Category: Satire

There came a royal knock and the Oval Dwelling occupants quickly rose from their collective squats. The Crown Dino of the Saudisaurae, the Muhammedbensalman, or MBS as the Mediacircustops called him, was visiting the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir on very important business. He entered the cave, his tail rolling regally.

“Welcome, your excellency,” said the T-Rump. “Please, take my seat.”

The Crown Dino sniffed at it before squatting with a frown.

“Hmph. Next time I will need a bigger rock.”

“Of course you will. Call me the Little Rock. It’s all the Crookadillary’s fault.”

“But this isn’t her fault. No, as I look around your den of thieves I see you all have one thing in common.”

The T-Rump grinned smugly. The MBS’s tone changed.

“I’m surrounded by idiots!”

His tail lashed out and around the room. Every dinosaur ducked except for the T-Rump, still grinning, He’d never had to duck before. He took the blow to the back of the head.

“Ow!”

He rubbed his noggin gingerly. MBS tail from left field. Duly noted. His eyes watered but he didn’t cry. He was a big dino now.

The Hogangidley raised his short arm.

“Excuse me, your excellency. You mentioned idiots. Does that include me? I really don’t know anything. That’s right. Nobody tells me anything, except for me to just say, “I’m not sure, uh … we’re not involved and, uh … I’m not aware. There, I remembered all three. Whew.”

The MBS eyed the T-Rump.

“This is the best Oval Dwelling mouthpiece you have?”

“Well, no actually. The Huckabeecyclops and the Kellyanneconvixway both called in sick today. They know what you do to well-meaning Mediacircustops.”

“They’re well-meaning?”

“Of course not. They didn’t want to take a chance.”

“Oh. Well then, what is this I’m hearing about blackmail? And extortion? What kind of amateur hour are you running here?” The MBS glare bore down on the T-Rump.

“It’s a disaster. That’s what it is. I squat, waiting in the Oval Dwelling and nothing happens. Nothing! I have it on good authority from the Foxsquawkbox dinos that it’s all the Donkeykongrus’ fault. The Seanhannity and the Rushlimbaugh complain about those radical, far-left, liberal, socialists all day long. I know. I watch them. Every single mistake — the Donkeykongrus.”

“No, T-Rump. You are the leader. Your mistakes are squatting in front of me.”

“Whatever you say, MBS.”

The Crown Dino turned to the Davidpecker.

“I thought I told you to take care of the Jeffbezos.”

“You did, your excellency. We had him right where we wanted him. We’ve done this dozens of times. Never a slip. We told him he’d have to say our intentions were not politically motivated or we’d reveal those racy footprints in the sand of him and the Laurensanchez.”

“And?”

“MBS, this has never happened before. I promise you. Call it the curse of capitalism — a dino with too many moolah-moolah leaves. That’s it. We, uh … forgot he’s the richest dino in these parts.”

“Shut. Up,” said the T-Rump.

“No, you shut up!” said the MBS. His tail looped around again. The T-Rump ducked this time but forgot the MBS was making a second swipe. Whomp! Once more to the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“Internalize, take it like a dino.”

The T-Rump’s lip zipped. He knew his place.

“Something else, MBS,” the Davidpecker continued. “That damn moral fibre. You’ll have to excuse us. We thought it no longer existed around here but evidently the Jeffbezos still has plenty. Who knew?”

“There is NO excuse for this! Give me one reason why I do not go Khashoggi on you this very minute!”

“Uh, because we’re not in the Middle Eastlands … nor one of your Saudisaurae By-The-Seas?”

“Okay, we will forget about the death penalty for now. Where is your legal dino on this matter?”

The Davidpecker nodded to his representative who stepped forward.

“The Elkanabramowitz, your excellency. I want you to know I appeared before the Mediacircustops today.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them it was a simple Pecker negotiation.”

The MBS eyed him warily.

“Do you know what we do with pecker jokers in the Middle Eastlands?”

The Davidpecker slapped himself in the head, not going unnoticed by MBS.

“You should hit yourself. Harder.”

