Author: David Belisle

It was almost noon. The Hopehicksbagotrix paused at the doorway to the Tyrumposaurus nest beside the Oval Dwelling. She knew the T-Rump would be alone. The Tymelania had moved her nest away, again, since more sordid, steamy details of the T-Rump’s romp with a Pornodactyl had surfaced. His dino dalliances had grown to include the Playbunny Karenmcdougal. Same time, same flogging grounds. While the Tybarron was still suckling.

Taking a deep breath, the Hopehicksbagotrix entered and found the T-Rump sitting up in his nest. The gruesome remains of several Cheezbuggabuggas lay strewn about the place. The Hopehicksbagotrix could tell he hadn’t slept well. The T-Rump had spent the past two hours barking out orders to his Trollertweety fleet for a scorched earth policy against the Donkeykongrus. He was now accusing them of killing the hopes of the Dacadreamers when it was he who had initially ambushed the popular migration route.

The T-Rump looked up from his dripping Cheezbuggabugga.

“You’re late. Where’s my morning report?”

“It’s … well, it …”

“C’mon, spit it out.” As he did with a small bone. It landed at her feet. Normally she’d partake but her appetite had disappeared.

“It doesn’t look good, boss.”

The T-Rump stopped chewing. He gave her the look. That look. Her long tongue was in a knot. She and every other dino in the Oval Dwelling were not allowed to say the “R” word, Russo, in his presence. Or the “K” word, Kayjeebeeops. Or the “M-B” words, Moscovian Bluffs. How could they do their job, clearance or no clearance? Who could blame her for seeking solace in the grabby claws of the Lewandowski, the Robporter and any new Tyrumposaurean dino on the block. She pined for the recently departed Reedcordish.

“Calling Hope back from Dino-Boy Dreamland.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry, T-Rump. Oh, I’ll just come right out and say it.” She flashed her nervous grin with shiny, sharp incisors she knew he appreciated. “The Muellersavus has busted 13 dinosaurs from the Area That Shall Not Be Named. They all meddled in your battle with the Crookadillary.”

“Only 13, huh?”

“What should we have the Huckabeecyclops tell the Mediacircustops? Or, as usual, do we just let her wing it?”

“There was no mention of collusion?”

She shook her head.

“No mention of me?”

Another shake.

“Well, then. It’s a great day. For me.”

“But the Mediacircustops are already asking what you plan to do … how you plan to retaliate against … them.”

“Retaliate? That would be the last thing I’d do. It would be admitting that the Putinodon and his ‘bad actor’ dinos had something to do with me whipping the Crookadillary.”

The Hopehicksbagotrix frowned.

“Even though it’s been more than a year, sorry to rain on your parade. So we just sit here?”

“It’s what we’ve been doing so far.”

She tilted her head matter-of-factly.

“Um, one other thing. The Rickyprisongates.”

“Have you been smuggling in his care packages? You know, the small salamanders he likes? The extra juicy ones?”

“Yes, of course. It’s not that.” She steeled herself. “The Rickyprisongates is going to throw the Manaforta under the Priebusunderbus.”

Unfortunately she spoke just as the T-Rump swallowed a huge bite of Cheezbuggabugga. The meat stuck in his throat. His mother had always told him to chew 27 times before swallowing. But he was his father’s son. He quickly turned blue and collapsed on his back.

Here we go again, thought the Hopehixbagotrix.

She leaped on top of him, jumping up and down on his stomach, his face, then his tail.

“Breathe, damn you. I need this job!”

Through glassy eyes, the T-Rump gazed up at her. Such rage, such frenzy. She was a great hire. For a brief moment, he forgot he was choking.

The Hopehicksbagotrix’ walnut brain finally kicked in. She turned the T-Rump over on his stomach and threw herself on his back. The half-chewed piece of Cheezbuggabugga flew out. The T-Rump slowly dragged himself to a squatting position.

