Satire The Trump Dig

Super Droll …

The Super Bowl had arrived in the Mylanta Gorge, a deep, bowl-shaped Georgian valley. It was a yearly celebration, a time when dinos young and old came to behold this spectacle where pigskins filled the air. …

The Super Bowl had arrived in the Mylanta Gorge, a deep, bowl-shaped Georgian valley. It was a yearly celebration, a time when dinos young and old came to behold this spectacle where pigskins filled the air. Pigskins that returned to earth into the waiting jaws of hungry dino combatants. To the victor went the spoils. Literally. Each year an additional pigskin was added to keep sore losers coming back. 53 pigskins would be up for back-biting, face-scratching grabs this year. What a treat.

As part of the pre-game festivities, the Margaretbrennan was set to interview the leader of the free-running dino nation, the Tyrumposaurus.

“Welcome, T-Rump. First off, the news of the day seems to be the decades-old, black mud-faced shenanigans by the Ralphnortham in the Virgin-Yall Commons. Any comments?”

“I ralphed when I swallowed black mud once. Big ralph.” Awkward moment. “Sorry. Is he Grandoldparty or Donkeycongrus?”

“Ahem … Donkeykongrus.”

“Whew. Small miracles. Yes, he should be run out of the Commons … chased right out. I hope some dino catches him and beats him to a pulp. If I can provide a spare legal dino, I will.”

“T-Rump …”

“Excuse me!”

The Huckabeecyclops interrupted her, crashing the interview.

“What the …?” said the T-Rump. “This had better be good. Can’t you see the Mediacircustops before you, catering to my every whim?!”

“I’m sorry, T-Rump. It couldn’t wait. You simply have to hear this.”

“Hear what?”

“I was speaking with the Blue Hair dinos of the Plodding Church of Immaculate Mercy and, well …”

“Go on.”

“I told them that the Dino Gods have us filling different roles at different times and — apart from your many, shady past roles — the Dino Gods wanted you to be our leader. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t that great? I just thought that up. We can run with that, can’t we?”

“Uh, excuse me, Huckabee.” The Margaretbrennan gave her a huffy look then jerked her head sideways, signaling Huckabee should leave. Immediately.

“You mean I can’t stay and glare at you?”


With a snort and a roll of her angry eye, the Huckabeecyclops exited but not before pointing to T-Rump while leering at her and saying, “the chosen one. Right there, sister.”

The Margaretbrennan suppressed a scream.

“T-Rump, the Donkeykongrus are hungry for your mytaxes returnus. Are you going to give it to them.”

“Now look, that’s the skin I shed every spring. The skin off my back. I can’t just give it to them. It’s personal. Didn’t you just hear her? The Dino Gods, Margaret. In T-Rump we trust. Get used to it.”

“What about the banks of the River Deutsche where you were seeking more moolah-moolah leaves for one of your flogging grounds during the Crookadillary Campaign? Three sources say you were turned down?”

“Doesn’t matter. The Dino Supreme Court Justice, the Anthonykennedy? His son Justin works there and he got me the moolah-moolah. After the Anthonykennedy stepped down. Sweet deal. Oops. Did I say that? Next question.”

“You just had a partial shut-down of the government for 35 days and you’re staring down the Nancypelosi again, ready to call a national emergency. Why exactly?”

“Plenty of national emergencies have been called. Every day around here is an emergency. I don’t take anything off the table unless it lines my nest. Besides, the Nancypelosi? She is very bad for our nation.”

“Sweet, 78-year-old Nancypelosi?”

“Don’t let her fool you like she’s fooled the dinos who didn’t know what was happening before but now they know exactly what is happening.”

“And what is that?”

The T-Rump yawned.

“Go ask the dinos. She’s costing us billions and dinos are dying all over the place.”

“Anything else?”

“What, billions and death not enough for you?”

“T-Rump, you’re surrounding yourself with ‘acting’ dinos instead of making them permanent. Why is that?”

“I like ‘acting’ because I can move quickly. It gives me more flexibility. And, as the Huckabeecyclops pointed out, I get to play god.”

“With that in mind, have you given any thought to pardoning the Rogerstone?”

“Roger’s quite the character. A real dirty trickster, he and I go way back. But he only worked with the campaign for a few minutes, so there really shouldn’t be anything to pardon him for, if I was thinking of it, that is.”

“There are seven criminal charges against him.”

“It’s a good thing god can do anything. Like me.”

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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