“No. I just remembered. I had immunity! I was in the clear. Now my sleazy footprints in the sand business is going to go belly-up.”

“Not just yet,” said the MBS. “Not until the authorities go through all your dino catch-and-kill stories.”

“It’s not like that here.”

“That’s the problem. Not enough killing.”

“Your excellency,” begged the Davidpecker. “Let us get back on groveling terms.” He quickly dropped to his knees, nodding to the T-Rump, who joined him on the ground.

“Yes, let’s grovel.”

The Davidpecker looked up at the MBS.

Perhaps I can do another flashy 97 footprints in the sand for you? ”

“No, I cannot be associated with you right now. You have a big mouth and you, Elkanabramowitz, are from the Rudygiuliani mold. Ahem, not a good look.”

The Crown Dino rose to leave.

“T-Rump, when the Davidpecker was granted immunity, he went from being your close friend to a sworn enemy. But you both had the Jeffbezos as an enemy. We now see however, your enemy’s enemy can never be your friend. Still, though you are but a tiny tyrant, a con among cons, keep your Sanctionsaurus away from me and one day, maybe soon, you will feel the press of sweet flesh in a high-five with the Putinodon and me.”

“Yes!” the T-Rump hissed into the dirt.

The Mattwhitaker looked up, surprised at the sight of his mock hearing dino coach, the Rudygiuliani.

“I thought the Jaysekulow was going to prep me.”

“Change of plans. Since the only hope we have of winning this thing is in the court of public opinion, we need to break out our best P.R. weapons. And since the Huckabeecyclops and the Kellyanneconvixway don’t want to be within dripping distance of you, that leaves me.”

He laughed giddily.

“I – I don’t know what to say” said the awed Mattwhitaker, his sweat glands already in fine, free-flowing form.

“That’s not what I wanted to hear. But don’t worry, relax that tail. We’ll be here all night if we have to.”

The Rudygiuliani would be grilling the Mattwhitaker on potential questions the Jerrynadler and his Donkeykongrus tail-waggers might ask the following day of the acting attorney general dino regarding conversations he had with the Oval Dwelling about the Muellersavus investigation.

The Rudygiuliani wrung his hands like he was clutching a small gila monster by the neck.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning. So you sit down in the Oval Dwelling, the T-Rump has absolutely no idea what you’re going to say and you tell him …”

“I’m glad to be there because I want to protect him from the Muellersavus.”

“No!”

“I tell him about all the bad things the Muellersavus can do to him and then how I plan to save him.”

“No!”

“I don’t understand. The T-Rump fired the Sessionsoppossum because he recused himself so I’m not doing that. … I know. Remember when the Brettkavanaugh asked the same question back of the Amyklovachar, if she ever blacked out? I’ll do that. Did you blackout?”

“No, Good god, no.”

“But it worked for him. He’s a supreme court dino now.”

The Jaysekulow poked his head in.

“How’s it going?”

“Dead in the water. He’ll never be ready.”

“But he has to be. The Jerrynadler has a Subpoenasaurus ready to drag him into the hearing.

The Rudygiuliani snapped.

“A Subpoenasaurus! But we haven’t even declined yet! They’re just turning this into a public spectacle!”

“I really don’t mind the face time,” said the Mattwhitaker. “That’s how I got here. I think.”

“Quiet,” said the Jaysekelow. “Can’t you see real minds at work? The Jerrynadler said that sending a Subpoenasaurus for you was necessary because you failed to tell the committee whether we would invoke privilege with respect to the questions they intend to ask about your conversations with the T-Rump about the Muellersavus probe and your decision not to recuse himself from the matter.”

The Mattwhitaker marveled at how a legal dino could speak that long without stumbling.

“Invoking privilege, huh?” said the Rudygiuliani. He turned to the Mattwhitaker. “You feel privileged, kid?”

“In Iowa?”

Rudy brightened.

“Wait a minute, that’s it! We can’t put him out there so, maybe he won’t testify if they’re going to release the Subpoenasaurus on us.”

“Hey!” said the Mattwhitaker. “I spent all this time preparing for nothing?”

