“Honey! Can you take out the garbage?”
The Michaelzeldin frowned. He didn’t have time for this. Granted, the recently implemented DUMP program (Dinosaur Un-Munched Parts) had indeed kept the stench down.
Author: David Belisle
I'm a novelist and screenwriter in search of the Great Guffaw. It's kind of like getting hit with a bucket of Gatorade. It's a good time that sticks with you.
That Flippin’ Rickyprisongates …
The Manaforta stared at the hairy grama and sighed. The small patch of wildgrass was all he had to stare at since the Muellersavus had placed the moolah-moolah washing, ex-campaign manager under cave arrest four months earlier. …
Business as Usual …
“Why are you always picking on me?”
Standing beside the T-Rump Jr. and the Huckabeecyclops, the Kushneratops had his bottom lip tucked over his top lip.
13 Russodinos …
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.
Yankeewhite Security …
The Yankeewhite nibbled nervously on a Caviaraptor leg. He shouldn’t be here. He was the Trumpassic security dino, in charge of determining which dinos should be holding court with the Tyrumposaurus. …
Ethics with the Richardpainter …
“Trump?! I know you’re in there. Come on out!”
A groggy-eyed Tyrumposaurus rose from his mid-morning nap. He’d sent out his fleet of Trollertweeties on a tweeting foray against those damned Donkeykongrus …
