As movies, science and Jimmy Two-Shoes, the Woefully Inadequate Rapping Tyrannosaurus Rex (of "I Done Ate Yo Momma" fame), have all proven, dinosaurs are awesome.

Restaurants are also awesome, when they are not kicking you out for being in possession of a) dinosaurs, b) unreasonably violent pandas, or c) invisible pants.

Put the two together, and what do you have?


RESTAURANT MADRID, WHERE DINOSAURS ROAM FREE WHILE MAGIC HAPPENS ALONGSIDE AN UNTOLD LEVEL OF PERSONAL ASSAULT LAWSUITS!

Please note that Restaurant Madrid also doubles as a Hotel, which adds extra layers of Face Mauling While You Sleep awesomeness.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED...though Not for eating, sleeping, or entering, of course.  In fact, it's best if you don't even so much as glance casually in its direction.  Them triceratops are surprisingly ornery, and I barely escaped with my invisible pants intact.

After many months and numerous court injunctions, the final chapter in the Dolphinus saga is now coming to a close.  It's pretty goddamned long, but that's what happens when Dolphins of Questionable Morality Go Wild. 

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Dolphinus makes his daily trip out to his mailbox, halfway expecting to find a catalog of Latvian Mail-Order Brides Who Each Have Some Sort of Inexplicable Need to Set Your Undergarments on Fire (apparently a common occurrence in Latvia as Dolphinus discovered one wild weekend involving a wheelbarrow full of paint thinner and an electric thong) as well as a $774 bill for that oversized crate of ostrich limbs he ordered last week.

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What Dolphinus didn't expect to find, however, was his neighbor, who had come over to complain about the "Monkeys Having Vigorous and Probably Unprotected Sex" mix tape that Dolphinus had been blaring at full volume for the last three days.

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In an awkward moment, Dolphinus spills his "Porpoise Penile Enhancement" bill to the ground as he realizes that his neighbor has now seen him walking around and he now knows that he is no ordinary dolphin, and will likely report him to the authorities.  He theorizes that he could just pretend that someone else just picked him out of the pool and propped him up on the mailbox for no valid reason, but decides that the neighbor has indeed seen too much.

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With murder and pornographic Tupperware on his mind and whiskey in his belly, Dolphinus leaps at his neighbor...

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[THIS FRAME BROUGHT TO YOU GUEST PHOTOGRAPHER, JERRY BRUCKHEIMER!  MR. BRUCKHEIMER WOULD LIKE TO REMIND YOU ALL TO SEE HIS UPCOMING ACTION-ADVENTURE MOVIE, "HANG-GLIDING BEARS 2: EXPLODING GRIZZLY BOOGALOO"]

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As he slowly crushes his hapless and formerly unsuspecting neighbor (who would need a fresh pair of underwear and a great deal of therapy if he wasn't in the process of being killed by a highly unreasonable sea mammal), Dolphinus whispers homicidal sweet nothings into his ear.

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"Do you hear that, neighbor whose name I don't even know?  That is the sound of your DOOM!  Wait...wait, no.  That's the "Monkeys Having Sex" mix tape.  Man, that really is loud, isn't it?  I really should turn down the volume on that thing.  Sorry about that."

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After drinking more than his weight in tequila and getting Pedro to help him chop up the neighbor's corpse (the hair had been particularly difficult to remove) and dispose of the various bits in the pool, Dolphinus took a rest and contemplated his options.

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At first, Dolphinus figured consuming vast quantities of alcohol and throwing himself off the roof of his mansion was probably the way to go, a course of action that Pablo the Poolboy agreed with a little too enthusiastically.

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  After violently throwing up for three straight hours, climbing down off his roof, and raping Pablo two or three times, Dolphinus settled on a final solution: hop on his Sea-Doo and head for Mexico.  Oh sure, as a dolphin, he could have chosen to swim to legal freedom, but swimming to freedom just seems so lowly when you have the financial ability to RIDE to freedom, Dolphinus thought.  Plus it's a lot more difficult to inject black tar heroin into your blowhole when you have to use your flippers to keep yourself afloat.

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With the Coast Guard in hot pursuit, Dolphinus continues to speed towards freedom. This likely would have spelled the end of our rapacious porpoise's adventures had the Coast Guard not received notice that Ben Affleck's personal yacht was floating in the area; as it turns out, even the Coast Guard couldn't resist the urge to board the S.S. Craptastic and give Affleck an official and highly enthusiastic punch in the crotch.

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With freedom approaching on the horizon, Dolphinus could almost taste Mexico, or thought he could until he realized that Mexico doesn't taste like seagull, and that he should probably close his mouth while speeding to freedom.

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Lounging poolside with mostly drunk and mostly naked tourists who were all too soused to really notice or even care about highly mobile and perverted dolphins, Dolphinus decided to use his vast wealth to purchase the Mexican resort, which already came complete with a poolboy named Earl.  This was fortunate, since Dolphinus was forced to have Pablo killed, partially to keep him from talking about the murder, but mostly to make sure he didn't get around to telling people about his potentially embarassing "grandmothers and tapioca" fetish.

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...and Dolphinus lived happily ever after.  Until the day that the Mexican authorities arrested him for getting a small child jammed in his blowhole and not telling anybody about it for three weeks.  In fact, after his dorsal fin piercing got infected in prison and caused the whole fin to be amputated, thus leaving him freakishly disfigured, Dolphinus was pretty miserable.  Of course, there was the whole "escape from a Mexican jail" fiasco which ended up with Dolphinus being married to a Latvian gardener named Ingesto and running a farming supply store in Maine, but he still didn't really end up being "happy," as such.  Alright, so forget that "happily ever after" stuff, dammit.

LA FIN

As part of the ongoing Public Service Announcement contract,
Dolphinus' sordid tale continues...

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Dolphinus lounges around his mansion, contemplating the meaning of life, dolphin porn, and how illegal it would be to have his pool filled with ostrich heads.  But mostly just about dolphin porn.

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The ever-so-suave Dolphinus introduces Pablo the Poolboy to two women that he ordered from the local escort service, which quite thankfully has a "For Fifty Extra Dollars, We Won't Ask About Your Blowhole" policy.

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Dolphinus gleefully feeds booze to one of his female guests in the hopes that she'll get drunk enough to believe he's a handsome, wealthy industrialist rather than just a handsome, wealthy rapacious dolphin. 

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"Yes.  Yes, that's right.  Drink up, my little pigeon."

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Dolphinus, no longer able to hold back, gives his inebriated escort a lesson about such forbidden sexual techniques as the "Fornicating Flipper" and the "Loveless Steaming Hot Porpoise Pump of Love With Two and a Half Twists."

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THE DEPRAVITY OF DOLPHINUS KNOWS NO BOUNDS!

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THIS IS A HOUSE OF SIN!  OF SIN!!!!!

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Behold!  The hunger of Dolphinus is such that he could not drag the escort's unconscious body to the end of the driveway before being possessed with the urge to dishonor himself once more!

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His lust still not satiated, and too depraved to care about gender or species, Dolphinus metes out his unique brand of porpoise passion on the unsuspecting and altogether uncooperative Pablo the Poolboy.

THE HORROR!

 

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STAY TUNED FOR THE FINAL AND DRAMATIC CHAPTER IN THE SAGA OF DOLPHINUS, THE WORLD'S LEAST LIKEABLE SEA MAMMAL!