“Okay,” said the Rudygiuliani, “so you now know what a Subpoenasaurus is. Whoopee.”

The Jaysekulow shook his head.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Rudy. We cannot do this. If he’s not going to recuse himself, he has to appear. Every dino will know he’s hiding something as soon as he dodges the first question. If he fights the Subpoenasaurus, he’ll be torn to shreds. Face it, the Subpoenasaurus isn’t even necessary if he simply answers the questions.”

“Jay, Jay, Jay. This has always been about delay, delay, delay. We just have to drag this out for another week. Then the Williambarr is confirmed and we can dirt this dino down the Dust Belt.”

“I heard that!”

“Good,” the two legal dinos said together, turning slowly to eyeball him. The acting A.G. grew nervous.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s all part of the master plan,” said the Jaysekulow.

“Ahem, the new master plan,” corrected the Rudygiuliani. “We want you as nervous, as anxious as possible when you speak. We figure with your copious sweat glands in overdrive, no one will remember a word!”

The Super Bowl had arrived in the Mylanta Gorge, a deep, bowl-shaped Georgian valley. It was a yearly celebration, a time when dinos young and old came to behold this spectacle where pigskins filled the air. Pigskins that returned to earth into the waiting jaws of hungry dino combatants. To the victor went the spoils. Literally. Each year an additional pigskin was added to keep sore losers coming back. 53 pigskins would be up for back-biting, face-scratching grabs this year. What a treat.

As part of the pre-game festivities, the Margaretbrennan was set to interview the leader of the free-running dino nation, the Tyrumposaurus.

“Welcome, T-Rump. First off, the news of the day seems to be the decades-old, black mud-faced shenanigans by the Ralphnortham in the Virgin-Yall Commons. Any comments?”

“I ralphed when I swallowed black mud once. Big ralph.” Awkward moment. “Sorry. Is he Grandoldparty or Donkeycongrus?”

“Ahem … Donkeykongrus.”

“Whew. Small miracles. Yes, he should be run out of the Commons … chased right out. I hope some dino catches him and beats him to a pulp. If I can provide a spare legal dino, I will.”

“T-Rump …”

“Excuse me!”

The Huckabeecyclops interrupted her, crashing the interview.

“What the …?” said the T-Rump. “This had better be good. Can’t you see the Mediacircustops before you, catering to my every whim?!”

“I’m sorry, T-Rump. It couldn’t wait. You simply have to hear this.”

“Hear what?”

“I was speaking with the Blue Hair dinos of the Plodding Church of Immaculate Mercy and, well …”

“Go on.”

“I told them that the Dino Gods have us filling different roles at different times and — apart from your many, shady past roles — the Dino Gods wanted you to be our leader. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t that great? I just thought that up. We can run with that, can’t we?”

“Uh, excuse me, Huckabee.” The Margaretbrennan gave her a huffy look then jerked her head sideways, signaling Huckabee should leave. Immediately.

“You mean I can’t stay and glare at you?”

“No.”

With a snort and a roll of her angry eye, the Huckabeecyclops exited but not before pointing to T-Rump while leering at her and saying, “the chosen one. Right there, sister.”

The Margaretbrennan suppressed a scream.

“T-Rump, the Donkeykongrus are hungry for your mytaxes returnus. Are you going to give it to them.”

“Now look, that’s the skin I shed every spring. The skin off my back. I can’t just give it to them. It’s personal. Didn’t you just hear her? The Dino Gods, Margaret. In T-Rump we trust. Get used to it.”

“What about the banks of the River Deutsche where you were seeking more moolah-moolah leaves for one of your flogging grounds during the Crookadillary Campaign? Three sources say you were turned down?”

“Doesn’t matter. The Dino Supreme Court Justice, the Anthonykennedy? His son Justin works there and he got me the moolah-moolah. After the Anthonykennedy stepped down. Sweet deal. Oops. Did I say that? Next question.”

“You just had a partial shut-down of the government for 35 days and you’re staring down the Nancypelosi again, ready to call a national emergency. Why exactly?”

