Satire The Trump Dig

Kush’n Crabby …

“It was terrible!”
The Kushneratop’s skinny body shook, his shoulders hitching in gut-wrenching sobs. Puddles from his streaming dinosaur tears soaked into the dry ground beneath his carefully chewed claws, …

“It was terrible!”

The Kushneratop’s skinny body shook, his shoulders hitching in gut-wrenching sobs. Puddles from his streaming dinosaur tears soaked into the dry ground beneath his carefully chewed claws, his melodramatic wails of grief echoing through the prehistoric neighborhood.

“It was awful!

“It was just an interview,” said his legal dino, the Crabbyabbelowell.

“For seven hours! It was torture! Pure torture! It was like … like Jerusalem’s Lot all over again. Stuck in the corner of a little … corner.” He shuddered. “At least then I could speak freely.”

He made no mention of the 55 dinos who’d died outside during his speech, fighting for theirs.

The Tyvankanatrix comforted her husband.

“You’re so brave. Seven hours. You don’t even listen to me for that long.”

The T-Rump strummed his fingers impatiently. He turned to the Crabbyabbelowell.

“Well? How’d he do?”

“Fine. Just fine. He answered every question. I’ll give him that. But that pesky Wolfblitzer. He’s the one that got under my skin. The nerve of him asking if my client was a witness, subject or target.”

“Well, which is he?”

“Not you too! … Look, I simply told him that today’s witness is tomorrow’s indicted dino.”

“You said what?! I’d expect that from the Rudygiuliani. Who’s side are you on anyway?”

The Kushernatops’ eyes rolled back and he whimpered anew, rocking on his haunches.

“No, no. Not another interview. Say it ain’t so.”

He curled up in the fetal position and sucked his little pinky claw. The T-Vanka looked to her father.

“Daddy, you’re scaring him.”

The T-Rump turned to the legal dino.

“Tell my sniveling son-in-law he’s done talking with the Muellersavus.”

“Sorry, T-Rump, I’m afraid the sniveling has only begun.”

“Well, isn’t this is a disaster of a disaster. I can’t buy happiness and now my moolah-moolah can’t even get me peace and quiet.”

“Uh … I’m doing this pro bono, remember?”

“I don’t want your sob story too. You’re not even family. T-Vanka, dear,” he said, pointing to Jared. “Just get him out of here. Before I start feeling sorry for him.”

“Of course, father.”

She dutifully shepherded the Kushneratops, still shaking, from the Oval Dwelling. The T-Rump returned to the Crabbyabbelowell.

“I want to sit down with the Muellersavus. I really do.”

“I’m not your legal dino, but that’s still a bad idea.”

“But look, I’ve been saying ‘deep state’ and presto! — only 17% of Grandoldparty dinos trust the Muellersavus. We’re killing them in the court of public opinion.”

“He will be issuing a report.”

“So? I’ll force the Deeohjay dinos to hand it over to the Devilnunesmemo. He’ll eat it before he reads it. I can do that, you know. The Rudygiuliani says so.”

“I’ll forget you said that. On a much more positive note, the Kushneratops got his top secret security clearance back. He now has access to your morning footprints in the sand.”

“That’s great. Just great. Because I think, you know … someone really should read them.”

“You mean … you haven’t?”

The T-Rump scrunched his face in disgust.

“Are you kidding. Why should I? The Homelandsecurus Kirstjennielsen said she wasn’t even aware of the Langleyops footprints in the sand about the Russodinos meddling in the election to help me win. And that came out months ago.”

“You’re not trying to start another conspiracy in your intelligence community. Are you?”

“Do you think it’s too soon? We’ve gotten good mileage out of Spygate. What’s it been, six days?”

There came a sad, brooding shadow in the doorway.

“T-Vanka!” shouted the T-Rump. “I thought I told you to get that panty-waist pussy — I mean, your husband — out of here!”

“It’s me,” said the sad, brooding shadow, lumbering into view.

The T-Rump squinted.

“Is that you, Mike?” 


It was the T-Rump’s plodding mate, the Mincepencenow.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The Mediacircustops …”

“Stop right there, don’t believe a word. It’s all fake. Fake news.”

“No, they were reporting on what the Kimjongadon said. On what he called me. A … a … political dummy.”

“Well, I never.” The T-Rump’s tail lashed out, creating another crack in the cave. “That does it! The heck with this summit meeting. I’ll just find summit else to do. There will be NO meeting. It’s canceled!”

The Mincepencenow dropped to his knees. He considered kissing the T-Rump’s scaly feet.

“You … you’d do that for me?”

“Of course. Let me be perfectly clear. The only dino that gets to call you a political dummy is me.”

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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s