(Oh, and apologies to Michael Crichton and Steven Spielberg for this.)
Dr. Schwarzenstein staggered across the lawn, bleeding profusely, as he thought once again that maybe, just maybe, re-creating velociraptors from frog DNA and the contents of fossilized mosquito stomachs had been a bad idea, and that maybe, just maybe, genetically enhancing the raptor for super-intelligence had been a really bad idea.
And then there she was, the Queen Raptor, in front of him. He wasn't going to make it to the jeep. This was it. She bared her fangs, bristled her claws. "Surprise, I'm pregnant!" she said.
"I've created talking raptors?" he thought -- a scientist to the end -- as she leaped toward his abdomen.