Cynthia Carrnivorsaurus Unearthed from Sewers, Now Auditing Amuck Through City

In happier times: Cyncarr the Berserk
(R) with fellow city auditor

Awakened from slumber, "Cyncarr the Berserk" seeking sustenance from Richmond Tea Party

What was to be a simple Halloween bulldozing operation ordered into Kanawha Plaza by Richmond Mayor Jet Jaguar Jones to remove the tents and possessions of the Richmond Occupiers unintentionally scraped a little too deep, unwittingly unleashing a new scourge on the city, going by the name “Cynthia Carrnivorsaurus”, or as it is more commonly known as “Cyncarr the Berserk”.

Normally confined 4 days a week and a half-day on Fridays to the bowels of the Richmond City building in a swampy no-mans-land known as the Finance Auditor’s office, the Cyncarr was awakened from its quarterly taxation slumber by the roar of the heavy equipment, and the first target of the mouth-breathing, pencil-pushing terror of the deep was to fire off a blistering documentation request to the Richmond Tea party, just as they were requesting a reimbursement for the fees they had to pay for assembling that the occupiers did not.

“If you want that deduction,” the Cyncarr roared during its reign of error, “then you must produce a receipt!”

Stomping and comptrolling, the Cyncarr roared up the elevator to get final approval of its brickbat to the grassroots organization before stopping off at the copier to toner-spawn an evil twin for the city files.

Then the residuals flew as the single-purposed tiny-brained Cyncarr – amortizing in a blinding sun in which it was not accustomed – stormed in a straight-line method out onto the sidewalk, aghast citizens giving wide berth as the bookkeeping beast roared to the post office, crunching numbers in its wake as its creator, Mayor Jet Jaguar Jones, watched in numb bemusement through binoculars from his perch in city hall.

"Dear God, I’ve created an appreciating, spread-sheeting bipedal monster” he said from under his desk.

Richmond roadways buckled and water lines sputtered as the Cyncarr exited from the post office after cramming the tea party audit notice into the “local only” slot, slobbering in confidence that the tea-seeking missive would reach its intended target in a day or two and explode all over the internet. 

Meanwhile, Richmond Occupiers snickered in countercultural delight at the tea party dilemma as they remained trapped in their tents by the awful old woman who continued to stand just on the other side of the fence and yell “You occupiers get out of that yard!” while periodically sending volleys of waggling droopy, flabby arm wattle over their tents. 

Once the letter bomb was signed and delivered, the Cyncarr angrily found its way back to its underground lair in the auditor’s office, its locust-like reign of terror depreciating in expected value.

…or is it?

Evidence of the Cyncarr's reign of error