Satire The Trump Dig

Bone Spur Boot Camp …

The Tyrumposaurus and the Marinegunkelly had nibbled their way through the rose garden outside the oval dwelling and found themselves next to …

The Tyrumposaurus and the Marinegunkelly had nibbled their way through the rose garden outside the Oval Dwelling and found themselves next to the Sin-Hut Chamber Pothole, a well-stomped-upon clearing. Fifty esteemed dinosaurs of the Trumpassic Period listened raptly as one of their member’s gave his exit speech.

“There are times when we must risk our position in favor of our principles.”

“Oh,” said the T-Rump. “It’s that flakety flake flake, the Flakenator.”

The Flakenator went on.

“Reckless, outrageous, and undignified behavior has become excused and countenanced as “telling it like it is,” when it’s actually just reckless, outrageous, and undignified.”

The T-Rump shook his head.

“Him and that Tennesseecorker, they should put a cork in it. They’re retiring. Good riddance.”

The Flakenator continued, head held high.

“Leadership knows that most often a good place to start in assigning blame is to first look somewhat closer to home. Leadership knows where the buck stops. Humility helps. Character counts. Leadership does not knowingly encourage or feed ugly and debased appetites in us.”

“Hmph,” said the T-Rump. “Who’s he talking about?”

“That would be, uh … you.” The Marinegunkelly swallowed hard.

“Well,” sneered the T-Rump, “I see it’s time to launch another fleet of Trollertweeties.”

“Perhaps you should let them rest. They just returned an hour ago.”

“What do you suggest?”

The Marinegunkelly took a deep breath.

“T-Rump, this is a bit of a stretch.” He plunged on. “Have you thought about fighting fire with fire?”

“We’re dinosaurs, idiot. How do we start a fire?”

“It’s an expression.”


“I’m going to put you in touch with someone.”


“You do want to be a hero, don’t you?”

“The greatest.”

An hour later the T-Rump crossed the Straightforward Plains, arriving at the Sihnsere-Entegritty Principled High Roads of Zonazeal. He repeated the Marinegunkelly’s message to himself so he wouldn’t forget it.

“I’m going to Zonazeal, but not to see the Flakenator. I’m going to Zonazeal …”

He looked up and saw …

“The McCainus?”

“In the leather-skinned flesh.”

“But I’m supposed to meet a hero, a decorated war veteran.”

The McCainus took a cursory glance around. As did the T-Rump. They were alone.

“But you’re no hero,” the T-Rump fumed. “You were captured.”

The McCainus stared almost wistfully at the T-Rump.

“You had a deferment. For bone spurs?”

“Yes, the heel. Big heel. A great heel.”

“Which one?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You had four more deferments …”

“Oh, sure. The four R’s.”

“Excuse me?”

“Reading, ‘Riting, ‘Rithmetic … and Recess.”

The McCainus nodded silently and the lesson began.

“I spent six years in a hole.”

“Hah!” said the T-Rump. “Can you say three marriages?” 

“You need to make sacrifices,” offered the McCainus.

“You want sacrifices? I’ll give you sacrifices. I haven’t had Caviaraptor Legs in a month,” the T-Rump lied. “And when I arrived here, I was expecting a square room. I am coping — just barely — with the Oval Dwelling. And three? I’ll give you three and four. My two ex-wives. I’m sure they’re barely coping without me. That must be some kind of sacrifice.”

“For who?”

“Are you going to make me a hero or not?”

The McCainus sighed.

“Here are some tips that will hopefully put you on your way. First off, don’t pump up the vets and then jump on members of the Goldstarfamilus.

“She started it.”

The McCainus continued.

“There is no ‘I’ in team.”

“According to your spelling.”

“And finally, T-Rump, do you have to go flogging every weekend?”

“I need to unwind. It’s hard work telling everyone to get to work — Mitchgetbacktowork!  Sorry, force of habit. I find myself just sitting around waiting for them to do it. Okay, that’s 10 minutes.”

“No, that’s two.”

“More than enough time to be considered a hero.”

The T-Rump turned on his bone-spur-less heel and headed for home, but not before firing a parting shot.

“And I never got caught!”

“Yet,” muttered the McCainus.

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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