“Plenty of national emergencies have been called. Every day around here is an emergency. I don’t take anything off the table unless it lines my nest. Besides, the Nancypelosi? She is very bad for our nation.”

“Sweet, 78-year-old Nancypelosi?”

“Don’t let her fool you like she’s fooled the dinos who didn’t know what was happening before but now they know exactly what is happening.”

“And what is that?”

The T-Rump yawned.

“Go ask the dinos. She’s costing us billions and dinos are dying all over the place.”

“Anything else?”

“What, billions and death not enough for you?”

“T-Rump, you’re surrounding yourself with ‘acting’ dinos instead of making them permanent. Why is that?”

“I like ‘acting’ because I can move quickly. It gives me more flexibility. And, as the Huckabeecyclops pointed out, I get to play god.”

“With that in mind, have you given any thought to pardoning the Rogerstone?”

“Roger’s quite the character. A real dirty trickster, he and I go way back. But he only worked with the campaign for a few minutes, so there really shouldn’t be anything to pardon him for, if I was thinking of it, that is.”

“There are seven criminal charges against him.”

“It’s a good thing god can do anything. Like me.”

The walls were closing in. Huge granite walls engrained with grit and guilt, suffocating his soul.

The Mattwhitaker had been doing just fine, thank you very much, sailing along, announcing criminal charges against some large Telecommunicus dinos from Chopstickchowmein. Then a young, brash Mediacircustops with a Jaketapperean gleam in his eye had asked about the Muellersavus investigation.

The Mattwhitaker simply couldn’t contain himself. Or his sweat glands. The words poured out like the perspiration streaming down his face.

“I’ve been fully briefed on the investigation and uh, y’know … I look forward to uh, the Muellersavus, um … delivering the final report and I, uh … really am not going to talk, uh … about an open and ongoing investigation otherwise but, y’know, sort of … the statements that I have made were as a puh-puh … um, private dino and only with publicly available information, like public, like where any dino can get it, right? Um … and y’know … I am comfortable that, um … the decisions that were made by, um, whoever, I guess … are going to be, um, reviewed … uh, y’know … looked at anyway, uh … either through the various means we have, which are several, I believe … but right now you know the investigation is, uh, I think, uh … close to being completed, uh, kind of close … and I hope that we can get the report from the Molar, I mean, Muellersavus, as soon as we … as possible.”

He sputtered finally, thankfully, to a stop. His bald head and face were bathed in sweat.

“Are you okay?” asked one Mediacircustops. “You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“Uh, no. Not at all. While we’re talking …” Oh no, he was going to spill the beans again!

The Wilburross and Christopherwray flanked him on either side. The Tyrumposaurus had told him the two high-ranking dinos were only there to give his announcement some much-needed integrity and respect. Hah! He’d show them. The acting attorney general dino had no idea where he was going. The wise, old Wilburross saw his chance, stepped forward and wheezed into his ear.

“You’ve said enough, sonny. You’re not tryin’ to get us all fired, are ya?”

But the Mattwhitaker was in full, flopsweat mode. He struggled onward. This face time was s-o-o-o-o addictive. Like the leaves from the Krazyglue tree.

“Hey, ha-ha … did you hear about the T-Rump telling all his Langleyops dinos that they should go back to school?”

The Christopherwray stepped behind him and gave him a swift kick in the rear. The Mattwhitaker didn’t even feel it, he was so lost in the moment.

“School! Yeah, can you believe it? Geez, I was only with the Sessionsopossum for what, a year? Maybe, uh … maybe I should be the dino going back to school. A show of hands maybe?”

The Mediacircusstops squatting before him were stunned. Not one short arm budged. The Mattwhitaker’s shame-faced honesty had consumed him. It was torture and bliss at the same time. Incredibly, to add to the sweat glistening upon his face, he began crying. Crazy tears for Crazytown.

“And what about the T-Rump Jr. calling out before and after the meeting with those damn Russodinos? Business associates? No. No way.” There came a hitching sob. “Why didn’t he just say so months ago? He’s hiding something, isn’t he? Why all the mystery? Will somebody please talk to me?” More sobbing.