“I thought I was going to die, but then remembered I’m immortal. … I can’t believe the Rickyprisongates would do this. I mean, the Manaforta is such a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“I almost forgot,” she said. “The Muellersavus has nailed the Manaforta with another fraud charge.”

“So?”

“Fraud is okay?” Now she knew why the Huckabeecyclops was in private rocks-to-the-head therapy.

“Hope, look at me. Not like that. Like you believe me. We’re all frauds here. That’s the winning formula. The secret of our success. Why else do you think we have a hundred dinos plodding around without security clearance? But the Manaforta. Now he came highly recommended.”

“And he’s in the most trouble.”

“C’mon. The Langleytips bust into his place at the crack of dawn. He deserves a break. Look what he did in the Ukrainia. He had them idolizing that idiot Yanukovych.”

“Then came the Orange Revolution.”

“Nice of you to remember when I changed my hair colour. You are earning your keep. Smart girl. Just one more thing. These briefing notes you bring me every morning. Way too much info. Briefer. Briefer’s better. How else are we going to cut out the bad news? Just think P.D.”

“Police Department?”

“Ha-ha. Smart and funny. No, honey. Plausible Deniability. Do I really need another disaster?”

The muddied waters of Vanity Pond before them, the Huckabeecyclops and the Hopehicksbagotrix reclined luxuriously in the dinosaur spa. Alas, this was a working spa day. The two dinosaurs were entrusted with coming up with a letter of support from the Marinegunkelly for the disgraced Robporter, the Marinegunkelly’s right-hand dinosaur. The Robporter had been accused by two ex-wives and his current girlfriend of throwing them around their jungle home.

“Honestly,” said the Huckabeecyclops, “it seems like we’re cleaning up an Oval Dwelling mess every day.”

“We are,” replied the Hopehicksbagotrix, examining a cracked claw. “But we need to protect the T-Rump. He’s the only dinosaur that matters.” She gnawed on another claw. “I can’t believe the Robporter was two-timing me.”

“Well, she was living with him.”

“Whose side are you on? Wait til I get a hold of that waddling wench.”

“You’ve been through so much, Hope. First the Michaelwolff had to go and tell the world about your affair with the Lewandowski. That wasn’t fair at all. The Lewandowski’s wife and four kids … that Michaelwolff wrecked their home. … Um, did you ever, you know, see the Scaramoochkin?”

The Hopehicksbagotrix frowned.

“He was only here for ten days.”

“You poor dear. How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be okay. Somebody has to point the T-Rump in the right direction.”

“I think you’re wonderful, Hope. You could have it all, y’know.”

“I’m working on it. Now, about the Robporter. We need to come up with a story that puts this all in a positive light.”

“Have you seen the ex-wife number one?” asked the Huckabeecyclops. “That was some shiner.”

“That was no shiner. Dizzy dino stuck her head in some poison ivy. The Robporter said so and I believe him because the T-Rump only surrounds himself with the best dinos. I mean, look at us.”

“Oh, I wish I could be like you, Hope. You came in here with no political experience whatsoever and I, well …”

“Now, now. Never underestimate the power of nepotism.”

“How do you do it, Hope?”

“Listen, if you want to walk the walk and rock the block, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have any particular dino in mind?”

“Hope, I’m married.”

“And so are they. How do you expect to rise in this place?

“Well, I am tired of lying all the time.”

“Don’t say that. I didn’t hear it.”

“I’m sorry, Hope. It’s just that, I’ve been having problems with …”

“I know, I know. Your self confidence, isn’t it? Look, you just have to start small. Okay?”

“Well, if you say so. You are closest to the president. So you do know what’s best.”

‘Exactly. Now, take the Stephenmillerus. Do you know why he’s always looking at the ground?”

“He doesn’t know where he’s going?”

“Some times. But mostly because he’s lonely.”

“Really?”

“Yes, he’s playing the woe-is-me-take-me-home-so-I-can-yell-at-you card. But you can do better.”

