"I wish I weren't in this museum," thought the T.Rex skeleton.

Once upon an ancient time, I was king of the world.

I was a big, powerful T.Rex. All life on earth feared me.

And now I'm just a glorified puppet in some natural history museum.

Like all of the other prehistoric creatures, I have no idea what happened. One minute I was alive. The next, I was being compressed between layers of sediment.

Then I was discovered, dug up, disassembled, reassembled, polished, preened, supported and put on display.

All for little kids to stare into my empty eye sockets. I can see you, you slimy piece of meat. And if I didn't have my feet nailed to the floor (and I still had all of my muscles and skin), I'd eat you. I'd crunch your little bones like dry leaves.

You'd think my appetite would be gone, seeing as I have no stomach. Or brain. But thousands of years of not eating will make you a little famished, you know?

Some people gawk at me in wonder. I like this. I like it when they marvel at my size and my strength. They usually make comments and stare harder after looking at that little pedistal in front of me. It tells the museum patrons of my habits. For the most part, the scientists were quite right. I was mean and pissed off most of the time (you try lugging around such a huge head!) and I ate tons of meat. But let's get one thing straight, I never liked eating other dinosaurs. I was a carnivore, but not a cannibal. Plus, dinosaur skin was quite tough. It needed barbequing. And with these puny, little arms, I wasn't a very good chef.

Yeah, the museum life is nothing compared to my days of terrorizing the planet. I used to run through the trees and across the fields roaring at everything -- the sun, the moon, rocks, clouds, shadows, water. Now I'm sitting under an air vent with rods shoved into awkward places and posed like I'm trying out for Broadway.

Over to the right of me, there's some other dinosaur skeleton with another dinosaur's skeleton dangling form it's mouth. Why couldn't the museum people pose me like that? Instead, I'm bowing like a supplicant.

I don't look as badass as I used to. Not having skin can do that to a fellow. They should have done something cool, though. Like give me gold teeth. Or play gangsta rap behind me. Then I'd be revered the way I deserve to be.

Instead, the scientists named me Teddy. There's nothing scary or terrorizing about "Teddy the T.Rex." They could have named me Grave Digger. Or Pulverizer. Or even Chomps. Something. Name me after a monster truck or blender speed. But Teddy? That's about a scary as a filtered glass of water.

(After)life could be worse, though. I could have been discovered by some future species of huge dog. I'd be dug up, ripped apart, slobbered on and reburried all over some giant dude's lawn.

Oh, look. Some old guy is wearing a T-shirt with me on it. That's kind of cool. Maybe this museum thing isn't so bad afterall.