Come On, Jurassic Park Scenario

Jack Horner, world-acclaimed paleontologist and technical adviser for the Jurassic Park movies has a plan to reverse-evolve chicken embryos to bring a living dinosaur into our world.  I'm going to skip the part about how Horner--who, and this can't be repeated enough, helped guide Spielberg's dinosaur-crafting hands on Jurassic fucking Park--should recognize the danger in this plan.  I'm also skipping the science, not because I don't entirely understand it (I don't) but because screw the details, the world needs dinosaurs again! 

Of course, some of Horner's partners in this plan say it's merely about scientific curiosity and learning about what happened to these wonderful, amazing creatures as they died out and otherwise turned into birds.  Now, as I recall (and I recall correctly), that's the exact same curiosity that led to Scottish-born entrepreneur John Hammond funding the technology to reproduce these animals wholesale.  They can guise their work in any way they want because we know where it leads: someplace awesome. 

My generation--people who were kids in the 90s--has shamefully forgotten its childhood.  And by childhood, I mean the beautiful summer of '93 when we were all about Jurassic Park.  Come on, you remember.  That Jurassic Park t-shirt your mom had to beg you to let her wash once in a while.  Those toys--the best bloody toys ever merchandised from a major movie franchise.  That dinosaur book you carried everywhere you went because you weren't yet old enough to care that girls found it weird.  Some of the more advanced among us even attempted to read Michael Crichton's original novel and understood maybe half of it but we didn't care because we understood the only words that mattered: T-fucking-Rex.  And admit it, when you first read the word "dinosaur" up there, John Williams' theme immediately burst into your head. 

2012 finally rolls around and the best our imaginations can do for apocalypse scenarios are zombies and global warming?  Please.  At this rate, we don't even deserve to be chased and trampled and eaten by Rexes and Raptors and other Clever Girls.  To be pushed so far in our desperation to be rid of the terrible Thunder Lizards we've re-wrought upon the Earth that we use all of our most destructive weapons and take ourselves out in the process?  But, sure, keep holding tight to your End Days fantasies of robots and super-viruses and Jesus.  Guys like me and Jack Horner will be sitting over here, scoffing at your limited visions.

Fuck yeah, it is.