Satire The Trump Dig

All in the (FOX) Family …

It was roll call at the latest Oval Dwelling crisis meeting. The Tyrumposaurus took in the faithful Foxsquawkbox followers around him. They were his most close-knit, crooked-necked cronies, able to snarl and hiss at any Donkeykongrus within 30 feet. …

It was roll call at the latest Oval Dwelling crisis meeting. The Tyrumposaurus took in the faithful Foxsquawkbox followers around him. They were his most close-knit, crooked-necked cronies, able to snarl and hiss at any Donkeykongrus within 30 feet. There was the shameless Seanhannity, the jumpy Jeaninepirro, the cantankerous Tuckercarlson and the loopy Loudobbs to name but a few.

The T-Rump ran down their names, his nod to each generating a smile in return, grins that grew in their ingratiating smugness, the tail-waggers seeking to outdo each other.

“All right then. All accounted for. Here we are again, just like yesterday. In trouble. Some fake news Mediacircustops, the Janemayer, claims the Foxsquawkbox killed the Stormydaniels story shortly before my battle campaign. How the hell did she find out about that?! Bill? Where’s the Billshine?!”

“Uh, you let him go, boss,” said the Seanhannity. “He was still making millions of moolah-moolah and since he wasn’t improving your exposure, you demoted him to your next battle campaign.”

“Oh, right. Well, is the Hopehicksbagotrix here?”

“Over here, T-Rump.” With a short-armed wave, she leaned forward from the long row of Foxsquawkbox friends forever.

“Great. So good to have you back in the fold. I’ve missed you, Hope. Did I tell you you could do better than the Lewandowski?”

“Yes, T-Rump. Several times.”

The leader of the free-running dino world lost his train of thought. The Seanhannity coughed.

“The, uh … Janemayer, boss.”

“Right. The Janemayer. Any derogatory comments you’d like to make, Tucker?”

“That was years ago, boss.”

“Don’t let that slow you down. Take it from me.”

A dull, low roar suddenly filled the room. The Rupertmurdoch. All eyes turned to the T-Rump.

“I’ll be right back.”

The T-Rump hurried out of the Oval Dwelling, down a path, around a corner and into the octogenarian’s Piccadilly Downunder cave where he squatted before the Mediacircustops mogul. The Rupertmurdoch smirked at the T-Rump and a chuckle escaped his rubbery lips.

“What’s so funny?” asked the T-Rump.

“It amazes me that the more trouble you cause, the wealthier I become.”

“You called me down here for that?”

‘Shut up and listen. School’s now in session.”

“I hate school,” the T-Rump muttered under his breath.

“Now you and I are both transactional when it comes to politics, we’re both devoid of any ideology — besides self-interest of course. But I need to remind you — daily — how I built this Foxsquawkbox dino network that is the very basis for your survival.”

The T-Rump was already looking over at the doorway, praying for a tornado, as the Rupertmurdoch droned on.

“Twenty-five years ago I had a vision and so began my foray with the Foxsquawkbox species. I would ignore the centrist dinos and seek out the lowbrow, working-class audience, the proverbial pigskin dino. From there it was an easy hop, skip and a jump into fear-based, anger-based politics aimed at class and race. Our fundamental strategy is drive fear. That’s all. Enrage the masses. This is your base, nincompoop.”

“Why do you always call me that?”

“Because after 50 dinos die in a tragedy, nobody extends their, ahem … ‘warmest sympathy and best wishes.’ You, my bone-spurred boob, are a soulless cur.”

“Can I go now?”

“Be off with you then.” The Rupertmurdoch sent him off with a wave of the hand. “I’m at the top but I am old. The lunatics are running the asylum now.”

Meanwhile, back at the Oval Dwelling, the Foxsquawkbox dinos continued their damage control discussions without the T-Rump. It was after all, when they got most work done.

“Screw the Gretavansusteren,” said the Seanhannity. “So what if I appeared on stage with the T-Rump. I never said I was a Mediacircustops. But I do have the biggest audience. Okay, so the T-Rump calls me every night. That in itself makes me an official Oval Dwelling adviser. Hell, that makes us all advisers. He needs us because nothing is getting done around here. Somebody has to fill the vacuum!”

“Couldn’t agree with you more,” said the Loudobbs. “And in case anybody was wondering, we do not need to present both sides of the debate. It’s simply T-Rump, T-Rump, T-Rump.”

“Makes perfect sense,” said the Tuckercarlson. “It’s like the Rupertmurdoch said, the dinos of the Milkanhoney Preservation don’t want to admit it, but authoritarian dino societies can work.”

The Jeaninepirro jumped out of her squat.

“And that’s why we’ve had to change. Before we were just conservative. Finally we’ve stepped big-time. Now we’re just plain crazy. Welcome to 24-7 propaganda, folks. LOCK HER UP!

The Sebastiangorka flicked out his tongue and rubbed his chin.

“Never question the T-Rump. Which is why I say his retreating from the shutdown without securing moolah-moolah for the Great Tex-Mex Divide was actually a master stroke. Fear not, my fellow Foxsquawkbox faithful. We are in a win-win situation because at the end of the day the wonderful question is: are we running the Oval Dwelling or is the Oval Dwelling running us?”

“Hah!” laughed the Seanhannity. “The average dino at home will never figure it out.”

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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