“I can?”

“Sure. There’s you know who.”

The Huckabeecyclops gasped.

“You mean …”

“Sure, girl. That debonair dino. The Reedcordish.” The Hopehicksbagotrix deliciously drew out the Trump assistant dino’s name. He was an absolute hex. That is, handsome with extra smarts.

“The Reedcordish doesn’t know I exist,” said the Huckabeecyclops, a claw burrowed up her nose.

“You just have to be picky and play hard to get.”

The Huckabeecylcops extended her claw further.

“Don’t worry,” said the Hopehicksbagotrix. “I’ll put in a good word for you. They don’t call me the gossip girl for nothing. Now that we’ve worked ourselves into a Reedcordish frenzy, let’s knock off that letter for the old rattletrap. Give me the dirt.”

“Okay. Well, the Robporter’s accused of beating up an ex-wife.”

“He’s a strong man for the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

“Don’t forget the second ex-wife. He was beating up two lady dinos.”

“He’s an extra strong man …”

“And the ex-girlfriend. She had issues with him too.”

“He’s an extra strong man who does not know what three-strikes-you’re-out means. He always comes back for more. And that’s why I back him 100%. Close and insert name here, Marinegunkelly.”

“You do this so well, Hope.”

“It comes with the territory. Stick with me, Huckabee. This is just the beginning. Pass the mud … and how about that Reedcordish? You better grab him or I will. Whatta dino dish.”

The two lady dinos blissfully curled their toes, sinking deeper into the mud.

The Tyrumposaurus squatted at the edge of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. He lowered his cagey mug close to the water, pursed his lips like a baby dino and, using his short arms, flicked the water repeatedly toward his mouth. Much of it missed. He coughed and sputtered as water went up his nose. Eventually he swallowed a meager gulp, wheezed loudly and sat back exhausted on his haunches. Drinking was so tiresome. The T-Rump turned to his legal dino, the Dowderpuff.

“Let me get this right, you’re telling me that if I lie, there are consequences? Since when?”

“Since the Muellersavus is acting as special counsel. You are walking straight into a perjury trap.”

“Perjury trap? What the hell is that?”

“Remember how we agreed you would simply deny, deny, deny everything about the 14 lady dinos who accused you of sexual assault … and the Stormydaniels Pornodactyl whom you did. Er, consensually.”

“You’re losing me. One word at a time. You know I don’t read.”

“The ‘D’ word, T-Rump.”

“Donald?”

“No. Deny. Unfortunately this time that’s not going to work. To quote the Puerto Rikiricardo, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

“Since when has that been a problem? You know I can get away with … with … eating my young.”

“Of course. But one small slip-up with the Moscovian Bluffs and you could wind up in the Solitary Sink Hole.”

“Ha-ha. You’re funny.”

The smug grin fell from the T-Rump’s face as he realized the Dowderpuff was serious.

“But we’ve got the questions, right? Tell me we’ve got the questions. We haven’t been playing this Devilnunesmemo game for the time-wasting, evidence-gathering farce it is, right? Bless his courageous, patriotic, only-once-besmirched heart.”

“No questions, but we do have the topics.”

“Great. I’ll just deny the topics.”

“You can’t deny a topic.”

“Watch me.”

The Dowderpuff shook his head.

“My rate just went up another caveful of moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Whatever. I just borrowed a trillion, remember? One Trillion,” he said, putting a claw to his lower lip.

“Wonderful. As your legal dino however, I’m making the call on this one.”

“Fine. Just tell the Mediacircustops that I made the decision. You know how fragile my ego is.”

“On the bright side,” said the Dowderpuff, “you may not even have to meet with the Muellersavus. To justify your being there, we can say his evidence hasn’t met a high-enough threshold.”

“Ha!” said the T-Rump. “I knew a low-level Oval Dwelling was the way to go.”

“One last consideration. He can still send the Subpoenaraptor after you.”

