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Posted by Archosaur on June 20, 2009, 8:49 pm, in reply to "Re: Land of the Lost: Fan Fiction"
67.101.57.119
Evacuate the Bowels!
“Ok” says Dr. Marshall, leaning against the digestive-juice covered wall “Reptiles have slow metabolisms. They can live for over a year between meals. That means that I have days to find a way out.” He notices a tingling on his hand, and examines it in horror to see it covered in burn blisters. “Ahhhhhhh!” he screams and runs about more.
He looks up at the entrance to the throat, closed tight. “It is a well known fact that dinosaurs cannot evacuate their stomach though vomiting, so that way is out.” Looking about, he locates the entrance to the intestines, already swelling open to absorb the liquefied remains in the belly. Tightening the mask, Dr. Marshall says “No guts, no glory” and dives headfirst into the very intestines of the tyrannosaur. He does not notice the entire stomach heave violently, then compress, expelling all of its contents (except for Dr. Marshall’s waiving legs sticking out of the intestinal sphincter).
Grumpy looks at the streaming pile of vomit, pooling on the forest floor. He searches desperately for Dr. Marshall. Not finding him, he groins sadly, and stalks off.
Groping and wriggling desperately, Dr. Marshall squirmed towards freedom. Suddenly, he comes to a halt in the tight, slick tube. His passage is blocked by a bright yellow rubber life raft, folded over, with a plaid jacket sticking out. He searches, pushes, prods, and eventually pounds the raft in frustration.
Nothing.
“So: this is it.” He mumbles. The tube behind him is already packed with sludge, trapping him in the folds of the intestines. “Well, I’d at least like to think I learned something today. Put -er there, Big Fellah.” As he reaches past the raft to pat the tube’s lining, his hand pops loose the cap for the life raft. Air rushes out into the intestines, liquid bubbling into forth, and jarring loose items lodged in the bowels. With a deep rumble, his world shakes, and he begins to slide down the tube. “Yeah!” he shouts as he shoots down the slick tube, twisting through a maze of hairpin turns.
Grumpy pauses, he senses . . . a disturbance in the bowels. The creatures of the jungle take flight as a massive blast of flatuance erupts from the dinosaur, knocking some birds out of the air. The thunder lizard squats, and begins to strain. Moaning and panting, the great lizard strains to pass years of accumulated artifacts belonging to the many people he has eaten, now lodged in his intestines. With a thunderous roar, and equally thunderous blast of gas, the thunder lizard discharges a colossal stream of excrement.
The tyrannosaur sits and pants, tongue lolling, with a look of satisfaction on his scaly muzzle. He then examines the streaming pile of excrement, over ten feet high. A hand bursts forth, and soon, the streaming figure of Dr, Marshall struggles forth for the oozing mass.
“Hey buddy” he gasps, “Let’s put all this behind us.”
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