T-Rump and the Dying Magazineplex …

The Tyrumposaurus retreated from the Biblical Flood Belt back to the dry safety of his oval dwelling. He stumbled across an old, bedraggled Magazineplex in the throes of old age. The glossy, Biweeklian herbivore was a close, working associate of the Mediacircustops.

“Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” came his weakened cry.

The T-Rump leaned over for a closer look.

“Why, you’re a dying Magazineplex. That’s who you are!”

“You wouldn’t understand a deadline if it bit you,” the herbivore said in a dry raspy voice.

“So that’s what happened. Wait a minute. I know you. You’re the one who’s been false reporting. You’re fake news, pal.” He poked him repeatedly in the stomach. “Fake. Fake. Fake.”

“I beg your pardon.” The Magazineplex coughed into his paw. “I’m the Fifth Estate.”

“Oh, yeah?” The T-Rump looked around. “Looks like your four buddies have left. Where’s your ferocious anger now? I’ll tell you where. Dying. D-uh-Y-I-N-G.”

The Magazineplex motioned for the T-Rump to come closer. The T-Rump kneeled over him.

“What is it? This volcanic sand doesn’t agree with my knees.”

The herbivore motioned for the T-Rump to come closer still. The T-Rump put his ear close to the Magazineplex’ mouth.

“DACA–” whispered the herbivore, barely audible.

“The Dacadreamers?” said the T-Rump. The Magazineplex slowly nodded. The Dacadreamer was a Sub Family of the Latinonachos dinosaur encroaching on the Milkanhoney Preservation.

“Oh, they’re dreamers all right. How am I ever going to get the Great Tex-Mex Divide done if I have to worry about the Dacadreamers? All I’m trying to do here is make the Milkanhoney Preservation great again.”

“Eight hundred thousand.” The herbivore struggled to get the words out.

“Don’t remind me. This looks like a job for the Sheriffjovenator.” The T-Rump rose to his feet. He stamped his right foot impatiently, kicking dust in the face of the dying Magazineplex. The T-Rump slapped his two-fingered hands together.

“That’s it! I will get the Dacadreamers to build the Great Tex-Mex Divide. If they do a good job I may — I said MAY — let them stay.”

The Magazineplex slowly blinked his eyes, unbelieving of the T-Rump’s words.

The T-Rump looked down at him.

“Aren’t you dead yet?”