The Rudygiuliani smiled smugly across the flat rock table at the Muellersavus. He’d only been on board two weeks as the latest Tyrumposaurus legal dino, but was already making waves with the Mediacircustops. Big enough to elicit a meeting with the veteran special counsel in charge of the Russodino collusion investigation. It was the case that refused to go away. But it would, now that he, the Rudygiuliani, was fighting back. He tightened his small, gnarled fists. He was vibrating with energy, squatting, ready to spring across the table and, if need be, punch the Muellersavus right in the nose.
“Okay, Mueller, the way I see it, you don’t have a leg to stand on because that two-dino tango, the Peterstrzok and Lisapage lagoon romance proves that all 850,000 dinos in the intelligence community are operating with a deep state agenda. That’s right.”
“Don’t waste my time with your dinosaur gas lighting deflections. I want to talk about you.”
“Me? Why me? I didn’t do anything.”
“Did you talk at length with the Stephanopoulos yesterday about the T-Rump?”
“Yes.”
“Then you did something.”
“Wait a minute. You’re overseeing the Russodino, not the Stormydaniels case.”
“Oh, it’s only a matter of time before you spill over into Russodinos.”
“But I have attorney-client privilege.”
“Not when you wax so … eloquently … to the Mediacircustops.” He leaned into the T-Rump’s lawyer. “I’m interested in your intent.”
“My intent? You mean the T-Rump’s intent.”
“No, based on what you’ve said to the Stephanopoulos, you’ve quickly moved from being a subject …”
“A subject?!”
“To a target …”
“Target?”
“ … of my investigation.”
“What the …?” The Rudygiuliani fell backward off his haunches. He struggled back to a squatting position with some semblance of dignity. “Why, I’ve only been here two weeks. There’s a million footprints in the sand I haven’t even read yet. You must have me confused for the Devilnunesmemo.”
“No,” the Muellersavus said calmly, his eyes piercing the legal dino’s googly-eyed expression. “You’re my dino now. Is that clear?”
A raspy gulp escaped the Rudygiuliani. The veteran Langleyops continued.
“You wanted to get out ahead of this, didn’t you?”
“Uh … of course I did,” said the Rudygiuliani, veering T-Rumpianly off script. “That’s our strategy. Deflect. Confuse. Repeat. Wait a minute. Maybe that’s not the T-Rump’s strategy. Maybe that’s just my strategy. Can I get back to you on that?
“Are you making all this up on the fly?”
“Okay, so you got me there. But last time I checked, it’s NOT a crime to lie to the Mediacircustops.”
“Are these more of the facts you are still working on?”
“Look,” said the Rudygiuliani, “it’s just like I was telling the Stephanopoulos, I don’t know how you separate fact from opinion. Maybe your walnut is bigger than mine. You tell me.”
The Muellersavus frowned as an elder dino might when a dino tot runs into a tree, falls down, gets up and runs back into it.
“I’ll ask the questions here. Why did you call the payment to the Stormydaniels a nuisance payment?”
“Oh, good. I thought it was going to be a hard one. It’s like this, Robert. Can I call you Robert? In the grand scheme of the T-Rump battle campaign, 130-thousand moolah-moolah leaves, let’s face it, it’s not a lot to chew on. So when you get into the millions, well that’s more dinos the T-Rump needs the Michaelcohen to hush up.”
“How?”
“How. Well, let’s see. I think I can put my finger on it.” He slapped his forehead. “Why, from his slush fund of course. I mean retainer fees.”
“So you’re saying there were more payments?”
“Does a diplodocus skinny dip? Of course there were more. At least, I’m pretty sure. I’m still ramping up. But we’re talking the T-Rump here. The dino of a million caves. Now, these other caves had nothing to do with the Stormydaniels. One cave. One Stormydaniels. Got that? Maybe I need to describe it differently.”
“Please.”
“Well, since I am here to get out ahead of all this. I can’t state it too clearly. This was not uncommon. By any stretch of the imagination. The T-Rump’s agreement with the Michaelcohen, as far as I know, is a longstanding agreement — we’re talking decades, Robert — that the Michaelcohen takes care of situations like this. I have no knowledge of that but I — I — I would think if it was necessary, yes. Definitely yes. Let’s not forget, he’s an honest, honorable legal dino.”
“Moving on,” said the Muellersavus, “when did the T-Rump know about payment to the Stormydaniels?”
“We’re still talking about the Stormydaniels? … I don’t know. From the beginning would be my best guess, but that’s all irrelevant. He’s the leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation and I’m just here to preserve his good name. If the Obamarus and the Crookadillary can get preferential treatment, then you know what? Wow. Work with me. The T-Rump may as well take the Fifth because this is all nonsense. If he isn’t already, he should be above the law, you know.”
This last statement caught even the Muellersavus off guard.
“There you are!”
It was the Marinegunkelly, the T-Rump’s chief of staff, standing in the doorway. The T-Rump had evidently found something for him to do. A quick nod from the Marinegunkelly to the Muellersavus said the interview was over. The chief of staff glared down at the Rudygiuliani.
“The T-Rump wants to see you,” he growled. “NOW.”
The Rudygiuliani rose from his haunches to leave. He turned to the Muellersavus.
“I think that went well. Don’t you?”
David Belisle 