“No-BELL! No-BELL! No-BELL!”
The crowd of dinosaur deplorables at Faux Washington Falls chanted as one, stamping their feet and punching the air with their short arms. The chant was in honor of the Nobelpeacepiper, a high-flying Pterodactyl known for dive-bombing into potential dinosaur warfare and incessantly pecking the instigators on the nose, the Achilles Heel of all dinosaurs.
The chanting continued for the T-Rump, who had threatened the Kimjongadon with annihilation unless he released all his captive Nuclearballisticus. It was the absolute threat of fire and fury, a suicidal game plan the T-Rump’s dino base reveled in.
“No-BELL! No-BELL! No-BELL!”
“Thank you, thank you,” said the T-Rump. “That’s right. No Bull. No collusion. No Russodinos and — you said it — No Bull!”
The next day, the Stormydaniels lawyer Michaelavenatti squatted alongside the Jaketapper on Tapper’s Sunday morning caveside chat.
“So, Michael, did you predict that the Huckabeecyclops and Kellyanneconvixway would be sitting together at last night’s Mediacircustops T-Rump Roast?”
“No, they probably drew the short sticks. But it’s hard to have a roast when the host fails to show up. He can run away from the laughs but not from the law.”
The legal dino grinned mischievously.
“You’re grinning mischievously, Michael,” said the Jaketapper. “Moreso even than my trademark Goofy Chuckle. Where’s that grin coming from? Could it be your glee at the Michaelcohen’s predicament … or perhaps from your recent claim that the disgraced former moolah-moolah director of the Grandoldparty, the Elliottbroidy, had nothing to do with the T-Rump’s legal dino, the Michaelcohen?”
“That information comes from an impeccable dino source.”
“Well, you haven’t been wrong yet. Are you suggesting that the T-Rump got this third dino, a Playmatapus pregnant? That would be number two on the Out-of-Wedlock Pregnancy Scoreboard for the T-Rump.”
“No predictions. Yet.”
“Let’s kick this latest T-Rump rumour around the room, shall we?”
“You kick. I’ll litigate,” the Michaelavenatti said smugly.
“The Michaelcohen,” the Jaketapper began, “is the T-Rump’s legal dino. Why would the T-Rump loan him out? What’s in it for the T-Rump? And why on earth would the Elliottbroidy take the fall for the T-Rump?”
“Notice that the names in the sand never changed, just the dinosaurs. One of them anyways.”
The Jaketapper tapped the flat rock.
“There was the Middle Eastlands kerfuffle the Elliottbroidy started against the Qatartatertots. Then his measly mea culpa to the Mediacircustops, apologizing to his wife and little dinos, saying the hanky panky was between two consenting dinos. Who says that?”
“All my clients, actually.”
“But … and here’s the dark underbelly, the potential tyrant-toppling news … the Playmatapus had an abortion? What the heck is that?”
“An abortion? I don’t know, Jake.”
“It – it just sounds wrong. Maybe that’s what we should be talking about.”
“It sets a dangerous precedent, whatever it is.”
“A dinosaur abortion. How does the Plodding Church of Blue Hair Dino Immaculate Mercy roll past that one? Can they?”
“My client has no comment.”
“What’s next? The T-Rump abandoning the Great Tex-Mex Divide? No wonder this, this …”
“Abortion, Jake.”
“It’s an abortion of our senses, that’s what it is … worth 1.6 million moolah-moolah leaves evidently. And the Michaelcohen made 250 thousand off that. His newfound hobby. Dino Belly Watching. I can’t believe we’re talking about dinosaur gestation periods. How did we get here, Michael?”
“Well, it appears that if you’re a Pornadactyl or a Playmatapus, it’s only a matter of time before the T-Rump is going to knock you … I mean, come knocking. Following that, a meeting with the Michaelcohen-Keithdavidson conspiracy combo to put your signature footprint in the sand, thereby buying your silence.”
“I’m sorry, did you say conspiracy, Michael?”
“Conspiracy-collusion, Pornodactyl-Playmatapus. They’re all the same to the T-Rump and the Michaelcohen. The latter being of course, a Pursepuppy without a bone.”
David Belisle 