After numerous failed petitions and fruitless lobbying for our own health and safety, we, the herbaceous dinosaurs of Jurassic Park, have unionized. We demand safe living conditions and support systems to improve our survivability and buoy our sanity in the wake of repeated, deadly carnivorous dinosaur breakouts. Unlike the scientists, workers, and, apparently, supermodels that frequent this park, we don’t have hot little Jeeps to escape on.

Here are our demands:

  • For immediate action: a much-needed update to the Jurassic Park logo. The likeness of the Tyrannosaurus rex is not inclusive or indicative of the veritable menagerie of Mesozoic Era species that dwell here. This kind of “Carnivore Signaling” glorifies violence and fosters an environment where guests expect carnage. Herbivores don’t need to be the main focus, but a small outline of a herby dino here or there wouldn’t kill you. Literally.
  • Electric fences, big ones. Not for your safety, but for ours. We appreciate the sentiment behind open-concept areas for us grazers, but unfortunately, we have nowhere to hide when your latest twisted evolution of “Rex” breaks free and, consequently, consumes six of us. It happens every time.
  • Three-stage alarm system with speakers connected to our roaming paddock. Alarms that indicate the severity of security breaches will help us mobilize appropriately. Suggested warning tiers—Stage one: Power outage; lightly panic and deploy long-necked dinos as lookouts. Stage two: It’s raining and the power is out; stay down and as still as possible. Stage three: Unstable predatory dinosaurs are on the loose; run, hide, and say your goodbyes. This brings us to:
  • Relocate the velociraptors to their own island. Alcatraz, Azkaban, whatever you want to call it—get them out of here. It could be futile; for all we know, they’ll kill everyone and learn how to fly a helicopter given enough time. Not because they’re smart, but because they’re persistent. Infinite Monkey Theorem; look it up.
  • Owen Grady is also out. He is attempting to befriend and train our murderous oppressors with a dog clicker. Reassign him to the soon-to-be Raptor Island and see how far that clicker gets him. As the saying goes: Fools who play with fire are going to get eaten by dinosaurs.
  • Therapy—both group sessions and intensive one-on-ones. As you can imagine, carnivore “shell shock” is at an all-time high, and we need to talk through our traumas. Night terrors have tripled, appetites have halved, and our libidos are non-existent. No dinosaur eggs = more work for you.
  • Bioengineer wooly mammoths. And before you become preoccupied with whether or not you could pair us with creatures that lived millions of years after our time—stop and think about all of the reasons you should. Namely: we need protection. You have guns; we want tough, hairy elephants.
  • A memorial to honor our fallen dinosaur brethren. We have a long list of names in the case you’ve failed to record our casualties. Do not erect a trite, fossil-shaped iron hunk as an “attraction” for attendees; this monument is for the survivors. We think a distinguished amber obelisk and reflecting pool would provide a restorative retreat.

Please respond to these requests with due haste. We are a low-maintenance bunch (no need to air-drop cows for us!), and a safe stay during our time back on Earth is our science-given right.

We hope that our entities can come to an agreement with mediation and/or arbitration, but we are not afraid to get litigious. We have very little to lose, as we are prehistoric creatures in a glorified zoo trapped on an island.

United We Stomp,
The H.B.L. (Herbivores for Better Lives)