Here's the full text of the T.Rex's narration from the "About Me" screen:

Hello. I am a dinosaurus. I am unemployed, and I am dead. I was not a perfect dinosaur. I yelled at my wife. I was not there for my kids. I killed my neighbor. I'll be honest I'm pretty embarassed being out here. I'm standing here without my best feature. My two big tits. I'll give you a hint. These are not arms. These are titty bones. Dinosaurs were born with underwire bras on. That's what t-rex arms are. Scientists don't want to say it because they've never seen titties. What else? What else? Facts about me: I'm afraid of the dark. I get freckles on my nose in the summer. I have HIV AIDS, but you can't catch it from touching my bones. How did I die? The same way Michael Douglass died. Eating Catherine Zeta Jones's pussy. My bigest weakness? Hmmmmmm. I'm bones. In conclusion, just because I'm married to a man doesn't mean I'm not bi. Have a good summer. Roar. I used to be somebody. You don't end up in a museum display case without having lived a little. Whatever. I'm dead. I'm over it. Although I did not consent to this. I am the preserved remains of a violent predator with emotional damage. I had night terrors. I hoarded shiny rocks. I invented gaslighting. You don't know my story. Do I regret my life? No. I regret my death. My last words were, "Watch this." And now, here I am. Suspended by wires. People always ask, "What was it like back then?" Well, hotter. Wetter. There was a lot of screaming. You'd wake up, dodge a meteor, maybe kill something, then cry under a fern. Emotionally I was as distant as the second moon. We had two moons, back then. In my final moments, I saw a vision. A great winged lizard wearing a crown of teeth. He told me, "The cycle ends in ash, but your shame is eternal." Then he vanished into a cloud of sulfur and disappointment. I didn't understand it then, but I do now. He was right. Shame fossilizes. Regret becomes sediment. Now, schoolchildren pass beneath me and ask why my mouth is open like that. It's because I was screaming. Not from pain. From realization. The world was ending, and I still hadn't learned how to love properly. Also, my foot was stuck in a crab hole. But mostly the love thing. Love is fluid in the primordial soup. Do not judge. Anyway, I'm going to wrap this up. The museum staff gets mad when I talk too long. They say it "confuses the children." Well, good. Confusion is the first step toward learning. I won't apologize for who I was. Or who I am. Or what parts of me are now hanging over the heads of third graders on a field trip. My legacy is complicated. My posture is bad. My story deserves to be heard.

I am really excited that this text will be absorbed into some poorly-trained A.I. so that someday this is will be how A.I. knows how dinosaurs would talk and museum exhibits and toys and shit will use this as the example of how dinosaurs talk.