What Kind of Dinosaur Are You?

Tyrannosaurus Rex is like that popular kid you always wished you were in high school: the one who's always picked first for dodgeball, never lacks for a prom date, and even earns decent grades, mainly because his teachers are terrified of being eaten alive. The only thing that can intimidate a T. Rex is another, bigger, T. Rex, or (since it wasn't the smartest dinosaur on the Cretaceous block) seven or eight Velociraptors standing on each others' shoulders and wearing a T. Rex costume.

“Slow,” “ponderous,” “Brobdingnagian”--these are just some of the less-than-complementary terms with which people describe Brachiosaurus. What they don't know, and you do, is that a Brachiosaurus doesn't have to concern itself with other folks' opinions, and would just as soon stomp on friends, family and coworkers as deign to engage them in conversation. So if you're a Brachiosaurus, pay no attention to what the riffraff say, hold your neck up proud, and don't be afraid to sit in the first row of the theater during that 8 PM screening of Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

Just how dumb was Stegosaurus? For years, paleontologists thought this dinosaur had a supplementary brain in its butt, because they couldn't believe how small its “regular” brain was compared to its five-ton bulk (about the size of a walnut, if you have to know). If blissful unawareness is your raison d'etre, there's nothing quite like being a Stegosaurus; it's the Mesozoic equivalent of snapping gum loudly while listening to a Nicky Minaj mixtape and watching "Lost" reruns on TV.

Velociraptor prides itself on being the smartest dinosaur that ever lived, which is kind of like being the valedictorian of your local laundromat—this middle Cretaceous meat-eater was only about as brainy as the average ostrich, not to mention the size of a large turkey. Still, if you're a Velociraptor, you can take comfort in the fact that you'll be fully aware of your impending doom should a rogue comet ever swing by the earth, and that you'll be immortalized (completely inaccurately) by an endless string of Jurassic Park sequels.

You, like Triceratops, have a big head. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. You could have a big head because you just got pouf'ed at the hairdresser, or because that cute barista smiled at you at Starbucks, or because you finally remembered to wear your Viking helmet to that regional sales meeting. As a Triceratops, you have a well-honed instinct for when to lower your head and charge, and when to turn your not-inconsiderable-tail and try to look busy. You're devilishly attractive to the opposite sex, but only for three weeks out of the year, so be sure to schedule your vacations accordingly.