Satire The T-Rump Dig

Huckabee’s Hike …

“W-h-i-i-i- … W-h-i-i-i- …”
Try as she might, the Huckabeecyclops simply couldn’t whistle on her way to work. But she wouldn’t let that spoil her Monday. Not a chance.
I have the best job in the world she thought. I don’t have to do anything.

“W-h-i-i-i- … W-h-i-i-i- …”

Try as she might, the Huckabeecyclops simply couldn’t whistle on her way to work. But she wouldn’t let that spoil her Monday. Not a chance.

I have the best job in the world she thought. I don’t have to do anything. Once upon a time the press secretary briefed the Mediacircustops every day. Who needs that? She only needed to put in an appearance every six weeks. What a dream job.

There was one tricky issue however. Getting to the Oval Dwelling without being noticed by the Mediacircustops and their damn questions. Always with the questions. She changed her route to work every day as a precaution. Today’s route took her through a rattlesnake pit, a crocodile-infested swamp and a wild and woolly mammoth retreat.

Almost there she thought, following the 28th wolf whistle from one of the retreat’s wild and woollier mammoths. Just another mile to the underground tunnel.



Dammit. It was the Kaitlyncollins. That snarky little miss priss of the Mediacircustops. With those sassy eyes the Huckabeecyclops would gladly trade her own for. Damn her sassy eyes!

“When the Tyrumposaurus spoke with the Putinodon yesterday, did the T-Rump tell him not to interfere in next year’s November battle?”

“You’re obviously not listening. Have you forgotten Smelstinki already? Why in the world would the T-Rump insult the Putinodon when the Russodino already denied all past, present and future involvement?”

“What about Venezuela Villa? The Mikepompeo and the Johnbolton said that the Putinodon told the Nicholasmaduro to stay put but the T-Rump now says the Putinodon was never involved. Who’s telling the truth?”

“Pay attention, Kaitlyn. There’s a fake news lesson to be had here. Never run with a story until the Putinodon has spoken.”

“Is there any truth to the rumor that the Putinodon called the Russodino hoax a mountain reduced to a mole hill and it was the T-Rump who changed mole hill to mouse?”

The Huckabeecyclops lone eye was cycling like crazy. She lashed out.

“Are you accusing the T-Rump of mixing metaphors?!”

“How could I? He doesn’t know what one is. The Michaelcohen is going to the Solitary Sinkhole today. Is the T-Rump worried that his former legal dino will have one last damaging piece of information to use against the T-Rump?”

“We are in a state of total denial, I mean … we are blocking every Subpoenasaurus, every demand, every request. No more please and thank you. It’s Katie-bar-the-door and to hell with solicitors. All of them. How did it get this way? You just have to look at the previous dino administration. Terrible. Disgusting.”

Do you have any examples, Huckabee?

Countless. But I refuse to do your job for you. Keep looking. You seem to be good at that. Remember, if it involves the Obamasaurus, it’s not harassment.

“Another deadline comes this week for the Sin Hut committee to view the T-Rump’s mytaxes returnus. The Stevenmnuchin continues to ask for more time. Is this a delay tactic?”

“Nonsense! Have you seen the Stevenmnuchin work? S-l-o-o-o-w as a pig in a poke.”


“Look, sister, I’m tired of being asked to explain myself!”

“That’s your … uh, never mind. It’s been recently reported that the Charlesretig, head of the Mytaxes Returnus Service owned two rental luxury caves in Maui-Maui Land with the T-Rump’s name on them. The Charlesretig made a million moolah-moolah off them. With such a glaring conflict of interest, how on earth can he make an unbiased decision on releasing the T-Rump’s mytaxes returnus?”

“Well,” the Huckabeecyclops harrumphed. “You certainly didn’t get that information from me.”

“Of course not, we never get ANY information from you. For two years, nothing. No substance. Just deflection, spin and lies. I have half a mind to just throw it all away and follow you around for the rest of my life, heckling you whenever you sit down to eat.”

The Huckabeecyclops looked at her horrified.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Fake news,” the Kaitlyncollins said with a smirk.

For a second the Huckabeecyclops and the Kaitlyncollins connected on some remote, bizarre wavelength of feminine camaraderie. For all of two nanoseconds. It then snapped into oblivion. Kaitlyn eyed Huckabee coyly.

“Care to comment on what just happened there?”

“Since you asked … no.”

“Anything new on the Subpoenasaurus’ for the T-Rump’s moolah-moolah activities at the Deutsche River bank and his accounting dinos?”

“Don’t even go there. That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Which, ahem … is why I’m here.”

“Well then, I’m not telling. Oops. Did I say that? You know the drill.”

“Oh, you mean go ask the dinosaur’s legal dino?”

“That’s about it. My, my, look at the time. I’ve got to get in to work. I have such a busy, busy day ahead of me.”


“Oh, gee. Where to begin? Well, there’s my one-hour morning shuck and slurp.”

“Excuse me?”

“Java beans. Need that caffeine to stay awake during my two-hour mani-pedi.”

“Two hours?”

“Have you seen my feet? Then there’s lunch. Ah, food. Glorious food. I’m a growing girl. And you know what they say. Big lunch. Big nap. I need my rest for this incredibly important position. Eight hours at night simply isn’t enough. Anything less, I get kind of cranky.”

“Huckabee, you’re paid to inform the dino nation.”

“One at a time. I’m talking with you right now, aren’t I? And I’ve been s-o-o-o-o-o transparent. I have nothing to hide. I really have to go.”

She hurried away, leaving the smirking Kaitlyncollins. The Huckabeecyclops made a mental note. Tomorrow take the Amazon giant bee route. She sighed. Oh well, another day, another 719 moolah-moolah leaves.

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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