Satire The Trump Dig

The I.Q. Facts of Trumpassic Life …

The Tyrumposaurus and his eldest son were traipsing through the bullrushes and brambleweeds of Black Lung Lagoon. The sun came out of a cloud …

The Tyrumposaurus and his eldest son were traipsing through the bullrushes and brambleweeds of Black Lung Lagoon. The sun came out of a cloud and the T-Rump paused in his tracks.

“What is it father?” asked the young T-Rump.

“Son, I think it’s time I told you the facts of life.”

“I’m 39. It’s a little late for the Firstdate Birds and the Placenta Bees speech.”

“No, I’m talking about the most important facts of life.”

“Like what, father?”

“Contrary to the fake news about me being a moron, I am indeed smarter and can run faster than a Saveyourenergyrex, a Marinegunkelly and a Maddogmaddis. And I can pee further too.”

“Wow. Individually or puddle to puddle?”

“Altogether, son. You should see my bladder.”

The T-Rump picked up a bullrush and chewed on the muddy end. It would later give him massive heartburn.

“Son, one more great fact of life. No matter how many millions of years that the Mediacircustops write their stories about truth and justice in the sands of time, it’s still all fake news. Do you follow me?”

“Not quite.”

“Well, you take your Tennesseecorker for example. He was a good dinosaur once upon a time. Then the Mediacircustops took his words and made him out to sound like a fool. That’s what I’m dealing with.”

“Are they all fools, father?”

“Now you’re beginning to understand. Yes, I am smarter than all of them. However, I’ll tell you one dinosaur that’s close to my walnut brain. That Christopherbedford dinosaur. He’s writing good things in the sand about me. The Art of the T-Rump. The Art of the T-Rump’s Art and the …”

“Art of the T-Rump’s Art’s Art,” finished the T-Rump Jr.

“You’ve read them?”

“No, just a lucky guess.”

“Well, you should. I’m sending out the Trollertweeties to tell all the dinosaurs they must visit and read these great lines in the sand.”

“Where are they, father?”

“On the shores of Hippockruh Sea. Such a beautiful place.”

“But, father, isn’t the Christopherbedford a Sub Family of the Mediacircustops?”

“Son, I made up the term fake news. I can certainly make up another phrase for turning fake news into real news on an as-needed basis.”

“I got it!”

“Aha.” The T-Rump raised a claw in the air. “No, son. I got it. And that’s what I will call it. They’re my words now. I GOT IT. Simple but so meaningful. Simply great. You can thank me now.”

“Gee. Thanks for allowing me to thank you, dad.”

“Any time, son. Keep thanking me any time.”

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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