On a recent Friday afternoon my friend Doyle called with a dangerous proposition. “Hey, I’ve got two tickets to the Monster Jam in Worcester,” he said. “Let’s go.” I explained that I already had plans for the evening, the abandonment of which would land me squarely in that unsavory realm known as The Doghouse. Then Doyle made fun of me for being more whipped than a tub of Shedd’s Spread Country Crock. I said I couldn’t go. Doyle questioned my unhealthy levels of estrogen. I said I couldn’t go. Doyle asked if he could borrow my Lillith Fair Live CD. I still said no. There was no way I was going to blow off my plans just so we could go drink beer...eat sausages...and watch 1,500-horsepower nitro-burning four-wheel-drive trucks pop wheelies and decimate rows of cars with their 66-inch tires...
    So the Monster Jam was awesome. As soon as the trucks snorted their way out out into the arena I understood why many of my fellow monster truck enthusiasts were wearing earplugs. If you’ve never heard Grave Digger  under full throttle, you can replicate the sound for a few seconds by lighting a fire in a steel trash can and tossing in 100 M-80s. Every time a driver gassed it, my head snapped back involuntarily, my autonomic nervous system futilely attempting to preserve my eardrums from the unholy cacophony.
    The Winter Olympics had nothing on the Worcester Monster Jam’s opening ceremony. Besides the six-truck parade around the arena, there was a color guard of some Army guys driving a Humvee (you know you’ve got some bad-ass trucks on your hands when a Humvee is the sissiest vehicle in the room). The color guard was followed by the national anthem, which was wailed out on an electric guitar by a guy standing on the roof of one of the cars. He played the last few verses with his teeth, and I felt very patriotic. I think if we ever catch Osama bin Laden, one of the things we should do is tie him to a chair in the middle of the Worcester Centrum and make him listen to a guy play “The Star Spangled Banner” with his teeth on an electric guitar, while monster trucks pull wheelies over his head. The announcer would say, “Sure, attempting to form a modern society ruled by a medieval-style caliph is pretty radical, but not as radical as...the Graaaaavvve  Diggggeeeerrrr!”
    After a couple of races back and forth atop the two rows of cars, the trucks left and a forklift deposited a dilapidated Dodge Spirit in the center of the arena. The announcer asked, “How many people here want to see that car get completely destroyed?” I did, I did. “Well then,” he continued, “Get ready for Transaurus!”
    Transaurus, according to its Web site, is “the world’s only jet-powered dinosaur.” I’ll buy that, even if the name suggests that Transaurus might also be the world’s only sex-changed dinosaur. If you’ve never seen Transaurus yourself, just picture an Army tank that converts into a flame-snorting 25-foot-tall dinosaur with hydraulic-powered steel claws and jaws. Got it? Good.
    Doors on Transaurus’ roof opened and the T-rex raised itself into position, reached down and picked up the car. Then, using its claws and teeth, Transaurus proceeded to tear the Dodge in two while the PA system blasted dinosaur roars.
    Transaurus is obviously the most destructive force to arrive in Massachusetts since Carl Everett. And transaurus.com says that cars aren’t the only thing on the menu. The robo-dino has also been used for “eating, burning and destroying crack houses throughout the U.S.” Now that gets the “say no to drugs” message across. Here’s my script for a new anti-drug commercial.
    Teen No. 1: C’mon man, take a hit. All the cool kids do it.
    Teen No. 2: Well...OK. (Reaches for joint.)
    Transaurus: Roaaarr! Roaaaaarrrr! (Eats Teens 1 and 2.)
    After the show, high on nitrites and nitro fumes, I decided it would be a good idea to call and see if I’d still have a date when I got home. I borrowed Doyle’s phone.
    “So, you still maybe wanna go out when I get back?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Why not?”
    “Well, you kind of lose your fire to go out when you sit around doing nothing for four hours.” If her tone had been any chillier I’d have dipped a copper wire in it and made a superconductor. Dang.
    Does anybody know if Transaurus does doghouses? *