The Mickmulvaney squatted before the Tyrumposaurus in the Oval Dwelling. The chief of staff dino’s face was flushed, he was breathless and perspiring per usual. Catering to the T-Rump’s every whim was a demanding, demeaning, thankless job.
“T-Rump,” he gasped. “The hurricane has pretty much missed Puerto Rikkiricardo.”
“Damn!”
“But it’s sure to pack a wallop when it reaches the Neverglades. What should we do?”
“That reminds me. I want to hold the Gee-Seven-Showed-Up at my luxury cave resort there. You know, the Doral Gnats’n All.”
“But what about the–”
A stern look from the T-Rump reminded him the hurricane was now a distant second to personal interest. The Tyvankanatrix smiled and raised her hand.
“Did you want to know how much extra we can charge for the gnats … or should I just pick a ridiculous number you don’t need to know about?
“Ridiculous is good. If one moolah-moolah leaf is the regular price for one gnat, surprise me. Be sure and pump them up. They’re not just ordinary gnats, y’know.”
“Oh, I will. Fungus gnats should be in season. I can’t wait. And with the buffalo gnats — we can charge extra on top of the extra.”
“That’s my girl. And while you’re at it, give a few gnats to the Kayleighpickaninny. Can you believe how she looked the Chriscoumo right in the eye and said I don’t lie. With one line she absolved me of 12,000 lies. Incredible. I own this swamp!”
“You sure do, T-Rump,” said the Stephenmillerus, the T-Rump’s senior advisor and long-time demented dino of doom. “I, uh … know how you like to stay on top of these things. You said ‘a few’ gnats for the Pickaninny. Would that be three or four?”
“Make it two. It’s not like they lay two or three hundred eggs at a time, right?”
“On the contrary, they do.”
“No they don’t.”
“Whatever you say, T-Rump.”
The T-Rump turned serious.
“Do you think gnats will do it, Stephen? I think we’ll need more than that to please the Putinodon. He is after all, our main focus here. We have to get him to come. We have to.”
The Stephenmillerus ground his walnut brain to the core but try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single helpful thought. It wasn’t in his DNA. He was meant to inflict maximum pain and torture.
The T-Rump rose from his squat.
“Well, this is boring. And tiring. You all give it some thought, just don’t bug me in bed.”
“Bed. Bug. Bed bugs!” shouted the Mickmulvaney, smiling triumphantly. The T-Rump would surely keep him another week.
The T-Rump returned to his squat.
He turned to Tyvanka.
“Could we?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll get to work on the infestation right away.”
“Give yourself another gnat, Mick.”
“Why, thank you, boss.”
The T-Rump reveled in his mastery.
“Bed bugs. It doesn’t get much better than that. The Putinodon will love’em. They don’t get very good ones in the Moscovian Bluffs. I should know. I know everything there is to know about bed bugs in the Moscovian Bluffs. We will have the best bed bugs in the world at the Doral Gnats’n All. The best.”
The T-Rump paused.
“Hold it. Stop right there. I almost forgot. I’ve just given away several gnats. What’s in it for me? C’mon. Be quick about it. It’s great that I have you all here to think up my reward.”
The Williambarr may have been wallowing nearby in the carcass of a Sucklingpigasaurus, but he managed to finally drag himself to his feet. He stumbled forward.
“Oh, gracious, esteemed loftiest of lofty dinos, I believe it is time I … well, it’s high time I came through in spades for you after all the shenanigans you’ve allowed me to extricate you from. So I’m going to throw you a big year-end party.”
“Where?”
The words drilled through the Williambarr like a raptor tooth through a mouse’s heart.
“Why at one of your luxury caves. The one generating the lowest revenue of course. I will kick in 30,000 moolah-moolah leaves.”
“Only 30?”
“Forgive me, but as the leading legal dino in the land, I need to draw some happy medium between appearing overly gracious and completely unethical.”
“Okay, I’ll let it go this time. But I have a birthday coming up. Twice a year, you know.”
“Of course.”
Another dino underling entered the Oval Dwelling, sought out the Stephenmillerus and whispered something in his ear. The Stephenmillerus’ expression devilishly brightened.
“There’s good news from the front.”
“What front?” asked the T-Rump. “We’re not at war. Are we?”
“We’re always at war. I’ve just received news that our triple-secret program of sending very sick immigrant dino tots back from whence they came has begun. It is a great day under my wickedness and your leadership, T-Rump. Let’s raise our Dietcokers and toast … to gnats, bed bugs and dying dino tots!”
“Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
David Belisle 