Just Kind Of Ignoring This Sad Lonesome T-Rex Who Is Screaming "Debate Me" From His Folding Chair

Jane is hoping to enjoy a nice dinner with her friend Brenna, but as soon as the night begins a conflict arises. Near the restaurant is a sad, lonesome T-Rex with a sign that says “debate me” rambling on and on about everything from "cancel culture" to “woke Stars War.”

Fortunately, Jane and Brenna find the perfect solution to this strange dinosaur, they just ignore him. Can they maintain this self-imposed distance from the T-Rex who can’t stop proclaiming facts are better than feelings in this no sex tingler?

The answer is yes, because this T-Rex is horrible.

This important tale is 4,100 words of sexless self-confidence as a woman ignores a super annoying conservative dinosaur who thinks he’s cool but everyone else recognizes is deeply, deeply uncool.

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JUST KIND OF IGNORING THIS SAD LONESOME T-REX WHO IS SCREAMING “DEBATE ME” FROM HIS FOLDING CHAIR

By Chuck Tingle

I needed this.

Work has been crazy lately, and after a long week of nothing but spreadsheets and quarterly reports, it’s great to have a nice evening ahead that’s free from high stakes decision making.

Right now, all I have to do is sit back and relax, enjoying a pleasent dinner with my friend Brenna as we gossip and chat and, most of all, enjoy each other’s company.

I approach the host of this restaurant, smiling warmly. “Hey there. I’ve got a reservation for Jane,” I offer.

The host glances down at a small book before him, running is finger down a list and then stopping abruptly when he sees my name.

“Aw yes,” the host replies warmly. “Jane for two. Is your guest here?”

I’m about to answer when I sense a presence behind me, a familiar change in the air that can only accompany the psychic presence of a good friend.

I turn around and open my arms wide to greet Brenna. “Hey girl!” I gush. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” she replies.

I turn back to our host and nod in confirmation. “We’re both here.”

We’re lead through the restaurant, eventually arriving at a quaint patio that overlooks the street below. It’s a warm evening, and I could’ve asked for a better table.

The host hands over two menus.

“Your server will be right with you,” he offers, then makes his escape.

“This place is great,” Brenna gushes, glancing around and appreciating the sight and sounds of this exclusive eatery.

It’s a little on the pricey side, but tonight we’re treating ourselves. Like I said, work has been brutal, and I’m looking forward to finally kicking back and refraining from any massive decisions.

“How’ve you been?” I question. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Just working,” Brenna starts. My friend’s about to go on when suddenly our waiter steps up to cut our conversation short.

“Hello there!” the man offers with a friendly smile, handing each of us a list of options. “Here’s our menu. I’ll give you a moment to look this over but, in the meantime, would you like anything to drink?”

I glance at my friend, who shakes her head. “I’m fine,” Brenna offers. “Thank you.”

When the attention turns to me I take a different approach. “What kind of chocolate milk do you have?”

“We’ve got skim, two percent, oat, almond, cashew,” the waiter begins, listing off a plethora of options.

“I’ll take the cashew,” I reply.

The second these words slip from my lips I notice a strange cry in the distance. It’s so subtle it appears I’m the only one who can hear it, my friend and the waiter completely oblivious to this haunting sound. I pause for only a second, assuming this must be the call of some strange, wild bird before finally pushing onward.

The waiter nods, then turns and heads back to put in our drink orders.

Brenna glances over curiously. “You okay?” she questions.

I nod. “Yeah, I just thought I heard something,” I offer.

The two of us open our menus, moving on as we begin to peruse an incredible selection. This place is known for their world class spaghetti, which pairs nicely with the cool glass of chocolate milk I just ordered, but for some reason the veggie burgers are really calling my name.

I make my way down the list, admiring the various takes on this classic meal.

“What are you thinking?” Brenna questions.

“Not sure yet,” I admit. “Maybe the breakfast burger? Is that weird?”

Brenna laughs. “Why would that be weird?”

“Well, it’s got a fried egg and tempeh bacon on it, but it’s seven in the evening,” I retort, considering a moment longer. “You know what? Who gives a fuck? I’m getting it.”

My friend laughs at this display of mealtime confidence as I shut my menu and set it before me.

