Assuming that life hasn’t already taught you that disappointment lurks behind every corner, the Internet will gladly oblige. The brightest minds of the last 50 years gave us a miraculous communications platform with which to shit on everything from hitherto unimaginable heights.
If you’re not shitting on everything, you’re probably stupid. If you aren’t sure whether or not you’re stupid: don’t worry, someone will be along shortly to tell you. Repeatedly. Dreams and wonderment are a tantalising piñata, waiting to be enthusiastically cracked open by a billion antagonistic, uninvited partygoers.
To this end, whenever something genuinely good appears on the horizon, a glimmering pinprick of possibility, you must shut down. The Media Blackout, as it’s known. You must skip trailers, burn message boards to the ground and lock Twitter in the cellar like a leprous twin brother.
So I’d made it this far. No hype, no nay-sayers. Time to begin a prehistoric adventure for the ages, let’s jump in.
The first few minutes were fraught. I hadn’t expected to be confronted with such complex emotional choices, and I needed to pick a side even though I didn’t quite feel ready. My heart was beating with a strength and haphazard rhythm that probably need looking at.
There were three cups to choose from. Raptor, T-Rex, and the Indominus Rex.
Panic.
The Raptor may have been the poster-saur of the first film, but that was years ago. The relationship ended badly for everyone. Plus, I’m sure that I read that raptors had feathers, so this thing is a lie from the off.
The Tyrannosaur seems an obvious choice to ride atop my beverage, A true apex predator, able to provide a premium refreshment experience. Yep. He’ll murder my thirst. And beat his wife to a pulp in an alcoholic rage.
Damnit Considine. T-Rex is out.
So here we are, me and the Indominus Rex circling each other (metaphorically, that is. I’m still just gawping at a perspex shelf with my mouth slightly open). Have I chosen the Indominus, or has it chosen me?
It’s done, and there’s a wave of calm. Before the abject horror, that is. I’ve just put myself out on a limb, and what do I get in return?
I get this abortion:
There is no magnificent dinosaur festooning this cup. This cup is about as enjoyable and comforting as a rectal pine cone. This was our Act 2: Adversity.
Me: “There’s no dinosaur on here.”
VUE Employee: “Yeah, that one uh… that didn’t come with one.”
He’s obviously clocked that I’m a grown man, and probably don’t have the time or inclination to be bothered with such trivia.
Guess again, motherfucker.
Me: “What do you mean it ‘doesn’t come with one’? It’s a Jurassic Park cup!”
(We both knew it was Jurassic World, not Park, but the fact that my pupils had entirely dilated by this point dissuaded him from correcting me.)
“I’m not being funny, mate, but I didn’t exactly spend five quid on a Fanta for it not to have a dinosaur on top of it, did I?”
He looked at me and knew I was right. If I wasn’t right, I was holding up the line to a chorus of tuts, so the end result was the same for me. Success.
Having overcome so many obstacles, I felt exhausted. I was on the precipice of ecstasy, as if I’d made it to the last foot of Kilimanjaro’s summit. I couldn’t wait to see what Jurassic World had to offer.
Words fall woefully short of what happened next.
As the unnecessary gallon of Fanta began to fill my organs with rot, making simultaneous mockeries of global starvation and balanced blood sugar, I was taken back to the classic film/beverage tie-in containers of my youth: The Mario Bros Movie, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Schindler’s List.
I drowned in my own emotions, weeping silently.
Every so often something genuinely special comes into your life. It’s up to you grab it with both hands. Or just one if you’ve got Revels.
5/5
WhatCup Magazine
Going through the motions. 