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T-Rex Tex-Mex

by Sarina Dorie

“Whoa! Hold on, partner!” the host of the party asked with his fake Texan accent. “What is that costume supposed to be?”.

Of all the insufferable things, he was wearing a cowboy hat on his green, scaley head.

Dinosaurs did not wear hats.

Other costumed partygoers passed by the buffet table where I’d just placed my bag of candy, between a bowl of offensive kale chips and what smelled like mashed cauliflower. The humans at the Halloween barbeque apparently had no more intention of eating their offerings than I did, as they steered clear of the vegan display.

I couldn’t cook, which was why I had brought candy. Obviously.

“I’m a dinosaur,” I told my host. “Rarr.”

“Nah. That ain’t a dinosaur costume. That’s a Big Bird costume, except you got the feathers all wrong. They shouldn’t be blue and red—though that’s mighty patriotic of you.” The man chuckled and patted the distended belly of his costume. “This, here, is a real dinosaur costume. This is a replica of the T-Rex from Jurassic Park.”

“You’re too small to be a Tyrannosaurus,” I said. “Even an evolved dinosaur that left your planet over seventy million years ago only to come back in a spaceship to find the planet overrun by sentient vermin intent on polluting the ecosystem would never resemble that. You look like a crocodile walking on two legs.” I eyed his insipid green costume with the disdain it deserved. “Your primitive science has proven that raptors had feathers, just like the birds descended from them.” Like me. “I cannot fathom why humans are so ignorant that they must hold onto such outdated beliefs.”

I waved my clawed hand over my gorgeous plumage. My arms weren’t as short as those of my ancestors – another reason why I was better suited for spaceflight than for preparing potluck items I had no intention of eating.

The host just chuckled again like everything I had said was a joke. He drained the last of his adult beverage of choice in its glass bottle and swayed, an expected reaction to the combined effects of alcohol and the sleeping powder I’d dosed him with.

Across the party I spotted my captain, chatting with a human woman dressed as a superhero. There wasn’t much fabric that would inhibit his meal. I, on the other claw, had chosen my intended dinner based on quantity. I suspected there would be a satisfactory amount of meat under his costume.

“Can I get you another drink?” I asked my host, reaching into the cooler under the table. The plastic box full of ice was so archaic compared to what we had on our ship. Our refrigeration systems were efficient, fully-automated, and numerous enough to hold several human city’s worth of livestock. Though we did like to taste-test our free-range humans first.

Today was sample day.

My host accepted the drink I handed him. “That’s mighty kind of you. Hey, have you tried the chili? I made it myself.”

“The vegetarian chili?” I shrugged. “Sorry, I’m a dinosaur, and we’re strict carnivores. Rarr.”

He chortled again and slapped me on the back.

I laughed along with him. Potlucks were my favorite.