Satire The Trump Dig

Married to the Mob …

“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, George.”
The Kellyanneconvixway blinked her bloodshot eyes.

Okay, now that we got that out of the way, tell me, how are you going to screw up my life today?”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, George.”

The Kellyanneconvixway blinked her bloodshot eyes.

Okay, now that we got that out of the way, tell me, how are you going to screw up my life today?”

The Georgeconway didn’t bat an eye. In fact, the short squat dino relished the low-key torture. The killer lady dinos turned him on. Before meeting his wife of 17 years, he’d dated the hard-charging Lauraingraham of Foxsquawkbox infamy. And it was the equally ferocious Anncoulter who had introduced him to Kellyanne. Rocky periods were part of any geological era. But George’s marriage was in extra peril thanks to that dino. Her boss. The Tyrumposaurus.

“You did hear him call me Mister Kellyanne?”

She tittered into her hand.

“Honestly, George. You mustn’t take it so personal.”

“Personal? You went and told the Mediacircustops that nobody knows you because of me. That people know me because of you.”

As a legal dino with Walkfall Slipton Frozenkatz, the Georgeconway rolled in a nest lined with millions of moolah-moolah leaves.

She sniffed at him.

“All you had to say was yes and you could’ve had a job in the justice department …”

“What, and puke up my lunch every day?”

“What are saying, George?”

“That you must have a cast-iron stomach. … C’mon, Kellyanne. The Mattwhitaker as Attorney General? Are you kidding me? If we ever get a door to this cave, he’ll be the doorstop.”

“The T-Rump followed the rules,” she said curtly. “The Mattwhitaker was an assistant to the Sessiosopossum.”

“He was a spy. Before that he was shaking down dinos for their life savings. The T-Rump loves him because he’s a consummate crook who hates the Muellersavus.”

“Oh, George. It’s not relevant.”

“Not relevant? Look at me. It’s dragging down the bags under your eyes!”

She glared at him.

“Do you want an alternative fact? Huh? Do you? Cuz I’ll give you one so fast!”

“Good god, no.”

He remembered the image of her breaking up a fight between two dinos on the T-Rump’s inauguration night. She’d bopped one of them three times right on the button.

They shook their heads in disgust at each other. George continued a few seconds after she’d stopped. Small victory savored. 

“17 million dinos dead in the Great War,” he snorted, “and the T-Rump can’t even make it to the memorial.”

“It was raining.”

“I know. Wrong color showers.”

“Oh, George. That is so disrespectful. Just like your Trollertweety messages criticizing the T-Rump.”

My messages?!”

“Yes, they’re a violation of our marriage vows.”

“The T-Rump’s umpteen trysts aside, I have to tell someone. I must alert the dino world. That nincompoop will be the death of us all.”

“Nonsense, George. Now listen … I know there’s a part of you that thinks I chose the T-Rump over you.”

A part? Try all two tons! How can you work for that lecherous lout? You must be flat-out freaking bonkers!”

Kellyanne’s eyes rolled over into the devil zone.

Melania doesn’t care!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

It was their “safe word phrase” for when their T-Rump tensions ran too high. George had insisted on three words lest it be confused for another alternative fact.

Placid serenity or some semblance of it had returned. He sighed, taking in the fresh grin on his wife’s face he convinced himself meant nothing. Nothing at all.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, George.”

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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