Stepping lively down the path, a dino with a date, the Muellersavus approached the Langleytips Private Den. It was an area off the beaten dinosaur path, with nondescript bushes, trees and a few knee-deep swamps, the kind most dinosaurs avoided, save for snowflakes like the pampered Pamparaptor, destined to naively stroll into extinction.
The Muellersavus had no time for snowflakes. He was a member of the hard-shelled Titano-investigatus species, prepared to chew gaping holes in whatever defense the Tyrumposaurus had built through lies, deceit and his fleet of Trollertweeties. The Muellersavus vowed there would be dinosaur justice for all, or at least as far as the blood sprayed.
Today was shaping up to be a very juicy day. The Muellersavus looked forward to staring down the Bannoncanon, grilling the former T-Rump chief strategist about all things T-Rump.
Spotting his prey behind a bush at their designated meeting place, the Muellersavus licked his lips and flexed his pointy shoulder blades, a telltale sign that he was about to stick it to you. Accompanied by a Subpoenasaurus, the best tracking dinosaur in the land, the Bannoncanon stepped forward, cheeks flushed with the most peculiar, disarming smile.
“Tis a fine day for toppling a dynasty.”
The Muellersavus eyed the Bannoncanon carefully. Had he been nipping from the wrong end of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir already?
“Good morning,” the Muellersavus offered. “You’re here awfully early.”
“I’ve been waiting two hours … and I cleared out my schedule for the next week. I’m as eager as a Sessionsopussum saying he can’t remember. Say, thanks for sending the Subpoenasaurus after me. It’ll help make it look like I’m trying to get back in Trump’s good graces. For the umpteenth time. Fortunately, he can’t recall what happened yesterday. I’m sure he’s already forgotten everything I told the Michaelwolff. I was wondering …”
“Could you say a few nasty things about me to the Mediacircustops, to show the T-Rump I’m not cooperating? And how much you hate me? You know, something like I’m a sh*thole in a sh*thouse. Nothing says loyalty like that, while reminding him I stand beside him on the migration route policy. He’ll eat it right up.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“I’m Pocahantas living in a hut?”
“Now you’re mixing metaphors.”
“Like he’s going to notice.”
The Muellersavus’ grave face said not a chance. He waved off the Subpoenasaurus and the two dinos hunkered down to business.
“Let’s begin,” said the Langleytips legend. “What did the T-Rump tell you about the T-Rump Jr. meeting taken with the Kayjeebeeops while the T-Rump was campaigning?”
“Oh, right. The babies. The T-Rump told me he didn’t want to get germs from kissing baby dinos but if the Kushneratops, T-Rump Jr. and the Manaforta could tell the Putinodon that the Milkanhoney Preservation would take all the Moscovian Bluffs baby dinos they could export, the T-Rump was positive the Putinodon would say something nice about him. That’s all he wanted. To be noticed by the Putinodon. What a maroon.”
“And what did the Kayjeebeeops say?”
“They told the T-Rump no dice. They had more dirt on him than they had on the Crookadillary and they wanted to keep it that way.”
“Were there any moolah-moolah leaves being washed here or the Cypress Spygrass, the in the Moscovian Bluffs?
“Moolah-moolah, here, there, everywhere … but don’t go looking at the T-Rump’s moolah-moolah. Don’t cross that line. Oh, no. Don’t you dare.” He jokingly waggled a claw at the Muellersavus.
“Ahem. I already did. In your mind, was there any collusion between the T-Rump and the Putinodon?”
“Let’s just say the T-Rump defines collusion as a solid working relationship.”
“As sure as the Dickydurbin tells the truth.”
“What about the Tyvankanatrix and the Kushneratops?”
The Bannoncanon fell back with a snorting laugh that led to a loud coughing fit. His nose turned a crimson red.
“You mean the answer to the Middle Eastlands? And the T-Rump Jr.’s sister, who threw him under the Priebusunderbus so she wouldn’t dirty her pretty claws? Those two only think about the common working dino when it’s time to collect the rent.”
“Is it true that the Stephenmillerus wrote most of the T-Rump’s speeches?”
“You’re going to throw him in the Solitary Sink Hole for that? Wow. I’ll set’em up, you knock’em down.”
“Why do you think the Stephenmillerus is so angry with the Mediacircustops?”
“You think he’s angry now? Wait til the Flakenator compares the T-Rump to the Stalinator.”
The Muellersavus knew he’d be here for days.
“Have you seen the Hopehicksbagotrix?” he asked. “She seems to have gone missing.”
“Are you kidding? Every dinosaur on the T-Rump team always looked to have one foot out the cave. Maybe she felt sorry for the Lewandowsky or the Scaramoochkin or the latest staff member with a failing marriage. They scraped the bottom of the food chain dry. It was beginning to look like the Fall of the Roaming Empire.”
The Muellersavus had long stopped shaking his head in disbelief. He had a mind like a steel trap that cracked all walnuts before him.
“Say,” said the Bannoncanon. “What do I need to tell you to get the Huckabeecyclops thrown in the Sinkhole until her eye is as red as my nose? I’m sure the Mediacircustops would then name me dino of the year.”
The Muellersavus allowed a rare smirk.
“We all know how that turned out.”