The Wilburross smacked the quaking lunatic upside the head.

“Stop it, sonny! Just stop it! There’s no crying in politics!”

“I’m sorry. I forgot I’m the boss.” He calmed somewhat, drawing himself together. “Okay, maybe, maybe I’ll look into that next.”

He blew his nose into his armpit and promptly forgot. His attention span was markedly shorter than the T-Rump’s. The Mattwhitaker looked out at the Mediacircustops and quickly returned to a world where sweet demons flew around inside his head, demons flashing wide smiles of teeth yellowed from gnawing on ears of Iowan corn cobs.

“Then there’s the Donbeyer and the Tedlieu trying to revoke the Kushneratops security clearance. Where, I ask you, do they get off doing that? I mean, so what if the Carlkline over-rode recommendations against security clearances for 30 other dinos. Only 30? Who cares? Not me!”

The Christopherwray pounced, wrapping both hands around the Mattwhitaker’s neck, trying in vain to put an end to oxygen reaching the dino’s brain. It was no use. The thick-necked dino blinked his wild eyes.

“Speaking of the Kushnerstops, don’t you find it kind of interesting that the T-Rump and the Rudygiuliani threatened the Michaelcohen’s father-in-law … then the Chrischristie reminds us all of the disgusting crime the Kushneratops’ own pop committed? Give me a minute to catch my breath on that. I might call that criminal.”

“WHITAKER!”

Uh-oh. It was the T-Rump. The leader of the dino nation rumbled into the gathering.

The Mattwhitaker’s mouth had finally stopped moving. The once-glistening sweat froze to his face. But the Mediacircustops scarcely took notice. They had the T-Rump before them. A rare site indeed.

“T-Rump,” a Mediacircustops bellowed from the back. “Are you on the same page as him too?”

“Of course not,” the Mattwhitaker blurted out. “He doesn’t even read.”

The Rogerstone spotted a pair of slow-moving salamanders and scooped them up. He offered one to the Jeromecorsi  and they squatted there beside a walk-up, enter-at-your-own-risk Brooklyn Brownstone cave. They were in the Bedrock-Stuyvesant neighbourhood, known to the locals as Corleone Country.

The Rogerstone spit out a salamander leg. Too much protein.

“Everything is going to be okay, Jerome, don’t worry.”

“Did my brother go back?”

The Rogerstone, a trickster dirtier than the Trickydickosaurus, had brought the Jeromecorsi’s brother all the way from his Italiaroma homeland as a bargaining chip.

“Yeah, but don’t worry.”

“He’s ten times more psychic than me, my brother. He thinks the case against us is thicker than poop on a rock.”

“Now I am worried about your brother. He wouldn’t even go out for Caviarraptor legs. Just wanted to go home.”

“That’s my brother. Nothing could get him away from that two-dino town. He coulda been big over here — he could of had his own Subfamily.”

“That’s a lot of poop on a rock.”

“Roger, what do I do now?”

As if on cue, a cloud passed in front of the sun. Chagrin has a shadow. It is the Rogerstone.

“Jerome, you were always interested in politics, in history. I remember you talking about Trickydick back in the day. We were young then.”

“Yeah, I still check out the footprints in the sand. You got four legal dino now. You sure that’s enough?”

“Shut up. I’m telling a story. Ahem … you were around the old dinos who dreamed up how the Subfamilies should be organized, … no rats, no flippers, no weak dinos that would ever break  — and it worked.

“Yeah,” said the Jeromecorsi. “It worked. Those were the great old days. We was like the Italiaroman Empire. But this T-Rump Family? I mean, he’s afraid of the Nancypelosi! A Nancy! Fuhgettaboutit.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

The two dinos sucked on their slippery salamanders, thinking of better days before the Muellersavus had hunted them down. The Rogerstone spoke very gently, his dirty trick art of finesse.

“The Italiaroman Empire … when a plot against the dino leader failed, the plotters — you, me, but specifically you — were always given a chance to let their families keep their huge nests of moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Yeah, but only the filthy rich dinos. The little dinos got knocked off. If they got arrested and executed, all their moolah-moolah went to the dino leader. If they just went home, ate some bad salamander …

The Jeromecorsi stopped in mid-chew.