Suddenly, another shrieking birdcall echoes across the landscape. This time it’s loud enough to catch the attention of my friend, and we turn to gaze off the patio with great concern.

“Did you hear that?” Brenna questions, a worried expression on her face. “It sounded like a hurt animal or something.”

I nod, my eyes peeled as I scan our surroundings.

There’s nothing particularly notable about this cityscape view, just a street lined with restaurants and shops in a cool little part of town. Folks are strolling up and down the sidewalk, out enjoying this particularly warm evening.

The call comes again, even louder this time.

My eyes immediately focus in on the source of this strange noise, and to my amazement I find no wounded animal, nor undead banshee, but a single T-Rex in a folding chair.  The second I lock eyes with him the dinosaur shakes his fist at me.

“Uhhh, there he is,” I offer, nodding quietly but refusing to point.

My friend peers out into the gloaming, barely able to spot this unexpected figure. “Oh, whoa,” is all she says. “Is that a T-Rex? What’s he doing?”

The dinosaur has a sign propped up next to him, a sheet of stark white paper with massive black letters emblazed across it in thick black marker. I squint my eyes, struggling to read the message.

“I think it says… debate me?” I offer.

Brenna and I exchange glances, holding each other’s gaze for a moment and then erupting in a fit of laughter. This pithy two word demand is so bizarre and unexpected that there’s really no other reaction to have.

Another cry carries out across the evening air, only this time I actually catch a few of the strangled words. My mind racing, I struggle to form a coherent sentence from these auditory fragments, desperately translating to uncover this mystery.

“Did he just say breakfast for dinner is morally wrong?” I question.

Brenna nods.

I glance down at the menu before me, still eyeing that veggie burger with a fried egg and tempeh bacon.

Seconds later, our waiter returns. The man places two large glasses of cashew chocolate milk before us.

“Ready to order?” our waiter asks.

Brenna makes her selection, then the attention turns to me. I don’t hesitate.

“I’ll take the breakfast burger,” I announce.

The second I say this another frantic squeal erupts across the night, the T-Rex writhing in his folding chair. He’s a little louder this time, allowing us to easily make out the words.

“Debate me!” the dinosaur screams.

Brenna and I lock eyes, our expressions a mixture of bemused horror and utter joy.

“What the fuck,” is all my friend can think to say.

The waiter rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry about that. He’s very annoying and very… conservative.”

“Wait, what?” I question. “You know him?”

“The T-Rex? Yeah,” our waiter offers. “He’s been sitting over there with that sign for years. He want’s people to debate him.”

“But… why?” I continue.

“It’s all he has,” our waiter explains. “He thinks debating stuff  gives him some kind of purpose or weight in society, but it never does. It’s like a black hole in his soul that will never be filled. Trust me, I’ve seen him have opinions on anything you could imagine, it never ends.”

“Is he actually… good at debating?” I question.

The waiter shakes his head. “He certainly thinks he is, but really he’s just frustrating and kinda sad. His positions never make any sense because he’s just repeating talking points from conservative news and cherry picking studies. He never actually listens. I guess what I’m saying is: it’s never really a debate.”

“Huh,” I offer, nodding along. “So you’re saying we should ignore him?”

The waiter sighs. “I mean, that’s the only option there is. If you try interacting he just starts squealing even louder, talking about ‘facts not caring about your feelings’ or something, I don’t know.”

“And if you ignore him?” I question.

“Then he does the same thing,” the waiter replies with a laugh. “I guess that main difference is that ignoring him doesn’t waste your energy.”

The waiter leans in a bit, lowering his voice as though he’s about to let me in on a secret. “To be honest, I think it drives him a little crazy to be ignored, which is pretty funny.”

He sits up again, returning to his usual tone.

“I mean, not that you’d want to intentionally rile the guy up or anything, but it’s a pleasant side effect,” the dinosaur explains.

I nod along, thankful for this insider scoop.

“I’ll get those orders in right away,” our waiter continues, taking the menus and leaving my friend and me.

The two of us quickly fall into our old routine, discussing what’s new in each of our lives and catching up on every new morsel of drama. I assumed this little dinner date would be the perfect antidote for my hectic work week, and it turns out I was right.

