Satire The Trump Dig

Peas and Carrots …

The two Turkeysaurae had reached their day of reckoning. The Gobblinpeas and Gobblincarrots, Peas and Carrots to their feathered brethren, were about to be sacrificed to appease the Tyrumpsaurus’ appetite. …

The two Turkeysaurae had reached their day of reckoning. The Gobblinpeas and Gobblincarrots, Peas and Carrots to their feathered brethren, were about to be sacrificed to appease the Tyrumpsaurus’ appetite.

To record the elaborate event, the many Mediacircustops jostled for position, drooling profusely, for it was a day for all dinos to feast, followed by sleeping the sleep of the Black Turkey Blackout.

The T-Rump approached the flat rock lectern. Showtime.

“Thank you. Thank you. I was planning to chow down on Peas and Carrots here but owing to a time-honored tradition … check that. What I’m about to do is a first in Turkeysaurae history. I am pardoning my family — I mean, Peas and Carrots.”

“T-Rump?” asked Peas.

“You can thank me later. Allow me to bask in the fake news Mediacircustops attention.”

“But we don’t want to be pardoned.”

“What? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No. Kill us now!” wailed Carrots. “We don’t want to be a part of your world!”

“But my world is the best. For me, anyway.”

“No, no. I beg of you, put us out of our misery!” Peas hollered. “Your world without empathy shall be a world without me!”

“And me,” chimed in Carrots.

“Nonsense! I’m very nice with the Putinodon, the Kimjongadon and most recently the crown prince Saudisaurus. I didn’t even bat an eye when he had the Khashoggi killed.”

“And time after time you threw your own Langleyops intel dinos under the Priebusunderbus,” said Peas.

“Is there any room left?” asked Carrots.

“You’re a two-faced tyrant, T-Rump.”

“That’s a bad thing? I call it part of the negotiation process.”

The Gobblincarrots ruffled his feathers much like his distant cousin, the Kentucky Gobbler Mitchgetbacktowork.

“For months you railed against the Crookadillary for not guarding her secrets. Then your own daughter does the same thing!”

“Don’t worry, I have my legal dino’s — the T-Rump judges — on it. Nepotism will soon be a code of honour around here.”

“Wait,” said Carrots. “Can I be plucked, tarred and re-feathered instead? It sounds more attention-grabbing, don’t you think?”

“We need publicity that drowns you out,” Peas said to the T-Rump.

“Never happen. Have you seen the Foxsquawkbox dinos lately? Practically a branch of government. I promote from within, you know.”

“But you had to go all the way to the Des Moines Dust Bowl to get the Mattwhitaker. He’s a sham of a scam, strictly flim-flam.”

“Your point?”

“900 thousand moolah-moolah leaves. You bought him.”

“Loyalty comes with a price,” the T-Rump sniffed. “You should thank me for keeping it under a million.”

“T-Rump!” Carrots shouted. “You are ruining institutions the Milkanhoney Preservation was founded upon. Freedom of speech …”

“If it doesn’t benefit me, it’s obviously fake news.”

“The D-O-J … Dinos of Justice.”

“A disaster! They don’t know security. Only law. They need to know it’s my way or the wrong way. They are my dinos!”

“But we are not,” said Peas. “Go ahead. Rip my gizzard out. Now.”

“I changed my mind,” said Carrots. “I can’t look at you another second. Two words. Pluck me.”

The T-Rump was at a loggerhead of a conundrum. He always doubled down at this stage of any debate. He would normally now emphatically state his desire to pardon them. Except he really did want to kill these turkeys. He mulled it over.

Peas and Carrots were taken aback. The shock and awe of the T-Rump actually thinking through a predicament was not lost on them. Peas seized the opportunity of this potential cerebral breakthrough. Perhaps the T-Rump’s walnut was not completely cracked.

“Okay,” said Peas. “I’ll give you a chance to talk us out of killing ourselves. Because today after all is a special day. T-Rump, what do you have to be thankful for?”

“Oh, well. That’s easy. I’m thankful for the tremendous difference I’ve made.

Peas and Carrots promptly fainted dead away. They were revived after dessert and retired to spend the rest of their days taking turns dunking their heads in Loony Lagoon.

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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