Satire The Trump Dig

No Hope in Hell …

“You mean, family first,” the Kushneratops said hautily to the Marinegunkelly as he and the Tyvankanatrix filed past the chief of staff. …


“You mean, family first,” the Kushneratops said haughtily to the Marinegunkelly as he and the Tyvankanatrix filed past the chief of staff.

The Marinegunkelly grimaced and turned to the remaining reptiles lined up outside the Oval Dwelling, all waiting patiently for an audience with the Tyrumposaurus.

It was an exceptionally long line today. The dinos crowded into the waiting cave, seeking refuge from the ominous looking clouds. It may yet be Bath Day.

The Marinegunkelly frowned as he gazed at the sour pusses and saliva-dripping mugs before him. Morale was at an all-time low in the Best Wing of the dank, damp Oval Dwelling.

Inside, the T-Rump looked up from his feast of Cheezebuggabuggas at the Kushneratops.

“You’re supposed to be in the Middle Eastlands.”

“I can’t go.”

“Whaddaya mean you can’t go? There’s business to be mixed with, uh …”

“Politics,” finished the Kushneratops. “But old fossil fart there,” he nodded toward the Marinegunkelly, “took away my top secret clearance.”

“Whine, whine, whine. What did I say about rules?”

“They’re for losers. Go ahead and break every one of them.”

“Exactly. Now get over there and keep things on the Q-T.”

“Which reminds me,” his son-in-law said, adopting once more his pouty, put-upon look. “The Muellersavus knows about the half-billion moolah-moolah leaf loan I received after the Oval Dwelling meetings.”


“So, the, um … optics?”

“Optics? I only see moolah-moolah. Do you only see moolah-moolah?”

“Of course, dad.”

“And stop saying that. I don’t even let the T-Rump Jr. call me that.”

The Kushneratops stepped back, coughed into his hand awkwardly and gave ground to the T-Vanka.

“Daddy, I was s-o-o-o-o embarrassed. The Mediacircustops cornered me in Seoulkorea. I was there to have a good time. And it didn’t happen, daddy. It’s not fair. They asked me about all those lady dinos who say you sexually assaulted them. E-e-e-e-e-e-e-w! I don’t like being asked about your sexual assaults, daddy. I don’t care if the Mediacircustops said I signed up for this. Stop it, daddy. Do something.”

“Wait, that’s my line, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

His daughter and son-in-law said their good-byes.


The Cybercommander stepped smartly before the Commander in Chief.


“Oh, it’s you again. The answer is still no. You’re supposed to be my intelligence and you don’t even listen. Hmph. Some intelligence.”

“They’ll do it again, T-Rump.”

He was referring of course to the Putinodon and the Russodinos meddling in the battle royale when the T-Rump came to power.

The T-Rump wrinkled his mug in exasperation.

“He said he didn’t. If I ask him again, he may get upset. I sure would. Look,” the T-Rump said, pointing to his noggin, “I’m making a mental note. Satisfied?”

The Cybercommander shook his head in frustration and left.


The Sessionsopussum furtively snuck into the Oval Dwelling. He stepped up to the T-Rump, took a deep breath and puffed out his scrawny chest.

“Excuse me, T-Rump, but I am the Attorney General of the Milkanhoney Preservation and it’s not becoming of you to call me disgraceful.”

The T-Rump waggled a claw at him.

“You. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to fire you because you think you’re the only one that can save me from myself.”

The Sessionsopussum blinked his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not gonna work, my beleaguered A.G. There’s no saving me.”

“I guess not,” the Sessionsopussum replied. A couple of giggles escaped as he made his way out.


The Bencarson stepped before the T-Rump. The former walnut cracker chuckled apologetically. He’d been called before the T-Rump to explain the 31,000 moolah-moolah leaf extravagance in redecorating his work den.

“Heh-heh … It seems my wife and I spent more moolah-moolah than necessary. I brought it all back. Heh-heh. Most of it actually.”


“Yes, my, uh … wife … heh-heh … she discovered these things she calls shoes?”

“Shoes?! What the hell are shoes?”

“That’s what I said, heh-heh. Well, almost like that. We were dining on a juicy Guccileatherback the other day and she was backing away and she got her foot caught in some of the skin. She saw her foot and said she, uh … liked the look. Heh-heh. Her words, not mine. So, heh-heh, she kept two thousand moolah-moolah for more Guccileatherback shoes. While they’re in season, she says.” He shrugged. “I ask you, what are you going to do?”

“You’re going to take them off her feet and bring them to me.”

“Heh-heh.” Awkward. “Heh-heh.” More awkwardness as the Bencarson envisioned his enraged wife clawing at him. “Heh-heh. Okay, you’re the boss.”


The Ennarraykillinkidz plodded determinedly straight for the T-Rump.

“T-Rump, you know we need the Gunsandmoregunz inside every dino home.”

The Gunsandmoregunz was a highly volatile, explosive dino pet that was fun to play with. When left unattended however, they were prone to massacring the young and innocent.

“Are you with us, T-Rump?

“I’m not petrified of you. Scared maybe.”

“You should be. There’s no avoiding this. You need me. No age restrictions, no background checks, and definitely due process. Got that?”

“Anything else?”

“Just make sure there’s a bump in our stocks.”

The T-Rump nodded miserably as the Ennarraykillinkidz took leave.


The sweaty, clam-handed Joshraffel entered.

“Who are you,” the T-Rump asked.

“I’m the Joshraffel. I handle communications for the Kushneratops and the T-Vanka.”

“Is there something wrong? I’ll wrong that skinny Dino’s neck!”

“No, no. I said communications for them, not between them.”

“Oh. I see. And you’re here because …”

“I’m quitting.”

“Your point?”

“I – I was just wondering, could you say something good about me? I’ll take bad too, anything to give me some extra publicity as I try to find another job. You know, some solid street cred.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Hmm. Well, you could tell the Mediacircustops that my exit — that’s thee Joshraffel — means that 34% of your ‘A’ team has left since you came to power. That’s a record. Triple the Obamarus.”

“Triple, huh? Okay, I like that.”

The Joshraffel left and the Marinegunkelly poked his head in.

“All clear.”

“Where the hell is Hope?”

“I’m sorry, are you being philosophical?”

“No. This is a disaster. Where’s the Hopehicksbagotrix?”

“She quit, T-Rump.”

“No. About the little white lies thing?”

“You called her every name in the book.”

“I was kidding!”

“Evidently she wasn’t.”

The T-Rump looked around in a panic.

“What are we gonna do?”

The Marinegunkelly turned to look outside where large raindrops began falling.

“Take a bath?”

“I’ve got to find her.”

The T-Rump rose from his squat and hurried outside just as the dark skies opened. Typhoon-like sheets of rain washed over the T-Rump’s face as he looked skyward, raising his hands high in the air.

“H-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-p-e! … Hopehicksbagotrix!”

Still, uh … still the rain came down, branding him as a marlin out of water, a prehistoric streetcar with no desire.

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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