Eventually, our discussion evolves to a movie we’ve both been dying to see, a new espionage thriller starring Keith the card counting jetplane as himself. This sentient vehicle has gradually worked his way into the public eye, starting out as a successful gambler but progressively taking on a number of acting roles. He’s got enough money that a few pieces of stunt casting would be easy enough to acquire, but the living plane has stuck around for one simple reason: he’s actually pretty good.

“I just haven’t had time to see Jetset,”I admit. “The trailers make it look amazing, though.”
  “Let’s see it tomorrow afternoon,” my friend suggest. “Matinee!”

It’s been ages since I’ve seen a movie in theaters, let alone a lazy afternoon matinee, but right now this low stakes activity sounds like absolute paradise.

“Sure! I’m in!” I reply.

Out food arrives, the waiter placing two sizzling hot plates before us. The scent is utterly mouthwatering, a perfectly prepared veggie burger just waiting for me to dive in.

“Thank you!” I gush, turning to the waiter but finding myself slightly confused by his dour expression.

“I’m so sorry,” the man counters. “We’ve spoken to him, but he refuses to move. Those are public sidewalks, so the police can’t do anything.”

“Oh,” I stammer, slightly confused. “I’m sorry… what are you talking about?”

The waiter flashes a curious expression. “The T-Rex debater guy. He’s been yelling this whole time and he keeps scooting closer.”

I glance at the street below to find the dinosaur has, in fact, moved his little folding chair from the opposite side of the street to this one. He’s significantly louder now, screaming for me to debate him about the merits of breakfast for dinner.

“Yeah, I hadn’t really noticed,” I admit. “Once I decided to tune him out it was pretty easy.”

The waiter offers a thankful smile. “That’s good to hear,” he replies, then excuses himself once again.

Brenna and me dive into our food, hungrily tearing into these delicious meals as our conversation twists and turns. We barely notice the man ranting and raving down below, despite the fact he was just pointed out to us.

After a pleasant time catching up my friend and me decide to head a few blocks over and grab some ice cream. We pay the bill and stand up, making our way out onto the sidewalk as we gather our bearings.

“Where’d you park?” Brenna questions. “I’m just down the street if you want me to drive.”

“I can drive,” I offer, then motion to a primo parking spot right out front that I somehow managed to snag.

A frantic, screaming voice suddenly erupts right next to us, startling me so much that I nearly jump out of my skin. Brenna and me glance down to find that the T-Rex has moved his folding chair and sign all the way up to the entrance of the restaurant.

“Take separate cars!” he shouts. “Debate me!”

Now that I can see this dinosaur up close he’s not at all what I expected. Based on his frantic, squealing tone, I assumed this creature would be wound up in a frenzy, wild-eyed and belligerent with rage.

This is far from the case, however, at least outwardly. Instead, the dinosaur relaxes in his folding chair, looking as smug as he possibly can. He’s intentionally putting on the appearance of someone who’s calm and collected, a self-assured debater would doesn’t needour attention.

Of course, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

If this bizarre T-Rex didn’t need our attention, then he wouldn’t be moving closer and closer, driven mad by the prospect of us not really caring about him. In fact, the care that we do have isn’t the admiration or even fear that he seems to crave, it’s a reaction of sad bemusement.

He’s just kind of tragically goofy.

A closer look reveals the reptile’s eyes are red and watery, threatening to boil over in a cascade of tears at any moment.

I should know better than to give this bizarre, lonesome dinosaur a shred of attention, but at this point I’m just too curious.

“Is this just… what you do?” I finally question. “Why are you out here asking people to debate you?”

“Are you too scared to match wits with me?” the T-Rex cries out, hoisting a defiant claw in the air. “You must be too frightened to debate!”

I shake my head. “I just think you’re super weird and I want to know more,” I admit.

The T-Rex raises his eyebrows. “You think I’m weird? I only operate on facts and logic, how is that weird?”

I shrug. “I mean, feelings are pretty cool, too. Do you really want to eliminate feelings from conversation?”

“Don’t try to own me!” the T-Rex cries. “It is I who will own you!”

“I promise, I’m not trying to own you,” I continue, calm and collected in my response. I get the feeling this dinosaur is doing everything he can not to burst into tears, so I’d rather not confront him with too much force. The longer we talk, the more his balance of sad and funny is shifting toward the former.