The T-Rump harrumphed.

“If the Bannoncanon can get away with it, so can I.”

“On the other claw, all the Oval Dwelling dinos agree that the Muellersavus won’t have the guts to do it.”

“So, no Subpoenaraptor?”

“Probably not.”

“But I want the Subpoenaraptor. If it’s good enough for the Bannoncanon …”

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Hey. I’m the counter-puncher. And I watch my Foxsquawkbox friends religiously. I’ll show that Littleadamschiff, the Cryingchuck and the Nancypelosionyx for sitting on their claws for my Great List of Excuses Address. The Dacadreamers can wait, the whole damn lot of Dowjonestickers, every one of’em can wait … and this gawd-awful government-thing can just shut right down, because I’m tired of being number two in any Mediacircustops news cycle. Bring on the Muellersavus. Bring on the Subpoenaraptor. Bring on the sun to shine … on … me.”

He clapped his legal dino on the back.

“I’ve got this, Dowderfluff.”

“Ahem. That’s puff.”

“Total vindication! That’s right,” said the Seanhannity, “You heard it here.”

The Sour Palooka was joined by fellow Foxsquawkbox, the Jeaninepirro and the Bradwenstrup, a Grandoldparty dino from Cincy-Pattycake Stakes. The Seanhannity had just received privileged, advance knowledge of the release of the dreaded Devilnunesmemo details. The Foxsquawkbox were bipedaling, er … running with it in front of a large dinosaur audience.

The Devilnunesmemo had shared top secret dino info with the Mediacircustops in the past and was at it again. This time, it was about the Langleytips having the audacity to listen in on the Carterpagealpha converations with the Kayjeebeeops. Their dialogue had only been going on for four years.

The Jeaninepirro leaned forward with her hairy eyeball stare.

“The pillars of our institutions are cracking, crumbling even. Knock’em down and … LOCK’EM UP!”

“That’s all well and good,” said the Seanhannity. “But let’s unpack the meat from the Devilnunesmemo — in all its tasty glory. Our mandate is to show the dinosaurs across the land — and the despicable liberal left Mediacircustops — that this skeleton of information fully exonerates our faithful — most of the time — leader, the Tyrumposaurus. He shouldn’t have to sit through any meeting with the Muellersavus. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, because that isn’t what this is about.”

The Seanhannity smiled broadly at the Bradwenstrup.

“The average dinosaur wants transparency, doesn’t he, Brad?”

“He sure does. We need to see what we’re eating. I’ll use the food analogy here to keep things simple. What we’ve done is cherry pick the information. Oh, sure, the Donkeykongrus may say the Devilnunesmemo is devoid of substance, that there’s no meat on the bones and it’s a two-bite snack causing massive indigestion …”

“LOCK’EM UP!”

“Please, Jeanine, let the Bradwenstrup finish.”

“As I was saying, even though we can’t see all the intestines, the innards, you know, the real guts behind this thing, I’m confident that the devil is in the details. So, logically speaking, that makes the Devilnunesmemo the devil before us.”

“That makes perfect sense,” said the Seanhannity. He turned to the Jeaninepirro who was hyperventilating and hopping on both feet. “Go ahead, Jeanine. Let’er rip.“

She glared at her audience anew.

“I too was a legal dino once upon a time. Then I saw it for the corrupt and unjust system it was. So now I’m just a celebrity judge. I like to mix my serious with pretend. You don’t need all the facts. The Donkeykongrus say they can’t tell you all the details because they’re top secret. Oh, boo-hoo. Do you hear that? They’re keeping secrets,” she hissed. “What are they hiding?”

“Exactly,” said the Bradwenstrup. “We just need to keep up this inquiry. The longer we string this out, the more evidence we allow the T-Rump to see, evidence the Muellersavus is lining up against him in the Russia investigation.”

“No collusion,” said the Seanhannity and the Jeaninepirro on cue.