“Roger?”

“Hey! My words are poison, not my food. Please, finish your salamander. You were saying?”

“Well, the little guy. If they just went home and killed themselves, up front, nothing happened.”

“Yeah, that was a good break. No fuss, a little muss. A nice deal.”

The two dinos looked at each other. The Jeromecorsi gulped. It was a gulp of understanding. He went on.

“And sometimes they went and sat in a hot springs pool and boiled like a frog, kind of like how this whole Muellersavus investigation has been going.”

“Tell me about it.”

“The Boiled Frog Syndrome.” The Jeromecorsi let out a long sigh. “Alright already. Not for nothing, I’m tired of the T-Rump. Maybe I can have a little Boiled Frog Syndrome party.”

The Rogerstone spit out the rest of his salamander. The Jeromecorsi was still chewing on his.

“Don’t worry about anything, Jerome.”

“Thanks, Roger. Thanks.”

There was a loud noise. It sounded like some big, thousand-ton Argentinosaurus banging his tail against the side of the cave. The Rogerstone blinked his eyes open. He’d been dreaming.

More tail banging.

“Come on out, Roger! We’ve got you surrounded!”

It was all hands on deck in the Oval Dwelling for Day 35 of the Shut-down … or the Shut-Show as some Mediacircustops were now calling it. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Even the in-laws had been called in to help boost the Tyrumposaurus’ waning popularity. It was vital they put the proper spin on this to relate better with the average dinosaur at home in his cave starving to death. The T-Rump spoke first, lest some dino by accident might say the same words and steal his thunder.

“Those dinos out of work will make adjustments. I know they will. I also know for a fact they spend every waking hour of every day praying for me and my Great Tex-Mex Divide.”

“They certainly are,” said the Laratyrump. “Sure, it’s a little bit of pain, but it’s going to be for the future of our dino nation and their dino tots and their dino tots’ dino tots, and generations after them will thank them for going hungry right now. Dinos know, you know.”

She gave the Kevinhassett a high-five, who continued the fake sympathy.

“And not only that, why, it’s like these dinos are on vacation! They don’t have to work, they’re not getting docked vacation days … I mean, does anybody think we should do this more often?”

“Easy, Kevin,” said the T-Rump. “I like your enthusiasm but I’ve got one Rudy already. Wilbur, you’re a man of 700 million moolah-moolah leaves, you dirty dino, you. What secrets could you share with our Shutdown shut-ins?”

The 81-year-old Wilburross hobbled over from his favorite wheezing position in the corner.

“Well, I just find it hard to fathom why these dinos don’t simply venture out and get a loan. Because right now I’m offering a dino-belly low 9 percent interest rate — this week only — to any dino who wants a month’s pay on the spot. You might want to take advantage of this right away because I just might die soon. You never know.”

The T-Rump clapped his hands.

“That’s great everyone. Great job. Let’s get these talking points out there right away. With Rudy out there flapping his gums and Kellyanne saying the wall is not a wall, this is great obfu– … uh, obfu — … Stephen, help me.”

“Obfuscation,” said the Stephenmillerus.

“T-Rump,” said the Kellyanneconvixway, “that lunatic Lannydavis wants to censure you and have Rudy arrested for witness tampering. That is s-o-o-o-o low … how dare they compare us to Mafiasaurae.”

“Hmm.” The T-Rump paused. “Does the Lannydavis have a father-in-law?”

“He’s dead, boss,” said the Stephenmillerus.

“Damn. Oh well, at least I’m not going to die.”

Most of the dinos in the room believed him.

“Oh,” said the T-Rump. “Before I forget, is there anything the Russodinos need done while we’re in this shutdown? Something to make us at least look busy?”

“Not really,” said the Huckabeecyclops, “but on that note, the Rachelmaddow said that the shutdown was part of their master plan. How can you believe that left-wing, string-bean Mediacircustops?”

“You’re talking to me now, Huckabee,” said the T-Rump. “That means the Muellersavus is getting closer. Would someone go wind Rudy up?”

