The bloodied carcass of an Inanoutburgerus hit the cave wall and slid slowly down to the ground. The tosser of said main entree, the Williambarr, stared daggers at it, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His dino doc had warned him about throwing large food items.
“What’s wrong, dear?” his wife of 46 years asked. “I thought you liked the Inanoutburgerus. Lucky for us it ran through the neighborhood. Right through. Took me an hour to corral it.”
But she knew it wasn’t the Inanoutburgerus. Her eyes followed her husband’s, both lingering on the wall and the lines of blood from the carcass, slowly running down to the floor of their quaint, faux-Cretaceous decor dino den. How was she going to get that out? The point of impact looked vaguely like a T-Rump melt-down. Perhaps it was an omen? Her grandmother had warned her about dinosaurs rising too fast to the top of the food chain. Predators were always looking to take you down, if you were to believe the cries of “Send her back! Send her back!” that rang long and loud over the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir last night. She stifled a shiver and turned to her husband, the Milkanhoney Preservation’s dino attorney general.
“Another tough day at the office?”
“I’m doomed. We’re doomed.”
That didn’t sound good. She didn’t like being doomed. This was such a nice neighborhood. Maybe it was just his ulcer acting up. She prided herself on being a good listener. That and knowing that as his wife, she’d never be called upon to put him in the Solitary Sinkhole.
“Tell me all about it.”
“I – I just can’t believe it. After all I’ve done for the Tyrumposaurus.”
She stopped from saying ‘let me count the ways’. She knew her husband would and he did.
“I made them all wait for the Muellersavus Report so I could white-wash the walnut-brained. Then I pushed him back a week and I told his minions I’d step on them if they made so much as a peep! I’ve ignored the Subpoenasaurus on the census brouhaha, told every dino to stonewall and I’m about to be held in contempt.”
“Don’t they know you’re the law of the land? You kissed a lot of dino butt to get where you are.”
“I ended the hush moolah-moolah investigation. Ended it! I stopped them cold with their interviewing process and told the judge not to release the 17 smudged footprints in the sand. You remember, the Michaelcohen search warrants?”
“And what happened?”
“He released them! Every last one. Said the dino nation had to see them. Something about every dino having an opportunity to scrutinize them.”
“But I thought you were the only dino allowed to, ahem … scrutinize.”
“So did I. These judges are killing me! But I got’em. Oh, I got’em good. They wanted footprints in the sand? That’s what they got. 900 footprints in the sand, Christine. 900. The Muellersavus Report was only 450 footprints. Only a few dinos read that. No dino has the time for 900 footprints. Only thing is, the initial report was just over 100 footprints. So I repeated the warrants 8 times! Hah!”
“But if you repeated the unsmudged 17 footprints 8 times, won’t that make them easier to find?”
“Hmm. I never thought of that.”
“That’s why I’m here. Okay, go ahead and tell me. How bad is it?”
His lower lip moved over his upper lip and threatened to engulf the tip of his nose. She’d once thought it adorable. Not today.
“It’s bad. Rabid Raptor bad. I don’t know how I’m going to drag the Dinos Open Jawed through this.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning.”
So he did, weaving a sordid scandalous tale that would surely rock the T-Rump inner circle to it’s mostly acting-designated core …
About a month before the T-Rump came to power in the November battle, the Stormydaniels’ legal dino, the Keithdavidson told the Michaelcohen that the Stormydaniels was going to tell the Mediacircustops about her bungle in the jungle with the T-Rump. Monogamy was still a good look for a dino leader but running a clean battle campaign remained more so.
The Michaelcohen began communications with the Keithdavidson and the Davidpecker and his assistant, the Dylanhoward, both Mediacircustops gossip-mongers and the Hopehicksbagotrix. On October 8, she spoke to the Michaelcohen for the first time in weeks. Soon after, the T-Rump joined them. This is the first time the T-Rump is referred to by name and not “Dino Number 1.” Ten minutes after the meeting, Hicks and Cohen spoke again briefly. Immediately following their meeting, the Michaelcohen met with the Davidpecker twice in fifteen minutes and once with Dylanhoward.
Shortly after meeting with Howard, Cohen visited Hicks for two minutes, then briefly with the Davidpecker. Three minutes later, the Michaelcohen called upon the T-Rump. The Dylanhoward visited the Michaelcohen twice more within the hour, finally telling Cohen, “The Keithdavidson will do it. Let’s reconvene tomorrow.”
