loud roar and a stomp behind us. It was Gramma, except she was green, fifty feet tall, and twenty tons!
“Gramma must have eaten one of those dog biscuits so she could become a dinosaur and take on the Turkeysaurus,” I said.
“Either that or she needs to go on a serious diet!” said Grampa.
