The Tyrumposaurus looked down and smiled at the pleasant kissing sounds coming from his feet.
(Smack.) “Blessed.” (Smack. Smack.) “Blessed.” (Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”
It had been going on for several minutes. The Enviromenace, the Scottpruitt, was on his stomach, slowly making his way around the T-Rump’s unwashed, swamp-stained feet, kissing them repeatedly. First clockwise … then counter-clockwise.
“Missed a spot,” said the T-Rump.
(Smack. Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”
The Scottpruitt finally rose to his feet, spit out some sand, several ants and a wayward earthworm. He blushed and brightened.
“I have been so blessed to serve you in any capacity, T-Rump.”
“Alac and alas, all good things must come to an end.”
“Unfortunately the Mediacircustops haven’t seen it that way. Their attacks have been unrelenting, never mind my family, but especially on me. So, I do understand your blessed exit interview that I must resign so you don’t have to fire my scaly butt out of here.”
“You’ve done so many good things for me.”
“Haven’t I? My footprints in the sand may well stand the test of time. John Q. Dino needed me. I knew the public wouldn’t mind me spending 60,000 of their hard-earned moolah-moolah to travel to my native Boomer-Sooner Lands. And 14,000 more moolah-moolah for my legal dinos.”
“And another 68,000 moolah-moolah, including that 4-day trip to No-Barack-Oh-Morocco.”
“Fantastic. That must have been so nice for you and your wife.”
“Thank you for mentioning her. Your memory is so blessed. Yes, she has enjoyed the perks of my supposed leadership of the Envirodino movement. My staff chased down her favorite scaly-skin Ritz-Lagoon oils, tried finding her a job paying 200,000 moolah-moolah and even a fresh Chickfillay. No tough task.”
“Of course, my wife and I would still like to have some of the blessed moolah-moolah leaves you and the T-Melania have slept on. Anything with your scent, if you know what I mean.”
Awkward moment. The T-Rump coughed.
“And how did that little bachelor pad work out on Capitalist Hill?”
“Oh, it was a sweet deal from another Lobbysaurus — just 50 moolah-moolah a night. Market rate. Definitely market rate. They must’ve forgotten who I am because they — believe it or not — evicted me after six months. Can you imagine that? Something about me not paying the bill. But that’s what staffer dinos are for, right?”
“You allowed my popularity to flourish, T-Rump. Still, you never know when the public may lash out, so I had no problem spending another 30,000 of the public’s moolah-moolah on extra dino security for that trip last year to Mafia Meadows. The Lasagnasaucean was delicious.”
“Yes, the memories have been many. There was my 43,000 moolah-moolah sound-proof cave, not that I don’t love to hear your blessed roar. And was I being selfish? Heck no. I gave substantial raises to two of my staffers. Unfortunately I had to demote several others who had the audacity to question my decisions.”
“Well, now that I’m a free dino, are you sure you won’t reconsider my request to replace the top legal dino in the land, the Sessionsopossum? I think his freckles are affecting his thinking. You know I’d never recuse myself. Just look how many investigations I just had against me? Fourteen?”
“You make a good point,” said the T-Rump, extending his short arms. “But you can see my hands are tied. I’ll be replacing you with the Wheelerdealer.”
The Wheelerdealer was a Lobbysaurus from the Notso-Kleencoal Deposits.
“He will do a blessed job for you, T-Rump. A blessed, blessed job. Bless you.”
The Scottpruitt dropped to his knees to kiss the T-Rump’s feet good-bye.
(Smack. Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”