Ride, Biden, Ride …

The Tyrumposaurus entered the Oval Dwelling with a skip in his step.

“Hey, 100 days til the big November Battle Royale. Can you stand it? I can hardly wait to thrash that Sleepy Joebiden. He’ll never know what hit him. Because he’s asleep. Get it? Hold on. Uh, per-fume, wom-bat, man-fred, cam-ping, tee-thing. Hah! I still got it.”

The faces in the cave looked at him as a doctor might a patient who has an incurable disease but doesn’t know it yet. The Kayleighmcenany was the last-hired-first-required to tell the T-Rump the bad news. She cleared her throat as sweetly as possible.

“T-Rump, I don’t want you to panic now. We’re still working on how to spin this, but you appear to be trailing in popularity in several key battleground regions. In Michigonia you’re down 9 percent …”

“No problem. That’s only one poll.”

“I did say several, sir. In Pennsylvanus, we’re losing by 11 percent …”

“And what did I say about using the ‘L’ word around here?”

“In Mini-Soda-Can … you know, that region out west, then north.”

“Hang a right?”

“That’s right, sir. We’re down by 13.”

“Fake polls! These are all fake polls!”

“Sorry, T-Rump,” the Stephenmillerus jumped in. “They are Foxsquawkbox numbers. They’re rooting for us, sir.”

“Evidently not hard enough. We’re running on law and order now. Law and order! How are our little green dinos doing in Sportland and Chicagoland?”

“Not good, T-Rump. They’re dealing with several lines of defense from the locals.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, there are the Yellowmoms, the Papabellies, the Purplehearts and the Radiocityrocketz.”

“I hate the Radiocityrocketz,” the T-Rump growled. “Terrorists! They’re all terrorists!”

“The Radiocityrocketz?” said the Kayleighmcenany. “They’re dancing dinos, sir.”

The T-Rump waved her off.

“My big Grandoldparty Pow-wow. Have you found a place for it yet?”

“We had a line on the Bottomless Pit but, short answer … fraid not, T-Rump,” said the Stephenmillerus. “That Covid thing is still ravaging Dino Nation. Apparently those, ahem … embers became raging infernos. Spectacular, burning out of control, racing through the …”

“Okay, enough! I get the picture.”

“On the bright side, we are seeing more migrant dinos being evicted from their caves.”

“Dinos being evicted from caves. I love it. The Obamarus never did that, did he?”

“But …”

“But what?”

“But we’re also seeing our own less fortunate — but still supreme, white-striped dinos — looking for new homes. That’s not helping our cause, sir.”

“Wait a minute. You mean the virus is actually affecting our own dinos?”

“Well, yeah,” said the two dinos together.

“Hmm. I’ll have to give that some thought. … Done.”

There came a noise from outside the Oval Dwelling. The unmistakable sound of parading dinos in lock step.

“Anarchists!” came the T-Rump’s knee-jerk response.

The Stephenmillerus took a peek outside.

“Damn peaceful protesters. They’re a pox on us. They’re singing too. Gawd, I hate watching happy dinos.”

A pair of butterflies fluttered past his nose, flapping their wings in his face. Big wings. Loud wings. A song trailing behind them.

Fifty-two senators up in their sycophantic way

Lies rolled off their lips as shallow minds had their say

“We’re callin’ every sin a lefty wrong — it’s another war

They will throw your lives away so give us four more”

But no one heard them bawlin’, the nerve, all the gall

‘Cause we know a fear monger, we saw through it all

With Covid fears a-blowin’ a nation to its knee

Fifty-two senators slunk off in misery