Hush moolah-moolah is a fly-by-night, multi-dino shot in the dark.
The Keithdavidson contacted the Michaelcohen the next day, saying, “If we’re going to close this deal, it needs to be today.”
Unfortunately, some dinos find it hard to part with their moolah-moolah.
Five days later, the Michaelcohen told the Davidpecker they needed to talk. The Michaelcohen was doing his best to arrange for the moolah-moolah but four days later on October 17, the Stormydaniels and the Keithdavidson were one pair of anxious dinos just waiting to spill the beans if they didn’t get their moolah-moolah by the end of the day.
This set off a flurry of dino activity. The Dylanhoward told the Michaelcohen that the Stormydaniels was planning to take her story to the Mediacircustops Sub Family, the Dailymail. The next day another Mediacircustops Sub Family, the Smokkinggun, mentioned the bungle in the jungle but the Stormydaniels had refused to comment.
It was another week, October 25, before the let’s-make-a-deal dinos dove back into negotiations. The Dylanhoward told the Michaelcohen, “You need to speak with the Keithdavidson urgently on the matter or it could look awfully bad for everyone.” The Michaelcohen and the Keithdavidson spoke twice that night.
The next morning the Michaelcohen called upon the T-Rump. Twice. Shortly thereafter, the Michaelcohen found 130 thousand moolah-moolah leaves on the banks of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. He told the regulatory reptiles it was for some much-needed renovations to his dino nest.
On October 27, the Michaelcohen made the 130 large moolah-moolah payment to the Keithdavidson. The following morning, the Michaelcohen spoke with the T-Rump. The T-Rump’s legal dino then went back to the Keithdavidson. Cohen said, “I hope we are good.” Davidson replied, “I assure you. We are very good.” Later that day, the Michaelcohen spoke with the Hopehicksbagotrix.
Mission accomplished. Almost. One bungle in the jungle down. One to go. The T-Rump’s affair with the Karenmcdougal.
A week later on November 4, just three days before the November Battle Royale, the Mediacircustops veteran, the Wallstreetjournal, was about to go public with a story about the Davidpecker shielding the T-Rump from allegations that a Playmatapus, the Karenmcdougal, had also partook with the T-Rump in the dirty dino ding-a-ding-ding. The Wallstreetjournal said that the Davidpecker had agreed to pay the Karenmcdougal to bury her story. Her legal dino? Why, the Keithdavidson of course, your one-night-stand one-stop shop. Operation No-Looky No-Nooky Part Two scrambled into action. The Michaelcohen met with the Dylanhoward, the Davidpecker and the Keithdavidson. Before and after each of these calls he met with the Hopehicksbagotrix, effectively keeping the T-Rump apprised of the situation. Except the Karenmcdougal went into hiding and couldn’t be found.
That same night, the Dylanhoward reassured the Michaelcohen that things would be okay. The Michaelcohen’s only concern was the T-Rump. “He’s pissed.” Cohen asked Howard if they could all simply deny the Wallstreetjournal’s story. Except there was the Davidpecker payment.
The dinos continued their mad dash to the deadline that night. The Hopehicksbagotrix called upon the Michaelcohen, Cohen visited the Dylanhoward, Hicks met Cohen again, Cohen met the Davidpecker and Cohen met Howard.
Too late. The Wallstreetjournal’s footprints were promptly tromped in the sand. Every Operation No-Looky No-Nooky Part Two dino read, then analyzed them carefully. Exhausted, they went home to sleep off a dirty job almost well done.
When they awoke, the Michaelcohen met the Hopehicksbagotrix on a nearby hilltop. Cohen told her, “Only 6 Mediacircustops talking about it so far. Getting little or no traction.” Hicks was tickled. “Keep praying! It’s working!”
Four days later the Tyrumposaurus became the leader of the free-running dino world.
Finished, the Williambarr slumped back into his squat.
“That was a lovely story, dear,” his wife said. “I mean, the story itself. Not the fact that every dino now has the chance to read these 17 footprints in the sand for themselves and make up their own mind in that dreadful court of public opinion.” She shook her head. “The Hopehicksbagotrix. Such a pretty thing. And here she was lying all this time.”
It was the dino attorney general’s turn to sigh.
“We’re all lying, dear. We’re all lying.”