Satire The T-Rump Dig

One for the Exodus …

Slurp. Slurp. Lick. Lick. Slurp. Lick.
Tongues wagged, saliva dripped and the mass exfoliation continued upon the Tyrumposaurus’ soiled, stinky feet. It was the daily foot-licking session in the Oval Dwelling.

Slurp. Slurp. Lick. Lick. Slurp. Lick.

Tongues wagged, saliva dripped and the mass exfoliation continued upon the Tyrumposaurus’ soiled, stinky feet. It was the daily foot-licking session in the Oval Dwelling. The Stephenmillerus, the Mickmulvaney, the Linseygraham, the Jimjordan and the Markmeadows were all in attendance, wet dino tongues at the ready.

The group was on it’s second go-around of the T-Rump’s left foot when another Grandoldparty dino’s shadow darkened the doorway.

“Hmmph,” said the T-Rump. “Justin-the-Amash. I know you’re not here to lick my feet.”

“No, I prefer washing by hand. I just wanted to let you all know … I’ve been to the mountain. And I have a dream. Oops. Sorry, wrong speech.”

The other dinos in the cave eyed him queerly. Justin-the-Amash was an Apostolic dino from the sacred Flakes-of-Kellogg region of Michigonia. They knew him to be the most conservative dino. He cleared his throat.

“I’ve come back from Mount Sigh’n Cry. I’ve seen the footprints! The 10 Muellersavus footprints. I went over them for 40 days and 40 nights. That’s four days per footprint. Have any of you even spent one second looking at one footprint?”

There were uncomfortable coughs followed by obligatory mumbling and yammering all around. The other dinos stared off into different corners of the cave, unable to look their visitor in the face. All except for the T-Rump of course.

“I am very, very proud that I can’t, I mean … don’t read.” He frowned. “You’ve got everybody’s attention now. Go ahead, tell us what you saw.”

Justin-the-Amash became starry, glassy and wide-eyed all at the same time. His long tail was ramrod straight. Indeed, he appeared to be having a religious experience.

“It was a revelation. A revelation I must finally shout long and loud to the masses. First, the epistolary …”

“The what?” asked the T-Rump.

“Footprints in the sand,” the Stephenmillerus said, leaning towards his boss. Justin-the-Amash stared down the T-Rump.

“There are ten, count’em, TEN examples of you obstructing justice.”

The other dinos withdrew in shock, like they’d just had a short arm bitten off. This couldn’t be happening. Sure, Justin-the-Amash had been a regular critic of the T-Rump but … This. Was. Huge.

“It is clear the Williambarr intended to hoodwink the dinos about the Muellersavus’ analysis and findings. The Williambarr’s misrepresentations were significant but often subtle, sleight-of-hand qualifications or logical fallacies which he hoped dinos wouldn’t notice.”

Each word from Justin-the-Amash was like a poke in the ribs to his stunned audience. It would get worse. The Mickmulvaney had already curled into the fetal position.

“The T-Rump’s conduct has violated the public trust. He has engaged in specific actions and has shown a pattern of behavior for high crimes and misdemeanors. A crime does not have to be committed. The requirement is only to find that an official dino has engaged in careless, abusive, corrupt, or otherwise dishonorable conduct. But allow me to continue with my revelation.”

The other dinos leaned forward with rapt attention. Grandoldparty dinos were always up for a good revelation. Two years of half-baked strategies, hail-mary passes and abrupt stonewalling had sapped their imaginations. Justin-the-Amash’s eyes gathered in his audience.

“Dinos, if this behavior from the T-Rump continues, we’re talking about the Apocalypse. That’s right. Dino extinction.”

The dinos shuddered. The Mickmulvaney pulled his hand from his mouth.


“Then there’s the prophetic.”

“Who’s pathetic?” asked the T-Rump.

Prophetic. It begins with the Mitchgetbacktowork in the Kongrus Kave, reading a footprint in the sand to the Gang of Eight. He describes a series of prophetic visions. First there’s the Seven-Headed Subpoenasaurus. Then there’s the Serpent and the Beast. That’s you and the Williambarr. Finally, this culminates in …”

Justin-the-Amash stopped, fixing his gaze on the leader of the dino nation. The T-Rump looked around the room.

“Would someone puh-lease tell me what the hell he’s talking about?”

Even the Stephenmillerus couldn’t bring himself to say the word. The other dinos had long since buried their heads. The Mickmulvaney was reduced to whimpering lullabies his mother taught him.

“T-Rump,” said Justin-the-Amash. “You have engaged in impeachable conduct. Impeachable. Need I remind you, our Continental Footprint is brilliant and awesome; it deserves a dino leader to match it.”

The T-Rump jumped from his squat.

“Impeachment!? Justin-the-Amash, I was never a fan of you. You’re a total lightweight. A loser!”

“Are you even listening? No, of course not. That’s why I’m making a stand right here. Right now. Who’s with me?”

He looked around the cave at the other dinos cowering in silence. Just then the Huckabeecyclops burst into the Oval Dwelling.

“What is it, Huckabee?” asked the T-Rump. “I told you we’d celebrate 10 weeks without a Mediacircustops briefing later.”

“It’s that damn Newyorktimesian dino again.”

“What fake news now?”

“They’re saying five dinos claim you and the Kushneratops engaged in suspicious activity with moolah-moolah leaves on the banks of the River Deutsche. Also, that the Kushneratops sent moolah-moolah to the Russodinos. Can you believe it? Don’t worry, boss. If they catch me outside the Oval Dwelling, I’ll make like I’m going to eat them, then deny everything.”

She turned and stomped out of the cave. The T-Rump and his followers lowered their heads somewhere between grief and consternation. Justin-the-Amash rose to leave.

“Well, my mind’s made up. You can come with me … or stay and discuss all those other investigations. How many are there now … 20?”

Justin-the-Amash left the Grandoldparty group, their tails planted firmly between their legs. He would be the first. One for truth. One for justice. One for the exodus.


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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