Satire The Trump Dig

Marinegunkelly (Finally) Plays the Ref …

The Tyrumposaurus’ chief of staff stood in sullen silence at his accustomed position inside the doorway to the Oval Dwelling. The Marinegunkelly had fallen long and hard from his heady military days as a key dino warfare strategist. …

The Tyrumposaurus’ chief of staff stood in sullen silence at his accustomed position inside the doorway to the Oval Dwelling. The Marinegunkelly had fallen long and hard from his heady military days as a key dino warfare strategist. He was now little more than a doorstop. For a cave without a door. Only the Stephenmillerus spent more time looking at his feet these days. Like a divorce that was in its final stages, the Marinegunkelly was simply taking up space. He was a voice in a vacuum. The only dino on the T-Rump’s team the leader despised more was the Sessionsopossum.

The Rudygiuliani breezed past the Marinegunkelly into the Oval Dwelling where the T-Rump squatted, counting his moolah-moolah. The T-Rump laid out the small, medium and large leaves in their respective piles. A fourth stack was his Foundation pile, for amounts he “found” he needed to move between the other piles. The T-Rump Foundation was a simple scam whereby unsuspecting, lowminded dinos paid a fee to tour the underpinnings … that is, foundation of the T-Rump cave with the understanding that upon exiting, they would become savvy, in-the-know dinos. It was a blatant moolah-moolah grab. Savvy, in-the-know dinos were still 22 million years away.

“I bring good news, T-Rump,” said the Rudygiuliani. “The Muellersavus had speculated about perhaps interviewing the Marinegunkelly but I told him under NO circumstances — Not. Gonna. Happen. What is he, crazy? He can’t just run around acting like he owns the joint.”

The Marinegunkelly’s ears perked up.

“He wanted to talk to me?”

“Was I talking to you?”

The screwed-up expression on Rudygiuliani’s face was devoid of veteran respect.

“That’s great, Rudy,” said the T-Rump. “Just great. Say, that deadline coming up on the Refugeeraptors. We’ll have to push that back.”

“Of course.”

“We can’t have the Refugeeraptors — or more importantly, our base — actually believing we care about this whole separation process. That would be a disaster.”

The Marinegunkelly frowned. His long tail twitched.

“Should we give them a timeline?” asked the Rudygiuliani.

“Details?” T-Rump scoffed. “In the sand for all to see? Of course not!”

Enough was enough. The Marinegunkelly’s tail lashed out, carving his own mark in the Oval Dwelling’s tail-scarred wall, an ever-changing mosaic of T-Rump’s daily frustration.

“The corpse has the floor!” the chief of staff snarled.

A couple of pebbles fell from the wall, pinpointing the silence. The Marinegunkelly glared at the T-Rump.

“I told you what moving here would mean — the decision-making — but you were the one who said you’d consider it. Not the actual decision-making, just the considering.  The decision-making part was left to me. Why?”

“Because you didn’t know what to do. You were confused, new to this. You didn’t know what was the right thing. But you were sure as hell sick and tired of living a life outside the swollen walnutheads of Manhattinhand.”

“So don’t hand me that “Make the Milkanhoney Preservation Great Again” garbage! You don’t care about the average dino, and you don’t want any help reuniting the baby Refugeeraptors … because you want all the attention focused on yourself. And you hated visiting the Great Tex-Mex Divide because you had the T-Melania tell everyone she didn’t care!

“You can’t think a coherent thought and you’re miserable because you know the Obamarus can. And here we are, up to our ears in the Muellersavus investigation. With me, the decision-maker. Making no decisions.”

“What difference does that make now?” said the Rudygiuliani. “You’ll be looking for a job next week.”



“Is it possible for you to shut the hell up for ten seconds?”

“What? … Uh … You can’t talk to me like that in the Oval Dwelling. Can he boss?”

The T-Rump looked on nonplussed.

“You two work it out. I love a good fight.”

The Marinegunkelly spoke first.

“You know what, Rudy? You know what I’m going to get you for your birthday? A great big dinosaur egg. So every time you feel shocked at all these supposed injustices, you can climb on top with your gas lighting dinosaur farts. Good luck, because you couldn’t hatch an idea!”

“Hah!” laughed the T-Rump. “Oops. Did I say that?”

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.

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