“Yes,” continued the Bradwenstrup, “just because the T-Rump told some friends that he was releasing the Devilnunesmemo to interfere with the Mueller investigation, that’s no admission of obstruction of justice. He did not say obstruction.”

“Anybody,” said the Jeaninepirro, “and I mean anybody, who dares telling me that interference is the same as obstruction … LOCK’IM UP.”

“Of course,” continued the Seanhannity. “Yes, they could have held the hearings in broad daylight like Water-Floodgate and everybody would know exactly what is going on. But where’s the conspiracy in that? Better to keep this all behind doors in private where you, the audience, allow us to piece it together for you.”

“You heard the Mincepencenow,” said the Bradwenstrup. “He says this raises serious concerns about decisions made at the highest levels of the Deeohjayfolks and the Langleytips.”

“Serious,” echoed the Jeaninepirro, “I love it when the Mincepencenow says ‘serious.’ I lied to him once … just to see him serious. Okay, twice.

“That’s great, Jeanine,” said the Seanhannity. “Remember, it’s just obstruction wrapped in opposition research hidden inside a rabbit hole. That means no one’s talking about the T-Rump and a day without the T-Rump and the Putinodon in the same sentence is a sunny day for all dinosaurs. We’ll leave you now with our humble chorus because, propaganda science being what it is, we need to say it every hour …”

“The Devilnunesmemo is not an attempt to discredit the Mueller investigation,” the good ol’ Sour Palooka, the Jeaninepirro and the Bradwenstrup sang together in perfect harmony, smiling smugly at the audience.

He was a former Grandoldparty dinosaur gone rogue. The Langleytips called him ‘extremely reckless.’ He was the Devilnunesmemo. He’d taken a giant leap for the Tyrumposaurus’ team and cratered bigly. Huge bigly. Ground shaking bigly. When his foot fell from his mouth, it was felt throughout the Milkanhoney Preservation, rattling the very underpinnings below, along the once clean-slate line of the Foundation of Demawkrussy.

The Devilnunesmemo had gone off half-cocked like a stumbling, bumbling, old Milwaukeeraptor, thinking he had so much intelligence when he was still half a walnut shy of a brain.

The Donkeykongrus knew better. They were well aware that many of the Grandoldparty dinos had yet to make it through the age-old evolutional phase called Kommonsense. This was particularly true of the Sayheytreygowdy and the Ronconjobjohnson, who were telling any Mediacircustops they could run down that the Langleytips group was a deep state and secret society — not just the Strzokpeter turning the Lisapagemetonite over .. and over … deep in the bushes.

The Nancypelosionyx was livid. She called it a cover-up. The deadline for the T-Rump to holler, “Release the Sanctionsaurus!” on the Putinodon and every Moscoligarchshark had come and gone. The T-Rump had called the Sanctionsaurus seriously flawed, though the big dino’s bite never failed to leave a mark. The Donkeykongrus were left taking names and pointing claws instead of seeing dismembered limbs strewn about.

Mediacircustops everywhere were left once again scratching their scaly noggins. What did the Putinodon have on the T-Rump?

The Andrewmccabe, the veteran Langleytips, had left town. He’d taken an early retirement, tired of the constant sniping and Trollertweety attacks against him and his wife from the T-Rump. With the news of the Andrewmccabe departure, the Comenyonus had even weighed in, calling the Grandoldparty dinos “small.” This was indeed a stinging rebuke, considering the average dino tipped the scales at twenty tons. Still, the Andrewmccabe pitied the Sessionsopussum and the Rodrosentstein who were left as the T-Rump’s numbers one and two whipping dinos whenever the Winds of Muellersavus whipped up anew.

This was the backdrop for the Tyrumposaurus’ Great List of Excuses Address later that night.

But the antsy Nancypelosionyx had one last thing to say. Regarding the T-Rump, she remarked, “let the attention be on his slobbering self. If his nose isn’t running and he isn’t burping, he did a great speech.”

