Satire The Trump Dig

One Last Agenda Item …

The Rodrosenstein stopped at the entrance to the Oval Dwelling and sighed. The legal dinos at Bite, Wuntz & Swallow had told him there would be days like this at DOJ — Dinos Open Jawed. …

The Rodrosenstein stopped at the entrance to the Oval Dwelling and sighed. The legal dinos at Bite, Wuntz & Swallow had warned him there would be days like this at DOJ — Dinos Open Jawed. But when you were the bearer of bad news to the Tyrumposaurus, it wasn’t a question of if you were going to get a tail to the face … but how many.

The Rodrosenstein peeked inside at the T-Rump. The leader of the Free-Running Dinosaur World looked uncharacteristically busy. That’s strange, thought the Rodrosenstein. He cocked an ear. The T-Rump was … singing.

“I’m going to see the Putinodon! I wish I could make a rhyme … but I don’t know what a rhyme is … maybe I’ll get lucky … nope, nope, nope.”

“Er … excuse me, T-Rump?”

“What? Can’t you see I’m busy boning up for my big summit meeting with the Putinodon?”

“You were singing a song.”

“I’m told he wants me to sing.”

“Context, T-Rump. Context. … I wanted to tell you that the Muellersavus has charged 12 meddling Russodinos.”

“Hah! That’s not only fake news, it’s old news.”

“12 more, T-Rump. High-ranking, right under the Putinodon.”

The T-Rump gave him the hairy eyeball.

“Give me one good reason why I haven’t whacked you yet.”

“Excuse me?”

“With my tail, you idiot. The tail.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

The Rodrosenstein’s eyes were riveted on the T-Rump’s long orange tail, lying in wait, threatening, thumping the ground.

“Now look what you’ve done. Spoiling my mood. I need to reassure the Putinodon I’m doing my best to divide the Naytohlands.”

“T-Rump, we’re up to 32 meddling dinos.”

“And I’m still squatting here. Vindicated. Ready to report to the Putinodon that we really need to open up the communication lines and look at this meddling thing together.”

“You … you’re going to share our secrets with the Putinodon?”

“Look, Rod, we’re not enemies with them. I blame that on …”

“The Obamarus, I know.”

“Worst dino ever. So last week I called the Russodinos our competitors. Today, especially today, they are our friends. Friends share secrets. Am I right?”

“T-Rump, I’m afraid I’m having a Comeyonus moment right now. Could I invite another dino into the room?”

“I’m sorry, that’s a big nyet — you know, not yet — from the Putinodon.”

“Putinodon? Since when …?

“Really, Rod? Don’t you see the footprints in the sand?”

“Beyond those of dozens of bad-acting Russodinos?”

“Yes, that’s right. C’mon, join the team. What I’m getting at is that we really shouldn’t have the Sanctionsaurus hounding the Russodinos any more. I can only imagine the pressure the Putinodon must be feeling. Trapped. Do friends do that to friends? I don’t think so. Let’s pull back the Sanctionsaurus. It would make the Putinodon so happy.”

“Because … he’s … our … friend.” The Rodrosenstein said the words slowly, squatting, fully stupefied.

The T-Rump clapped him on the shoulder.

“I think — no, I know — they want us to do well in the November battles. And down the road in two years. The Putinodon is one swell dino, don’t you think?”

The Rodrosenstein shook his head.

“No! No, he’s not. He’s a killer! They attacked us and they’ll do it again. 191 charges by Muellersavus’ count. So far. Can’t you see that? Aren’t you going to push back? You have to — as leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation. To preserve our very way of life. You must, dammit!

The T-Rump yawned.

“Look, to be honest, I hadn’t really given it much thought. I mean, I believe the Putinodon when he says they didn’t attack us. Don’t you? … Now, if you’ll excuse me, I said this was going to be an easy meeting. Easy-peasy. Hey! That rhymes!”

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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