One day, Brontosaurus, awoke in his 5 billion dollar mansion. He pushed aside the 7 scantily-clad theropods strewn across his bed, dressed himself in his finest diamond filament fabric pants and went for a ride in his hobo-drawn carriage. His was a life of luxury.
Being rich and successful, this sexy sauropod was up to his ankles in dames. (The dames were, of course, part of the genus “fruitadens” and, thus, only reached his ankles by piling many on top of each other. That’s a lot o’ dames.) Sometimes he wondered, though, whether his life was actually worthwhile. Maybe it would be better for society if he contributed something to it, other than good looks and illegitimate children.
He decided, that very day, to become a veterinarian so that he could help save the lives of the many sauropods, theropods and ornithopods that were his buddies (dinosaurs were treated by veterinarians because they were animals). He wouldn’t help diplodocuses, though, because diplodocuses were jerks.
His life-changing decision was rendered completely moot, though, because the next day, a meteorite crashed into the Earth. Tonnes of dust was thrown into the air, partially blocking out the sun and making the Earth cooler. Most of the dinosaurs, being cold-blooded, died. Even Brontosaurus, despite his awesomeness, succumbed to the rapidly decreasing temperature. But all the diplodocuses died too, so it wasn’t so bad.
This was all just fantasy, of course. Brontosauruses never existed.