“What do you mean, no?”

The Tyrumposaurus looked apoplectic.

“What I’m saying,” said the Oval Dwelling’s legal dino, the Donmcgahn, “is that if you fire the Muellersavus, every Donkeykongrus and bipedaling dino from here to the Watergate Strait  will revolt. Unconditionally. It’s called obstruction of justice.”

“It’s called fighting back!”

“It’s called a death march,” said the Rodrosenstein under his breath.

“I don’t believe this,” said the T-Rump. “Are the Cottonmouth and the Purduechicken the only dinos who will defend me?”

The remaining dinosaur in the den, the Sessionsopossum, considered raising a short arm, but thought better of it. The T-Rump would only jump up and down on him repeatedly for recusing himself from the investigation.

“You’ve been telling me no for months,” said the T-Rump. “I hate that word. Has nothing changed?”

“Collusion and conspiracies don’t just, um … go away,” said the Donmcgahn.

“Hey, you’re on my team, remember? There’s no collusion. No conspiracy. Why,” the T-Rump scanned the ground for something small and insignificant. He spotted an acorn. “There’s as much chance of a conspiracy here as this acorn having a monopoly on stairlifts.”

The other dinosaurs had no idea what a stairlift was. They sighed and wrote it off as another ‘covfefe.’ The Sessionsopossum sought to end the awkward moment.

“Unfortunately, the Muellersavus lives such a squeaky clean life, we’ve been unable to add to the three bones of contention — vis a vis our entire conflict of interest case against him.”

“Refresh my memory,” said a bored T-Rump.

“Well, you said that when the Muellersavus goes flogging, he has a terrible back swing.”

“Just awful,” said the T-Rump. “The worst the world has ever seen. That’s one.”

“He was also once grazing in the same grassland as your son-in-law, the Kushneratops, though they never came within a mile of each other.”

“Close enough. That’s two.”

“And the Muellersavus was actually asked to return to the top job with the Langleytips the day before he became head honcho of the Moscovian Bluffs investigation.”

“There you have it,” said the T-Rump, staring down the Donmcgahn. “That’s three. Go ahead. Off you go. Fire him.”

“I will not. I’ll quit first.”

“Don’t stumble on your way out. Stumbling is for losers.”

The Donmcgahn picked up a couple of rocks he was partial too … and turned to exit.

“Wait,” said the T-Rump. “Okay, okay. I’m kidding.”

The Donmcgahn stopped and turned around.

“I’m kidding too. I was only going to the next den to see my legal dino.”

“Oh, well. Be sure and ask him who he voted for, okay?”

The Donmcgahn waddled out without replying. He made his way to another den a short distance away. The T-Rump’s newly opened Grand-Backwash Burrows was only steps away from the Oval Dwelling and had plenty of dens available for the politically powerful in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir.

The Donmcgahn entered the den and stopped in his tracks. His legal dino, the Billyburck from Quinn-Manual-Layburr was not alone. The Bannoncanon and the Priebusunderbus were also in attendance.

“I, uh … thought we’d be alone,” said the Donmcgahn.

“At the moolah-moolah rate I quoted you? Not a chance,” said the Billyburck. “I’m killing a pair o’ pterodactyls with this one. You get a discount and we all keep our stories straight. Don’t tell the T-Rump, but I’m a stable genius too.”

“But you can’t represent us at the same time,” said the Donmcgahn. “It flies in the face of attorney-client privilege. We need confidential meetings.”

“Discount. Stories straight,” said the Billyburck. “Who’s calling the shots here?”

The Donmcgahn shared a worried look with the Priebusunderbus.

“Fear not, fellow dinos,” said the Bannoncanon. “I’m only here because it will stir things up. And I will be able to leak, I mean, speak to the Mediacircustops. About our confidentiality of course.”

More worried looks between the Donmcgahn and the Priebusunderbus and their audible, hollow, swallowing gulps.