Today’s bone hints at the sporting life of dinosaurs. I came across a skull bone from the Tyrumposaurus with many dents in it. Thanks to nanometric calcium dating, I found the dents were in groupings of nine and inflicted over a 17-day period. This is irrefutable proof of the little-known dinosaur game of “Flog” that the T-Rump played with the Putinodon. I will let the bone tell the story …
The Putinodon pointed to the lone Maralago palm tree. The T-Rump promptly pulled it out of the ground and, with a grunt, hoisted it onto his back. They were off.
At the first sinkhole, the T-Rump handed the Putinodon the Maralago palm.
“You have to guess what I’m thinking of,” the Putinodon reminded him.
“Or I get flogged,” the T-Rump said wincing. “Okay. Here goes the greatest guess. Adoptions?”
WHOMP!
“Nyet. Sanctions.”
They traveled to the second sinkhole. They could have played the game at the same sinkhole but the T-Rump insisted on showing the Putinodon around the Bedminster Sand Dunes. This also allowed the bump on the T-Rump’s head to ease its swelling as he dragged the Maralago palm behind him.
At the second sinkhole, the T-Rump sized up the Putinodon.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking. Flynn.”
WHOMP!
“Nyet. Manafort.”
“Very impressive,” said the T-Rump, rubbing his noggin. “You’re always one step ahead of me.”
The game continued to the third sinkhole.
“Ukraine.”
WHOMP!
“Nyet. Crimea. You are so close, comrade.”
And close is how the T-Rump would remain, getting whomped four times over the next four sinkholes for incorrect guesses of Syria, oil, hacking and the KGB when the Putinodon’s correct answers were Asaad, real estate, RussianBrides.com and the CIA.
They arrived at the eighth hole, the T-Rump understandably woozy. He handed the Putinodon the Maralago palm. The T-Rump blinked his eyes twice and steadied himself.
“Crookadillary!”
WHOMP!
“Nyet. Monicalewinsky.”
“What’s a Monicalewinsky?”
“That would be the Jezebelian dinosaur with a breakaway girdle bone.”
The two dinosaurs tromped to the last sinkhole. The T-Rump decided that for the final sinkhole he would keep things simple. His ringing headache demanded it.
“How smart I am.”
WHOMP!
“Nyet. How smart I am.”
The Putinodon handed the Maralago palm to the T-Rump, who slung it back over his shoulder. As they turned to leave, the T-Rump patted the Putinodon on the back with his tail.
“Same time next week?”
“Instead … why don’t we go fishing for Barechested Barracuda.”
“I’d like that.”
David Belisle 