“Facts and logic!” the dinosaur squeals, finally losing it completely. He starts thrashing about in his chair, flailing his reptilian head from side to side as these words begin to spill from his mouth in a belligerent cascade. He just keeps saying the same thing over and over again, lost in a frenzied trance. “Debate me! Debate me! Debate me!”

My eyes go wide as I step away, realizing now that even the slightest bit of communication was a terrible idea. Brenna and I back up to the curb, not sure what to do.

Even the folks strolling by have stopped to stare, wondering what to make of this shrieking, crying dinosaur.

The prehistoric creature’s diatribe has shifted into another phrase, but the words are so unhinged its growing difficult to parse as they spill into one another. “Facts don’t care about your feelings! Facts don’t care about your feelings! Facts don’t care about your feelings!”

“Uhhhh, yeah. Let’s just take your car,” Brenna offers.

We step around the T-Rex, giving ourselves plenty of room as we continue down the sidewalk and approach my vehicle.

It’s then I make a conscious decision, a shift in mentality that shouldn’t be too difficult to maintain. I gave this bizarre, debate-obsessed dinosaur one shot at reasonable communication, but after his unhinged reaction, one shot is all he’s gonna get. It’s just not worth my time.

“If I ever see that dinosaur again, I’m just gonna ignore him,” I inform my friend.

“Good idea,” she replies.

We climb into my car and take off, heading the few blocks down and pulling over right outside the ice cream shop with another incredibly lucky parking space.

“I’m so excited,” I announce as I spring from the vehicle and head inside.

Tingle Creamery is an incredible spot to get yourself a sweet treat, their ice cream and sorbet’s second to none. This place prides itself on its wide variety of flavors, and sometimes making the right choice can be overwhelming. Fortunately, there’s not a single bad offering in the bunch. You could close your eyes and point at the selection board, and you’d still come away with a frozen dessert that knocks you off your feet.

“What are you getting?” I ask my friend.

Brenna looks a little perturbed, glancing over her shoulder as she struggles to retain her focus on me. “I think rocky road is the call, but strawberry sounds great, too.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling the rocky road,” I concur, then falter. “Everything okay?”

Brenna’s struggling to keep it together. “It would be nice to make my decision about which ice cream flavor to get without someone yelling in my ear.”

My friend motions behind her, but when I follow her gesture I find myself even more confused. There’s nobody there.

“What do you mean?” I question.

“The T-Rex followed us here,” Brenna informs me. “He’s trying to debate me for choosing rocky road.”

I glance behind us again, finding nothing but empty space. The only thing that drifts through my ears is the pleasant sound of soft rock that pumps through this ice cream shop’s overhead speakers.

“I don’t see anyone,” I admit. “You should really just decide to ignore him. It’s not worth keeping that door open.”

Brenna’s eyes go wide. “You really don’t hear that? He’s like, squealing and crying. He’s literally begging you to debate him so he can ‘own you’… whatever that means.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, he’s just not there to me. Give it a try.”

My friend glances at the empty space with one final side eye, then takes a deep breath. She shifts her focus, allowing her mind to severe any thread connected to this bizarre prehistoric reptile.

Brenna lets the air out of her lungs in a gentle wave, untethering herself from this invasive, aggressive force.

“Feel better?” I finally question.

My friend glances over at the space where the T-Rex in his folding chair once sat, shocked by the results. The power of the human mind is truly incredible.

“Yeah, I feel great,” she replies, then turns back to the board. “Now where were we.”

We discuss the merits of a few other flavors, weighing the pros and cons, and even considering a half scoop, before finally landing on our initial cravings.

“One scoop or rocky road each,” I announce as the woman behind the counter approaches. She keeps looking over my shoulder, clearly disturbed by what she’s hearing but declining to get involved.

Once Brenna and I receive our scoops we saunter out of the shop and take a brief walk around the block, gazing into store windows and nursing our cones until there’s nothing left. By the time we’re finished, the squealing, begging T-Rex has completely disappeared from our minds.

The next day I meet Brenna at the theater, already thrilled to get inside and find our seats. My friend and I hug warmly, immediately jumping into excited chatter over what a great evening we had the night before, and gushing over just how incredible Tingle Creamery is.

