Walk it back. Walk it back. The Huckabeecyclops mumbled the words to herself as she plodded backwards down her favorite garden path outside the Oval Dwelling. It was her morning mantra saved for the soothing peace and quiet away from the angry glares of those menacing Mediacircustops — damn them! They only got up each morning to make her look bad. All she was trying to do was give the unwitting public the skinny. That is, the barest necessity of truth. Unwitting was a good thing. The new normal. Only tell them what they needed to know. Transparency with a semi-gloss.
Meanwhile inside the Oval Dwelling, the chief of staff, the Marinegunkelly, busied himself prepping the Tyrumposaurus for his upcoming meeting with the Kimjongadon.
“So, I can’t stress this enough … you’ll make no mention of Rocketman, no fire and fury comments and absolutely no boasting that you have the bigger belly button.”
“You’re really tying my hands here.”
“It’s called negotiation.”
“But name calling, bullying, threats … those are my strengths,” said a flustered T-Rump. “I have to get in the first shot. It’s how I trudge.”
“You want the Nuclearballisticus off the table.”
“Yes, but somebody told me that the Kimjongadon had his brother killed … and his uncle. What if I look at his sister the wrong way?”
“Then don’t look at her.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t know the difference between embarrassment and distraction.”
“I said I was sorry.” It was the Marinegunkelly’s turn to frown. He recently pulled a giuliani by saying one thing to the Mediacircustops when he meant another. The Russodino probe was seriously eroding the Oval Dwelling, T-Rump tail lash by tail lash against the wall.
“I really need this,” said the T-Rump. “I can taste that Nobelpeacepiper.”
“I’m afraid that’s off the table.”
“What?!”
“Remember you decided to move the Middle Eastlands Dino Diplomat Den to Jerusalem’s Lot? The Kushneratops and the T-Vanka are smiling for the Mediacircustops as 41 dinos have died in the rioting. So far.”
“Ah. T-Vanka. She’s such an attractive dino, isn’t she?”
“Uh, T-Rump. 41 dead dinos? That’s a ‘no’ on the Nobelpeacepiper.”
“Well, this is all a waste of time,” the T-Rump fumed. “Why should I meet with the Kimjongadon if I’m not going to win the Nobelpeacepiper? What’s in it for me? It makes no sense.”
Outside the Oval Dwelling, the Huckabeecyclops, still walking backwards mumbling her walk-it-back mantra, bumped into the Kellystadler, an Oval Dwelling staffer.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” said the Huckabeecyclops, “You almost made me step on that down-and-out, droopy daisy.”
“He’s dying anyway.”
“I guess. How’s your new boyfriend, was it Die-Yang or Die-Yung?”
“He’s Die-Ying, anyway.”
“Has he decided yet about changing his skin color with that new mud dye?”
“He’s dying, anyway.”
The Huckabeecyclops flexed her muscles and her evil eye.
“Well, I’ve got to finish my morning mantra backwards walk. Could you be a dear and drop by the Oval Dwelling later? The McCainus is visiting. Maybe you could keep things light with a joke or two?”
David Belisle 