Satire The Trump Dig

“Mytaxes Returnus? Never!” …

“This is a hill and dinos would be willing to die on it,” the Hogangidley said with his chest swelled for added emphasis. He coughed. His chest caved. “No, ahem. Really, I would.”
The issue at hand was the Donkeykongrus’ request for the Tyrumposaurus’ mytaxes returnus. …

“This is a hill and dinos would be willing to die on it,” the Hogangidley said with his chest swelled for added emphasis. He coughed. His chest caved. “No, ahem. Really, I would.”

The issue at hand was the Donkeykongrus’ request for the Tyrumposaurus’ mytaxes returnus. The mytaxes returnus was a thick layer of green skin shed each spring by every adult dino. Except for some strange reason, the T-Rump. He begged off, claiming his was being inspected or audited for some time now. Going on several years. The longest audit in living memory.

Which is why several of the big tail-thumpers of the T-Rump’s posse had gathered at the Foxsquawkbox headquarters to beat down this absurd request by the Donkeykongrus for a peek at the T-Rump’s most private skin. Dinos in the audience looked at one another. The Hogangidley had run out of things to say. His eyes suddenly sparkled and his face brightened. He’d remembered something and couldn’t blurt it out fast enough.

“Let’s all be thankful for the T-Rump’s great leadership!”

“Thank you, Hogan,” the Mickmulvaney said, strutting to center stage. He took a sideways glance at the Seanhannity. “You’ll need to be quiet now, Sean. This is serious business. And don’t let the Jeaninepirro, the Lauraingraham or the Annecoulter into the cave. Just don’t. There’s free speech and then there’s what they have to say. Ridiculous. Pure nonsense.”

The Mickmulvaney turned to the thousands of Foxsquawkbox faithful. He cleared his throat.

“L-O-O-O-O-O-K!!” The masses roared back as one with the Mickmulvaney’s trademark condescending sentence starter.

“Thank you. I want to assure you all that the Donkeykrongrus will never …  N-E-V-E-R … never obtain the T-Rump’s mytaxes returnus. Nor should they. Not by the hair of my chinny, chin, chin. Yes, the T-Rump just read those footprints in the sand yesterday. He’s showing us great leadership. Let’s keep in mind that all you dinos out there know that the T-Rump could have given over his mytaxes returnus during the battle campaign. He didn’t. You knew it and you still lined up behind him anyway. Which, of course is what drives the Donkeykongrus crazy! We just l-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-v-e driving them crazy, don’t we?”

A long, loud roar from the crowd.

“That’s right, I’m a right-wing nutjob! Can you stand it?!”

More roaring from the crowd. They began chanting.

“Nut-JOB! Nut-JOB! Nut-JOB!”

“Thank you, thank you. Oh, you’re too kind. Please. Thank you.”

“L-O-O-O-O-O-K!!” came the roar from the crowd.

“That’s right, I’m speaking again. But false alarm. I want to trot out some character witnesses on this whole mytaxes returnus brouhaha.”

Confused looks from the audience.

“Ahem. An issue or dilemma? You know, a problem? So I’ve invited some dinos of fine conservative stock that will help shine some light on the poor T-Rump’s plight. Come on out, it’s the Manaforta.”

The Manaforta limped out from the wings and peered out at the crowd.

“First off, I want to thank the Mickmulvaney for calling in some favours and getting me this day pass from the Solitary Sinkhole. I’d forgotten that special Puhl-DePlugg stench in the air. Anyway, I’m still waiting for that T-Rump pardon … I mean, I want you all to know it’s a travesty and a crime to go looking at another dino’s mytaxes returnus, especially the T-Rump’s. Is there no trust, no faith left in the world? You just have to look at me. Forget about the next seven years.  I already have. Honest.”

“Heart warming.” said the Mickmulvaney. “Truly heartwarming. Okay, Paul. You need to get back before the Donkeykongrus find out. Next up, we have a dino we’re pitching to the Moolah-Moolah Reserve. Strictly non-partisan of course, but we may have to call in more favours. A trivial matter. Let’s welcome … the Stephenmoore!”

A smattering of applause from the audience.

“Thank you, heh-heh, thank you so much. Heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh. I’d just like to say that I’ve been commenting on economics for so long, I feel I finally — FINALLY — know the stuff. Heh-heh. I just heard an inside secret the other day. I’d like to share it with you. Buy low, sell high. You heard it here! Heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh-heh. And, oh yes, the, uh, T-Rump’s mytaxes returnus, it’s not a problem. I should know. They saw mine and I still owe 75-thousand moolah-moolah. How much could the T-Rump possibly owe? Right? This is crazy! Heh-heh-heh. Heh-heh, heh-heh-heh.”

The Mickmulvaney rushed onto the stage.

“Thank you, Steve. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh, I guess I do. Heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh.”

