Satire The Trump Dig

Biden Time …

The Joebiden looked up at the gleaming sun and smiled anew. It was going to be a great day. He’d just announced he’d be seeking leadership of the Donkeykongrus party. Now to get out and about, start raking in the moolah-moolah leaves. …

The Joebiden looked up at the gleaming sun and smiled anew. It was going to be a great day. He’d just announced he’d be seeking leadership of the Donkeykongrus party. Now to get out and about, start raking in the moolah-moolah leaves. Press some flesh with the flesh-eaters — the gap-toothed to the razor sharp. Short arm fist bumps, some low-fives and a good tail-whack here and there.

He spotted a Subpoenasaurus coming his way. The Joebiden stuck out a short arm.

“Mornin’, I’m the –”

“Sorry, no time to chat. I’m after the Tyrumposaurus’ mytaxes returnus.”

The determined dino scampered past him and  down the trail. The Joebiden looked after him.

“That’s right. Joebiden. Tell your friends! You’ll need them to help you find the T-Rump’s elusive spring skin.”

Soon another Subpoenasaurus came barreling down the path. The Joebiden pointed in the direction of the previous hard-charging dino.

“Mytaxes returnus? That-a-way.”

“Oh, no,” said the Subpoenaurus as he whizzed by. “I’m after the full, unredacted Muellersavus report. See ya!”

The Joebiden’s smile lost some of its gleam. This just wouldn’t do. If we was going to recruit dinos it was obvious he’d need a captive audience.

Half an hour later he arrived at the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir’s dino dungeon, the Solitary Sinkhole. If the Berniesanders was going to give the incarcerated the vote, he needed to get out in front.

The Joebiden strolled through the prison grounds, peering down the many sinkholes, dropping his name with a wink and a smile. He was careful not to let his tail get too close to the hole lest he get dragged in. He looked down one hole and was taken aback. He was staring at the dino responsible for adding the citizenship question to the dino census.

“The Johngore? Is that you? The Justice Department Principal Deputy Assistant Attorney Dino General?” 

One and the same.

“Maybe you should just go with ‘acting.’ What are you doing down there?”

“They got me on some trumped-up contempt of court charge. But it’s for a good cause.”

“So dinosaurs will be afraid to identify themselves? Drive down dino numbers and choke our dino democracy?”

“Joe, I admit I didn’t really think it through. The T-Rump said no and you know how he gets. I don’t need my ancestry, my wife, my family all disgraced by him from the bully pulpit.”

“Has the T-Rump stopped by? Brought you some food?”

“No and no. When it rains though, the mud tastes a bit better. Less muddy.”

“Less muddy,” said the Joebiden. “That’s nice.”

The Joebiden moved on to the next sinkhole. Lo and behold. It contained the dino security official, the Carlkline. 

“Carl, don’t tell me. The Subpoenasaurus?”

“Contempt of court. Yeah, yeah. They got me. All because I wouldn’t appear before the committee to blab about those 30 security clearance cases.”

“You mean the ones where the Langleyops said those dinos couldn’t get clearance to run a dino daycare?”

“Hey! I was just doin’ my job. No questions asked.”

“But your job was to ask questions.”

A mute expression from the Carlkline. Not computing. There was a lot of this within the Grandoldparty ranks. The Joebiden soldiered on.

“Carl, I have a way you can make this right. Or at least rejoin the road to redemption.”

I’m not voting for you.

“Suit yourself. How’s the mud?”

The Joebiden moved onto the next sinkhole. He recognized the dino squatting beside it.

“The Donmcgahn? I never thought …”

“No, no. Of course not. I’m just visiting.”


The Joebiden leaned over the sinkhole, peering down at the dino inside.

“The Stephenmillerus? My word. Contempt? You too?”

“Oh, I’ll show them contempt,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I’ve, uh … got to be going,” said the Donmcgahn. “A date with the committee.”

The legal dino hurried for the exit.

“Shut up, Don!” screamed the Stephenmillerus. “You’d better shut up! Long live the T-Rump!”

“Temper, temper,” said the Joebiden. “I’m beginning to see why those four senior Homeland Security dinos up and left.”

The Stephenmillerus seethed from below.

“They were weak. And meek. Like meeces. I hate them meeces to pieces!”

The Joebiden sighed. He felt sorry for the Stephenmillerus. An obviously challenging dino tot-hood. The Stephenmillerus railed on.

“They don’t understand zero tolerance. Zero means zero.”

He scowled up at the Joebiden.

“You’re looking at zero.”

“No argument there.”

“Our southern border is being overrun by the murdering Latinonachos and you squat there with open arms.”

“I’m squatting here looking down at a dino who’s been convicted of contempt of court.”

“The T-Rump will look after me.”

“Oh, yeah? How’s the–”

“I like mud.”

The Stephenmillerus scooped up a handful and licked at it, steeling himself against the brackish taste. The Joebiden cringed.

“Uh, did you hear about the Larryhopkins, that renegade dino who was tracking down and holding Latinonachos dinos at the Great Tex-Mex Divide before finally being apprehended?”

The Stephenmillerus smirked.

“My kind of dino.”

“Well, evidently, while he was in the Solitary Sinkhole, he was attacked by several Latinonachos.”


The Joebiden turned away from the sinkhole.

“Afraid so. My, my. Isn’t that a coincidence,” he said, raising his voice as he headed for the exit. “Here you are, a dino responsible for ripping dino tots away from their mothers and you just so happen to be in a solitary sinkhole … surrounded by well-meaning, far-from-home Latinonachos who are just trying to make an honest moolah-moolah leaf to send home to their families. Their loved ones. … Joebiden’s the name. I’ll be there for you. Ahem, not you, Stephen.”

The Joebiden gone, several Latinonachos began descending into the Stephenmillerus’ sinkhole.

“No. No. Stay away from me. I’m warning you. I’m a bully. A big, bad … outnumbered bully. Don’t touch me! Let go of me! A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-g-h!”

The Stephenmillerus awoke in a panic, jumping out of his nest. He gulped for air. It was all a bad dream. Just a dream. He blinked his eyes and finally sneered.

He’d had worse.

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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