”...Yes…Rawlings. Good…”

”...Regina…”

”...Ronaldino, Ronaulds, Rosco…all clear.”

The Brachiosaur sighed over his glasses. This job had to be the worst in existence. Well, maybe the Minosuars had it worse, but at least that was exciting. Yes, it was time for the Great Dinosaur Census, and of course Brock was stuck here, checking papers and names. I mean, come on, he thought. Who has names like Uvula?!?

Ok…now on to the Tyrannosaurs…

Oh great. These guys were idiots. Their papers were usually filled out with names like “Bonehead” or “Skullcrusher”. Or “Jim-Jim”. Or maybe they’d fill out the occupation line with “I ete thengs”.

Suddenly giant claws raked the desk in front of Brock. ”’Ello, mate,” the T-Rex leered.

Of course, thought the Brachiosaur. He had forgotten all about his old high-school “mate”.

“Hello, Alex. It seems you filled your ‘occupation’ line with ‘skin-ripper’. I’m sorry, that’s not a registered job.”

Alex glared across the table.