David Belisle

“Are they gonna bring us food? They better bring us food,” said Juror 1.
Several other jurors nodded, smacking their lips expectantly. Juror 2 smacked his head.
“Damn. I forgot my lactate leaves.”
It was the first day of jury deliberations following closing arguments of the Manaforta trial. Dinosaur court was similar to kangaroo court, except for the jumping to conclusions. …

“Well? Well? How’d it go?”
An anxious Rogerstone asked the Manhatinhandmadam as he welcomed her into his small, sparsely decorated cave. He liked it that way, for quick exits to chase down any Mediacircustops looking to fill a slow news day.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?” …

The Tyrumposaurus fumbled in the dim light of his night chamber. A grope here. A grope there. He grunted in dismay. No luck. He knew he’d left it here somewhere.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” …

“Class.”
The Trumpassic Period Grade Seven dino teacher, the old, decrepit Black Boardbarker, spoke in the bored, nasal monotone symptomatic of IBS — Instructional Burnout Syndrome. …