“Can I come out now?” It was the Spicerophus. He was hiding in a bush.
“The game’s not over,” said the Tyrumposaurus, languishing nearby over a fresh kill of Caviaraptor.
“But I’ve been in here for weeks!”
“The game’s called hide and seek. I’ll look for you when I’m ready.”
The T-Rump lifted his nose to the air.
“Marinegunkelly.”
The T-Rump’s right-hand dino stepped smartly to the fore.
“I told you I’m not hiding, T-Rump.”
“No, no. I smell a Crookadillary.”
The Marinegunkelly rolled his eyes. The T-Rump clapped him on the back.
“Let’s go.”
The T-Rump and the Marinegunkelly set off across the wide savannah, the marshy wetlands and a vast grassland that had a colony of 11-year-old herbivores mowing their way through it. A winded Marinegunkelly finally stopped.
“T-Rump, it’s been 8 hours. We must’ve gone 100 miles.”
“Hah! I’d go 200 miles to play a joke on the Crookadillary. Quit complaining. And you call yourself a Marinegunkelly?”
They ventured on. An hour later they found the Crookadillary in a clearing beside shrubs. She was munching on a potpourri of herbs and spices, reminiscing of her salad days back in Arkansas Whitewater Development.
The T-Rump snuck up behind her. He tapped her on the right shoulder and ducked to the left. She turned to her right and saw nothing. The T-Rump tapped her on the left shoulder and ducked to the right. She turned to her left and saw nothing.
“T-Rump!”
“It’s not me.”
She spun on her heels and glared at him.
“How far did you travel this time?”
“Just a mile,” he lied. He extended his arm. “Here, pull my claw.”
“No.”
“Aw, c’mon, Crookadillary.”
“No, I am not going to pull your claw!”
The T-Rump turned to the Marinegunkelly.
“Will you pull my claw?”
The Marinegunkelly frowned and turned his back to him.
“T-Rump,” said the Crookadillary. “I just received news from the Kimjongadon.”
“Oh, the Rocketmanosaurus.”
“Thats right, he wanted me to thank you for calling him that.”
“He’s an idiot. I meant it as an insult.”
“Oh, he’s far from an idiot. You made him a big hit with the ladies now.”
“I did?”
The Crookadillary turned to leave.
“You can always thank him yourself. He’s speaking from the Bullee-Tar Pit tonight at sunset. Oh, T-Rump, that’s when the lady dinosaurs are most romantic.”
“I know that!”
The Crookadillary disappeared in the bush, leaving the T-Rump fuming. He got in the Marinegunkelly’s face.
“How could you let her do that to me?”
The Marinegunkelly had no idea what the T-Rump was talking about. He would remain stoic and steadfast even if his tail was on fire. T-Rump could stew in his juices. It was a treat to watch.
The T-Rump roared in anger.
“Nobody speaks from the Bullee-Tar Pit but me.”
He thought about the lady dinosaurs that would also be there. He and the T-Melania had been on the outs lately. She’d taken to wearing dark brunette snakeroot leaves over her eyes when they were out together. She was embarrassed to be seen with him. But he was the T-Rump, the law of the land. He could do what he wanted.
Meanwhile, the Crookadillary beat him and the Marinegunkelly back to the Bullee-Tar Pit where she had a surprise waiting for him.
It was dusk when the T-Rump arrived at the Bullee-Tar Pit. Alone. The Marinegunkelly cramped his style. In the darkness, the T-Rump could barely make out a short, squat figure standing at the edge of the cliff.
“So, we finally meet,” said the T-Rump, stepping toward the figure.
“I am the Rocketman.” Only it was the disguised voice of the Crookadillary. She was hiding on a ledge just below the edge of the cliff.
“You don’t sound too well,” said the T-Rump. “Is that a frog in your throat?”
“No, it’s a toad.”
The T-Rump sized up the silhouette before him in the darkness.
“Y’know, I thought you’d be bigger.”
“I’m grown up. Unlike you.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t see any ladies, Rocketman.”
“They saw you coming.”
“Why, you little … I’ll show you who’s the real Rocketmanosaurus! You give me no choice but to totally destroy you!”
The T-Rump lunged forward with his little arms and grabbed what he thought was the Kimjongadon. Only it was a bunch of flat rocks piled on top of one another, covered in tar.
“What the …?
The T-Rump rolled around, trying to get loose but he couldn’t. He only made matters worse in the oozing, gooey, sticky tar. His face was stuck to a rock and he could smell the stench of the thick, black tar oozing down the top of the rock toward …
“My hair. Not the hair. No! Not the hair! … A-a-a-a-a-a-g-g-g-h-h-h!”
The Crookadillary stole away in the night, laughing her little girly laugh.
David Belisle 