Satire The Trump Dig

T-Rump’s Weekly Address …

The Tyrumposaurus stood atop the Bullee-Tar Pit. It was time for his weekly address. He gazed smugly at the gathering of Mediacircustops below. …

The Tyrumposaurus stood atop the Bullee-Tar Pit. It was time for his weekly address. He gazed smugly at the gathering of Mediacircustops below.

“Greetings! While I was having breakfast this morning, I decided — on my own — that I will be changing the main message of the Trumpassic Period. No more ‘make Milkanhoney Preservation great again.’ That was a loser of a slogan. From now on … We must cut off and use better!”

“Does this mean,” asked a Mediacircustops, “that you’ve changed your mind on the environment? Again?”

“Er, wait a minute. Wrong slogan. I got it. I got it now. … We must be proactive and nasty!”

“On what exactly?” asked the Mediacircustops.

Everything. And by the way, I’ve accomplished more in 8 days than the Obamarus did in 8 decades. 8 days. 8 decades. NOT fake news.”

Another Mediacircustops piped up.

“How did your latest meal go with the Cryingchuck and the Nancypelosionyx?”

“Great. Just great. We had a chocolate moose. That’s right, a four-legged chocolate moose. GREAT moose. I hadn’t even finished my first bite before we agreed on two MAJOR pieces of business. We did away with Chain Migration AND that ridiculous Filibuster Rule. Now we can get some work done without that stupid political correctness.”

Another Mediacircustops joined the fray.

“But that’s free speech.”

“No, that’s paying a really BIG PRICE for politics.”

“T-Rump, how are you going to get along with the new Trollertweety restrictions?”

“Restrictions? What restrictions?”

The Marinegunkelly stuck his nose in the T-Rump’s ear.

“I was trying to tell you, T-Rump, but you had me eating with the kiddy Koreaceratops.”

Another Mediacircustops raised his tail to speak.

“Killing the Filibuster Rule means you can’t send out your Trollertweety more than 140 times per day.”

The T-Rump stamped his foot, causing the Bullee-Tar Pit to shake.

“That ENDS NOW! Apologize for that untruth! Apologize!”

“T-Rump,” said the Marinegunkelly, “you made it the law.”

“Oh. Well, I — I’ll get another Trollertweety then.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. They’re from Socialbuzz-Medialand. You just put an end to Chain Migration. You complained alien dinosaurs were entering the Milkanhoney Preservation in RECORD numbers. Your capital letters. Sorry, T-Rump, but you need to control your Trollertweety.”

Control my Trollertweety?”

He sounded like a little girly dinosaur. The T-Rump’s stomach fell hard. So hard and so fast, the acid reflux was heard across the land. He gritted his teeth and glared at the Mediacircustops below.

“We must be proactive and nasty!  … I have an idea. I will give back the T-Melania!”

The Mediacircustops jaws hit the ground in a collective, choking cloud of dust.

“T-Rump?” asked the Marinegunkelly.

“Yes, take my wife, please. I will send T-Melania back to the Slovenia-Siberian Salt Flats for my Trollertweety. Do we have a deal? Do we have a DEAL?!

You could hear a dinosaur egg crack.

“Cryingchuck? Nancypelosionyx? Mitchgetbacktowork!

By David Belisle

I'm a novelist and screenwriter in search of the Great Guffaw. It's kind of like getting hit with a bucket of Gatorade. It's a good time that sticks with you.

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