His large, spongy feet had barely stamped the government spending bill — avoiding his record fourth shutdown of the government — when the Tyrumposaurus turned to the Mediacircustops and said, “and now I’m calling for a national emergency. That’s right. You left me no choice. I had to do it. You knew I would. And now you’re going to sue me. You always do. So that’s on you. But when I win, you don’t report that. You never do. So sue me. Go ahead, report that.”
The Mitchgetbacktowork had mixed feelings. This was the same Mitchgetbacktowork who had once greedily licked his chops, dragging his feet for a year on the Obamarus’ Merrickgarland Supreme Dino Court nomination before the T-Rump took over. Except there was no smug satisfaction now for the Mitchgetbacktowork. No, the T-Rump had just declared a national emergency at the Great Tex-Mex Divide and 200 million dinosaurs knew it was pure poppycock. It set a dangerous precedent.
But the weekend loomed and the Mitchgetbacktowork turned on his heel to leave. The Kentucky Gobbler would need to keep out of the public eye so he took the less-traveled Dead Dino Pass through a sketchy neighborhood to get home. He thought that after staring into his backyard reflecting pool for 48 hours, telling himself a national emergency was the only way the T-Rump would okay the spending bill, perhaps then he could show his face again. He hoped. There was simply no negotiating with the Donkeykongrus, he told himself. There was no negotiating the next corner of the steep trail either. He slipped, fell, rolled tail over torso 50 feet down into a ravine, conking his head on several trees — Bonk! Bonk! Bonk! — in the process. He finally came to a stop and fell asleep.
For twelve years.
It was a wandering dino, nuzzling wild Mary Jane plants, who came to the sleeping dino’s aid. The good samaritan splashed water on the Mitchgetbacktowork’s face.
“Wha — … Who are you?”
“I’m the Cheechmarin, geezer dude. Sub family of the Refugeeraptor.”
“Ack! Unhand me! You shouldn’t even be here. You’re an illegal dino, I know it. You took the wrong migration route, didn’t you?”
“Hey, you old fart. Heh-heh. Where you been? I’m legal now. Like you.”
“What do you mean where have I been? I just fell asleep, that’s all. I’ve got to check on the T-Rump. Remind the staff about his hourly patronizing and cajoling. Can’t forget the cajoling.”
“Say, geezer dude. You look familiar. Do I know you?”
“No, uh … just another Kentucky Gobbler. You seen one, you seen’em all.”
The Mitchgetbacktowork started down the trail.
“Hey, geezer dude, you’re goin’ the wrong way.”
“But I need to see the T-Rump …:”
“Okay, well … he’s in the T-Rump Wing.”
“They named a wing after him?”
“They had to. All his family’s with him. Sons, his daughter. Keep’em all together, y’know?”
“But where?”
“Where? The Solitary Sinkhole of course.”
“The T-Rump’s in jail? Already?”
“He’s in jail for life, geezer dude. You don’t remember all the illegal stuff he did? Lyin’, lyin’ and more lyin’? Did I say lyin’? An’ conspiracy? His mytaxes returnus. His moolah-moolah laundering with the Putinodon? Don’t forget the treason, geezer dude. He’s a national embarrassment. Didn’t you read the Muellersavus Report? ”
“Uh, I’m afraid not.”
“Well, you have to. It’s required reading, geezer dude. C’mon, we need to show you those footprints in the sand.”
Half an hour later, the two dinos were back on the beaten path. They passed by dinos, young and old. Gay, cheerful dinos, smile at the ready. A gleam in their eye. The Mitchgetbacktowork sniffed the air. It smelt different.
“The air smells fresh. Clean even.”
“Of course. It’s all part of the Green New Deal, geezer dude.”
“The Ocasiocortez?”
“Tha’s right. The new leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation.”
“Leader? How the …”
“You’ve been asleep too long, geezer dude. After the T-Rump was impeached, he resigned. The Mincepencenow finished the term. He wouldn’t pardon the T-Rump because he lied to him too much. And especially not after the staged mistress incident.”
“Which one?”
“Does it matter? We have a new lifestyle now, geezer dude.”
“Ahem. I’m too old for that.”
“Not that. No dino is too old for happy thoughts.”
“Happy thoughts?”
“You heard me, geezer dude. Look around.”
They paused to take in the happy, smiling dino faces around them.
“You’re right. Why on earth is every dino smiling?”
“We have free health care. The single dino-payer system. Free education. Every dino goes to Stegasaurus State. Go, Stegs, Go!”
“But – but … that’s socialism! Left-wing, radical, extreme socialism! The Grandoldparty would never allow it!”
“The Grandoldparty? Don’t look now, but they’re extinct, geezer dude.”
“Extinct?”
“Tha’s right. Heh-heh. I know. You was here before me, nose deep in the Mary Jane. You must think you’re dreamin.’”
“I’m not?”
“No, geezer dude. You’re right here with me.”
“Uh … tell me more?”
“So after the T-Rump’s bogus national emergency, the dino nation swore no more crazy dinos. No loco dinos. The Donkeykongrus came to power, the migration routes opened up …”
“The southern border is a trap!”
“Heh-heh. Tha’s right. A real tourist trap. The Great Tex-Mex Divide was torn down and the Milkanhoney Preservation has never been a better place to live. The Middleclassaurus has returned and they’re thriving. And safe. Remember that dangerous dino pet in every home?”
“The Gunsandmoregunz?”
“Gone, geezer dude. Outlawed. All thanks to the Grandoldparty using that precedent, the national emergency … when there never was one.”
The Mitchgetbacktowork stared dumbfounded at the ground. The Cheechmarin put a hand on his shoulder.
“Why so glum, geezer dude?”
“I can’t … why, I can’t believe it. I killed the Grandoldparty.”
“That was you?! Geezer dude, you’re my hero! You killed the Grandoldparty so dino democracy could live, geezer dude! You da Geezer Dude!
David Belisle 