Why is everyone being such dreadful Debbie Downers? Have I failed to awe and inspire you with my luxurious island paradise and objectively amazing feat of genetic tampering?

I’m offering you an up-close glimpse of what the earth looked like when it was ruled by giant, terrifying reptiles, dear guests, and I do wish for a moment you would leave your damned morality and scientific integrity out of it. All I’m hearing is, “But should we?” “Natural selection!” and “You're alive when they start to eat you,” and it’s beginning to vex me. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and an all-expenses-paid weekend to boot.

Ok, let me be frank: I understand the reservations on a purely rational level. But I fear you’re failing through sheer lack of imagination to see how, in this world, fun and safety can be wrapped around each other as tightly as a hungry anaconda hugs a deer.

Much as it bores me, I’m happy to highlight all fail-safes built into the complex and inter-connected park system. I want everyone feeling completely non-threatened here. I think your upcoming tour experience will convince you that everything’s going to be just fine.

First, consider that the premises continue to enjoy the designation of “accident-free.” The single, raptor-related episode that Dr. Grant so correctly brings up was booked as an “unfortunate yet unavoidable act of God” and shall remain an isolated incident.

You already know I take a personal interest in my creations. We’ve taken every precaution to ensure the creatures are entirely under our control and hopelessly dependent on us, also for procreation, as they’re all female. Just like you, Dr. Sattler!

I’m no scientist, but I’m pretty sure that even if the dinosaurs turn homosexual—highly unlikely—they would still need sperm donors and complicated surgical procedures to successfully impregnate each other. Life certainly won’t find a way like that, Dr. Malcolm!

My game warden Muldoon claims the “veloci-lassies” in particular are highly intelligent, but I believe he exaggerates for effect. He makes them sound like proper chimps with superior problem-solving skills and uncanny memories—loves to build the tension, he does—but of course they don’t have language and clearly can’t manipulate objects without opposable thumbs!

What about security? Our fences are taller than trees, industrial quality, and electrified with hair-singeing voltage. We’ve spared no expense, and I’ve taken care to hire only the most professional and ethical staff to oversee the few things that draw the line between innocent animal tourism and pure feral carnage. Our head of computer programming Mr. Nedry is a particularly lovely, tidy, modest chap with whom I get on splendidly and trust implicitly to keep the network turned on and fully functional.

For those concerned about the power: on the off chance it goes out completely (inconceivable) and the security system cannot be rebooted (impossible), it is easily turned back on manually.

Of course, manual re-boot might in certain far-fetched scenarios require evading multiple large predators, freed from their confines and highly adept at murdering warm-blooded prey, to reach the pertinent maintenance shed. With the proper speed and moxie, however, this could surely be accomplished. Not to worry.

“But what if the whole experiment goes tits up, resulting in total chaos and obscene human slaughter? What then have you unleashed?” I’ll swallow the insult and remind you of the geographical nature of the park. How will enormous lizards who can’t swim manage to get off an island, especially before they kill and eat each other? Hmm?

And was nobody listening when we explained the lysine contingency? Without administration of the essential amino acid the animals fall into comas and inevitably die. They could only escape this fate by finding lysine-rich food sources such as chickens, soybeans, or each other. Do they even have chickens or soybeans on mainland Costa Rica? I don’t think so.

Our ultimate kill switch is blasting the place back from whence it came and destroying all cloning facilities, much as the loss would pain me. This would of course end not only the dinosaurs, but also the possibility of further entertaining and logical plots from this venture, but we at InGen are committed to this protocol. Not that it will be remotely necessary.

So: off you go, all of you now, including my two precious grandchildren! I’ll be staying here in the visitor’s center, experiencing the wonder vicariously.

One last remark: the doors of our state-of-the-art electric, driverless cars have no locks, which we anticipate to be unproblematic. Please remain inside at all times to avoid any vehicle-related injuries. Note you’ll find no superfluous first aid material in the cars, but do take advantage of the safari-grade binoculars and high-powered flashlights. We’ve spared no expense. Did I mention before that we’ve spared no expense?

Also, one very last thing: there appears to be a major tropical storm on the horizon, which may force us to evacuate all non-essential staff from the island and prematurely end your tour. We’ll bait the carnivores to encourage their approach, and we do hope you’ll experience at least one living, bleeding creature being torn to pieces and devoured close-range before we reel you back in. Unfortunately the weather is the one element we can’t control.

Children, you ride with the lawyer. I’ve tasked him with looking after you and he’s promised he’ll protect you like his own.

Enjoy the ride, naysayers! In a few short hours, I’ll be accepting your apologies!


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