“Hi, guys. How is everybody?”
“Who are you?” asked the Moscowmitch.
“What? Um, you know. The, uh … Johnbolton. Remember me?”
The dinos in the Sin Hut Cave rolled their eyes as one. The embarrassing welcome mat rolled up in Bolton’s face with a snap as the Moscowmitch, the Jimjordan and the Louiegohmert all stared in disbelief at the former dino security advisor. The Moscowmitch was in a positively biting mood.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well, as you remember, I didn’t spill the beans during the T-Rump’s impeachment. As a result, the Donkeykongrus dinos, they all hate me with a passion. Just because I wrote my memoirs about that, uh … last job I had. So there’s that.”
“You completely trashed the T-Rump!” snorted the Jimjordan. “How could you say all those horrible, terrible, nasty things about our divine leader?”
“We should just gobble you up and swallow you whole,” said the Louiegohmert. “And swallow your bones too, so there won’t be any left to bury.”
“Ha-ha. You’re joking, right?”
The sour puss on Gohmert’s mug said anything but.
“Guess you’re not. Aw, c’mon, guys, I was a good dino. I could’ve destroyed the Grandoldparty but I kept my mouth shut.”
“Hardly. You just put the world on pause so you could make us all look bad later, as you lined your nest with a big heaping pile of crisp, green moolah-moolah leaves,” said the Moscosmitch. “We know how you’re sleeping at night.”
“But you all sleep the same way. The Grandoldparty way. Grifting and lying and deceiving and stonewalling and denying and deflecting and projecting …”
“You’re preachin’ to the choir, Johnny,” growled the Jimjordan.
“So just shut the hell up,” finished the Louiegohmert. “You’re makin’ me feel guilty all of a sudden. Don’t know why. Ain’t no need to talk to you. We don’t need your damn memoirs part two.”
A light went on in the Johnbolton’s walnut dome.
“Well, if that’s the way it’s gotta be, I guess that’s the way it’s gotta be.”
“What, I say what are you talking about?” said a worried Moscowmitch. “Which scandal are you talking about?”
“Jeez, Mitch,” interrupted the Jimjordan. “I thought we were supposed to call them issues. Or fake news.”
The Moscowmitch stared him down and turned back to the Johnbolton.
“Which scandal, dammit.”
“Oh, well, we don’t need to go too far back in time. I mean, we are talking about the empty chair in the Oval Dwelling. If you’re thinking the latest conga line with the Putinodon and the Russodinos, you wouldn’t be far off. Crazy stuff. Can you believe it? The Putinodon giving the Taliban dinos moolah-moolah leaves to – to …. the thought of it just makes me want to lose my lunch. But alright then, if you dinos will be my friends, I’ll tell you. First, I just need to get off a couple of good roars to scare up the wildlife. To set the mood.”
So the Johnbolton roared twice, sufficiently scaring up said wildlife and effectively setting the mood.
The T-Rump had the facts, as did his team
Why are they lying?
About those dying?
A Putin plot, the bounties were deployed
It is defining
So months ago, the meeting was within
We are seeing
We are seething
Moscow 2-9-1-5-5 hit-and-run
We all are knowing
Whose line he’s toeing
His ignorance, moreso his Russian dread
It is deceiving
It is demeaning
But missing is the courage of his team
They are not giving
The ear of Putin he has yet to bend
In the headlining
T-Rump’s still whining
His polls declining
He’s still maligning
He’s still dividing
The silver lining?
Time for resigning
You can hear the musical version of today’s post and previous T-Rump Digs at my podcast site at Podbean. Two new T-Rump tracks every Saturday. Enjoy!