I barely notice when the man at our ticket booth stops some invisible force behind us, sternly informing someonethey’ll need to buy a ticket to get inside.

Brenna and me don’t slow down, just head straight for the concession booth where a small line has formed.

“What are you thinking?” I question, glancing over at the selections.

“Popcorn, maybe,” my friend offers, “or some chocolates. You ever dump your candy into the popcorn and mix them up together?”

“Oh yeah, I love doing that,” I reply.

The people in line glance back as I say this, not at me but someone else. I few of them start laughing, pointing in amazement at an event my friend and me are blissfully unaware of. To be honest, I don’t have the faintest idea what it could be, but right now I’m not too concerned.

My focus is on hanging out with my friend and enjoying the movie ahead. Jetset promises to be an edge-of-your-seat experience, and my friends who have already seen it tell me I need to pay close attention.

“I bet Jetset is gonna be better than Stars War,” I suddenly announce. “I just get a really good feeling, based on everything I’ve been hearing. Better than the old Stars War, in mean. The new ones are untouchable.”

The second I say this a nearby metal post topples over, clattering to the ground. Nobody is near it, which is strange, and this sudden outburst draws even more attention from the crowd.

The woman standing in line before me starts whispering to her date, a look of shock and amazement plastered across their faces.

“Why does he keep saying ‘Debate me, new Stars War is woke trash?’” she questions.

The woman’s date just shakes her head. “I have no idea. Wait, is he throwing up?”

The first woman nods. “He seems reallyupset.”

The two are eventually called forward, and moments later Brenna and me approach another counter. The person helping us is having trouble focusing, but they pull it together enough from Brenna and me to order up some chocolates and a large popcorn.

We into the theater, finding our seats and sitting down. Jetset is highly anticipated, and the fact there are so many people already stuffed into their seats is a testament to that simmering anticipation.

The crowd is all smiles, but as we sit and wait for the trailers to roll I notice a strange hush fall over the theater. Expressions faulter as some invisible force draws the attention of this audience, their heads turning all the way around until the whole room is staring at an empty seat before us.

Brenna and I don’t really give a shit.

Theater security arrives at the doorway, four uniformed unicorns with muscular builds and stern faces.

“Uh oh,” I announce. “Someone’s in trouble.”

The unicorns make their way up into the aisle, scooting past audience members until they arrive at the empty seat. They grab something I cannot see, lifting this object from its chair and then dragging it back to the aisle.

Soon enough, all four unicorns are involved, wrestling a strange transparent energy all the way down to the doors and then pushing it into the lobby.

The second this security force leaves the entire theater bursts into a round of raucous applause.

“Grandma, you’re famous!” comes the excited voice of my grandson Porko.

The little boy runs in and leaps onto my chair, nearly knocking me over. Fortunately, I manage to stay upright, laughing loudly at the wild energy of this spry young man.

My daughter hurries after, following into the room and apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, mom,” she gushes. “Porko’s just really excited.”

“I noticed,” I reply.

Brenna enters behind them, carefully carrying a pot of hot chocolate milk and setting it on a little stand at the center of the living room. She sits down next to me, placing her hand over mine.

As my daughter pulls Porko off my chair and begins to scold him I turn to my wife. “I was just thinking about our first movie date,” I offer. “Back when we were just friends. Do you remember that?”

Brenna nods, squeezing my hand. “Jetset. The first one! They’re on number eighteen or nineteen by now.”

“Twenty four,” our daughter interjects.

I turn my attention back to our visitors, noticing the newspaper in her hand. Porko had been holding it when he ran in to greet me, excited by something on the page.

“Can you believe they still print those things?” I question aloud.

My wife is curious now. “Why does Porko seem to think Grandma Jane here is famous?”

Our daughter hesitates, then finally brings the paper over to me. She opens it up and places it on my lap, then points to a small paragraph in the obituary section.

“Do you know this person?” our daughter questions. “He addressed his whole obituary to you.”

I adjust my glasses, the words slowly coming into focus. I read aloud. “Dear Jane, debate me, debate me, debate me, debate me, woke Stars War, debate me, debate me.”

I glance back up at my daughter, who looks deeply concerned. “Do you have any idea what that’s about?” she questions.

I shake my head. “I have absolutely no idea.”