The Stephenmoore sidestepped off into the shadows.

“Finally,” the Mickmulvaney said, “let’s welcome the T-Rump’s own son-in-law, the Kushneratops!”

The Kushneratops took the stage with smooth, almost princely strides. He took in the crowd with a look that said he knew more than they did. And always would. He raised an eye.

“Three words. Saudisaurae. Brookfield. Six-six-six.”

He finished the sentence with a smug smile, waved his short arm and glided off the stage as if he had a billion moolah-moolah leaves lining his nest and it was Wallowing Time.

The Mickmulvaney filled the void, leading the audience in clapping their hands.

“Thank you, Jared, for gracing us with your presence. Six-six-six. Well done. Keep us posted on that peace in the Middle Eastlands, won’t you? Alright. I want to turn the stage over to the T-Rump’s personal legal dino, the vaunted, the exalted, the one legal dino among s-o-o-o-o-o many, the Williamconsovoy.”

“Oh, boy, Consovoy! Oh, boy, Consovoy!” the crowd called back.

“Okay, okay,” said the Mickmulvaney. “Trust me, he’s not that exciting. But we need to make it look like we’re doing something to fight this fight, so here’s our latest dino to master that dumb art of legal dino speak. I promise it won’t be long. If you only grasp a word or two, don’t worry, you’ll be fine. After the Williamconsovoy, we’ll hear some words from the Devilnunesmemo, who is now officially on the clock to come up with something that will further our goals of escaping this latest hot mess, this – this political stunt. Right, William?

The Williamconsovoy trotted out, trying and failing to lose his schoolboy grin.

“Yes, before I begin, I’d like to thank the T-Rump for his leadership. Now then, caution and deliberation are essential to ensure that the Moolah-Moolah Department does not erode the constitutional separation of powers or the–”

“Thank you, William,” interrupted the Mickmulvaney. “Well, done. Can’t you see their eyes glazing over already? That’s more than we need to hear. Much more. Devil? Time’s up. Get on out here.”

The Devilnunesmemo, red-cheeked and blustery as ever, huffed and puffed his way onto the stage.

“Eight! Eight no less! Got’em red-handed! I will be sending eight criminal referrals to the Williambarr this week. I don’t know who yet, but I will soon. Real soon. Count on it. I’m calling it a global leak. Global. As in really wide, you bet. We’re prepared this week to notify the Attorney Dino General that we’re prepared to send those referrals over and brief him — if he wishes to be briefed. We think they’re pretty clear, but as of right now this is, this may not be all of them, but this cleans stuff up quite a bit. Don’t you think? I certainly do. And that’s all that matters because, don’t forget, I used to be in charge.”

“Fantastic, Devil,” said the Mickmulvaney. “You are the devil, aren’t you.”

“Hold it right there! You need to hear this.”

“Huh?” The Mickmulvaney spun around. The Adamschiff appeared beside the Devilnunesmemo. The Adamschiff looked him up and down.

“What? Don’t think you can sit beside me and not escape my wrath, also known as My. Two. Cents.” He turned to the crowd. “I don’t regret calling out the T-Rump. Not for one nanosecond.”

The Kirstengillibrand scampered onto the stage.

“I want you all to know that the T-Rump is a toddler. A toddler who is melting down and making bad decisions. Bad decisions, everyone!”

The Seanhannity rose from his squat.

“Hey! Who let those two in here? Sorry, Mick. I’m not a journalist, so I’m not about to let our good dinos hear both sides of the story. Of any story.”

He nodded to a pair of big, burly Brontosauruses, who rumbled onto the scene and quickly dispatched with the two despised Donkeykongrus do-gooders.

The Mickmulvaney stepped back to the fore with an appreciative nod to the Seanhannity.

“Let the love-in continue. Devil, please. Go on.”

“Well, that was almost all I had to say. I hope I wasn’t too vague.”

“It was fine, Devil,” said the Mickmulvaney. “I’m sure the Seanhannity and company can mold it into fire and brimstone within the hour. You, uh … said you had something left to say?”

“Yes. I just want to add that, no, I am not having a cow and I wish dinos would stop comparing me to a cow because I will sue them for 250 million moolah-moolah again. And again. I learned from the best. The T-Rump. I don’t care if the cow is more popular than me. I really don’t. I’m not taking this personal. Because I am the Devilnunesmemo and – and … I do not have subpoena power! There I said it. Sad. So sad. But, lest we forget, the T-Rump is showing us great leadership. Just great. Where would we be without him?”

“Thank you, Devil. We have one more special guest, just back from her latest tour of the Great Tex-Mex Divide. Let’s hear it for the T-Rump’s and your favourite chief of Homeland Security, the Kirstjennielsen.”

Applause began, then paused as heads turned, trying to find her.

“Kirstjen? Has anyone seen Kirstjen?”

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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