Satire The Trump Dig

The Conjugal Jungle …

The Rickyprisongates looked up the muddy sides of the Solitary Sinkhole for the light of day and sighed. He had come clean. He’d admitted to lying to the Langleyops, to laundering millions of moolah-moolah leaves on the wrong river banks …

The Rickyprisongates looked up the muddy sides of the Solitary Sinkhole for the light of day and sighed. He had come clean. He’d admitted to lying to the Langleyops, to laundering millions of moolah-moolah leaves on the wrong river banks and even to cheating his mentor, the Manaforta out of another half-million moolah-moolah. Perhaps his nightmare would soon be over. On the contrary, it was only beginning.

He heard movement above. The large, black security dino peered down the sinkhole at him.

“You has a visitor.”

The dino lowered the guest down into the sinkhole with his long, meaty tail.

The Rickyprisongates gasped.


It was his wife, the Sarahbrookegates.

“Don’t you ‘Sarah’ me, you, you tail-chasing scallywag! I forgave you for cheating on me once. Then at the Old Watering Hole, I had to find out from that gossip-monger Gildebeast,  the Bettybooparus, that you had three more affairs! Who the heck do you think you are? The Viagrasaurus?! Four extra-marital affairs! You do know ‘extra’ doesn’t mean bonus package.”

She glared at him. She was foaming at the mouth but she didn’t care.

“Well, I’m not some frail dino staying in the back of the cave, cleaning out your rotten, stinky carcasses, waiting for you to come home. I’m not the Manaforta’s wife, running after him on some ludicrous “stand-by-your-dino” mission. And I’m not the Tymelania, standing beside the T-Rump just for the moolah-moolah — because you have none!

She paused, nostrils flaring. The Rickyprisongates smiled weakly.

“So, I take it then, you’re not here for a conjugal visit?”

Her eyes met his in a look he’d never seen in their 22 years of marriage.

“Oh, but I am.”

His face brightened.

“But not with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. Excuse me. Security!”

The beefy dino guard appeared, lowered his tail and the Rickyprisongates watched in horror as his wife was hoisted out of his solitary sinkhole. He strained to hear what was happening above. He remembered that the Solitary Sinkhole was actually a series of deep sinkholes lined up in a row, all offering their subjects their required recluse from society for their respective wrongdoings.

The Sarahbrookegates peered down the sinkhole beside her husband’s.

“And who do we have here?”

“Uh, I’m the Chriscollins.”

“The Chriscollins, the Grandoldparty dino recently convicted of insider trading — stealing moolah-moolah from the Downunder Druggasaurus?”

“One and the same.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting the Mormontabernackalus. Ahem, would you like a conjugal visit?”

“But we’re not married.”

“That didn’t stop Ricky boy over there.” She raised her voice to the sky. “Did it, Ricky?”

“He’s old enough to be your father!” he wailed.

“I – I’m in enough trouble as it is …” said the Chriscollins.

“That seems to be the theme of the Trumpassic Period, doesn’t it?”

With that she threw herself upon the weak-kneed Chriscollins. He collapsed in a heap and in short, awkward order, they did the dino dirty deed. The loud, noisy, wake-up-the-neighbours dirty deed. The Rickyprisongates held his head in his hands through every yelp and yahoo. The dust finally settled.

“Security!” she cried out.

The dino guard appeared, lowered and raised his tail and the Sarahbrookegates was soon at the next solitary sinkhole, peering down at it’s lonely, incarcerated occupant.

“And who might you be?”

“I’m the Cameroncollins.”

“My son,” confirmed the previous sinkhole.

“Well, Cameron,” she said, pointing down and the security dino obliged, lowering her down beside a nervous, fidgety Cameroncollins.

“Don’t worry, this will only take a minute,” she said, raising her voice, “which is more time than my husband gave thought to our marriage and four dino tots before he jumped in the bushes with those low-bellied beasts!”

“I’m sorry. You must be terribly upset. Hell hath no fury …”

“You hear that, Ricky? Hell hath no fury.”

It was hell for the Rickyprisongates alright, the fury with which her passion ravaged that poor young but accommodating dino. The dino guard finally intervened when he could no longer tell if the cries were from pleasure or pain. The guard’s tail appeared and it was onto the next sinkhole.  

“And you are?”

“I’m the father of the Cameroncollins’ fiance.”

“What is this, Old Home Week?”

There came a groan from the previous sinkhole.

“Uh, dad?”

“Which one?” two sinkholes said together.

“My future father-in-law. Do I, uh … do I still have your blessing?”

The Sarahbrookegates smirked.

“Ask him in five minutes. The only thing that’s changed is my husband’s chances of having a heart attack.”

The dino guard lowered her into the sinkhole, the small talk grew smaller and the two dinos did what dinos do. At the height of the dino coupling, the Sarahbrookegates called out.

“Can you hear me now?”

The Rickyprisongates cringed, praying for visiting hours to end soon.


An obvious signal to the guard. A moment later she looked down her fourth solitary sinkhole.

“Wait a minute. I recognize you. You’re the Jeffreyyohai.”

“Jeffrey?” bellowed the Rickyprisongates. “Is that you, Jeffrey?”

The Jeffreyyohai had divorced the Manaforta’s daughter, the Jessicamanaforta, the year before and was now cooperating with the Muellersavus.

“Jeffrey!” cried out the Rickyprisongates.” Remember the Jessicamanaforta!”

“Oh, I remember her alright … and her father didn’t like me either!”

So much for the rallying cry. Wearing an ear-to-ear grin, the Jeffreyyohai turned to the Sarahbrookegates. 

“Woah, dino. This is strictly business,” she reminded him. “You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”

They got down to business. Moments later, her four-fling revenge torture of the Rickyprisongates finally came to an end. The dino guard’s tail pulled her out. She composed herself, walked back over to the edge of her husband’s sinkhole and looked down.

“The kids say hello.”

With that she turned and walked away. She never looked back … because he was in a hole of course. She went on her way, striding confidently, triumphantly past the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir.

The security dino looked after her. He shook his head, marveling at how times had changed. He turned to the long row of solitary sinkholes.

“Thay ain’t no cleanin’ up this place. No, suh! The swamp just keep gettin’ deepuh an’ deepuh. I pity the fool dinos that wind up in this hell hole. They’s gonna drown, they is! Drownin’ swamp crittuhs. The T-Rump an’ the whole lot of’em!”

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.

4 replies on “The Conjugal Jungle …”

Awesome blog! Do you have any suggestions for aspiring writers?
I’m planning to start my own website soon but I’m a little lost on everything.
Would you propose starting with a free platform like WordPress or
go for a paid option? There are so many choices out there that I’m totally overwhelmed ..

Any recommendations? Many thanks!

Liked by 1 person

Thanks for your kind words. I’m quite happy with WordPress — so happy, I paid extra to get the premium package. It offers a lot of bells and whistles, you have the WordPress subscribers in your audience and your own domain name. Some other tips: Content is king, so the blogging is crucial. Join Facebook groups related to your writing. I find that the maximum FB group posts allowed in a day is a dozen. Hope this helps. Good luck with your website!


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