“T-Rump, I’ve got it!”

“What is it, Stephen?”

“I’ve got a way for us to end the shut-down, get your Great Tex-Mex Divide done and draw attention away from the Russodinos as instigators of this shut-down.”

“Too many details. You lost me.”

“We can do this! It’s so crazy, it just may work.”

“I like crazy. Go on.”

“We use the National Emergencies Act and simply declare a national emergency.”

“What about Nancy? She’s just going to say no. Sometimes late at night, she scares me, you know.”

“It’s like this, boss. No leader has ever been as … uh, outside-the-box? … as you. The act doesn’t define what a national emergency even is, but once you declare it, all kind of moolah-moolah becomes available.

“Moolah-moolah?”

“That’s right. We can grab 3-and-a-half billion from the Meteor Defense Fund. You know, that money set aside for the Big One?”

“Right,” said the T-Rump. “Good riddance to those nervous Nellies scampering around whining, ‘the end is near.’”

“Then there’s another 3 billion in civil works funds, like when we pushed those boulders into the river so we could cross, remember?”

“Sure. Bridges. Walls. Same thing.”

“Let’s not forget 680 million from the Treasury forfeiture funds.”

“Hey!” roared the T-Rump. “That was already my moolah-moolah. I’m beginning to like this!”

“And finally, 200 million from Homeland Security.”

“Why not? We can take that right out of the Kirstjennielsen’s budget. She can do without. So many others are. Tell her it’s a penalty because she still hasn’t tracked down all those migrating Latinonacho dino tots. Be sure to have Kellyanne leak that to the Mediacircustops.”

The T-Rump sat back on his haunches and sighed triumphantly.

“Great job, Stephen. I’ll show Nancy who’s boss. No speech? We’ll see about that. She can’t touch my national emergency. It’s all mine. Because nobody shuts down the T-Rump.”

“That’s a winner, boss.”

The Stephenmillerus kicked one heel against the other and backed away from his latest footprints in the sand. It was a speech to commemorate the Tyrumposaurus’ second year in power. The T-Rump sniffed at it.

“Are you going to run through it?” asked the Stephenmillerus. “Maybe once?” 

“I never have before. Why should I now?”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

As a charter member of the sycophant sideshow, it always came down to what far-right fiasco had he done lately. The goal was to stay off the T-Rump’s dreaded Enemies List, the bottom-feeders of his own followers. The Stephenmillerus would live to smirk another day.

The T-Rump nodded approvingly.

“I know what you’re capable of, Stephen. You’re the most despised, the most despicable speech writer I have. That’s why you’re here.”

“Thank you.” The Stephenmillerus’ cheeks turned bright red. The Huckabeecylops snickered at the sight of him blushing.

The government shutdown was 31 days old, the longest in dinosaur history. There had been no moolah-moolah leaves for 800,000 dinos for too long. Some were beginning to rethink their once lofty position on the prehistoric food chain.

“You’d better not mention anything about starving dinos in here,” the T-Rump warned.

“You mean I have to take out ‘let them eat bark?’”

A smirk from the Huckabeecyclops told the T-Rump that the Stephenmillerus was indeed kidding.

Within the hour, the clearing had filled up with dinosaurs of all stripes, the dignified, the undignified and those who just loved to dig. Many Grandoldparty dinos kept their heads down, having swallowed their pride for so long, now hoping to simply be swallowed up in the crowd as faceless, nondescript swamp creatures. The sharp eyes of the Mediacircustops however, would pick them out. It was a genetic trait of their species.

The T-Rump stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Four scandals and two years ago, I brought my family into this Oval Dwelling — a step down from my usual digs … conceived in limestone and dedicated to the proposition that all dinos are not created equal. At least not while I’m here.”

“Now we are engaged in a great shutdown, testing whether the Nancypelosi, or the Cryingchuck — so radically right — can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield, greater than any the Obamarus ever saw. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, just enough to extend the Great Tex-Mex Divide as far as I can get away with, so that the dino nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that I should be the dino to do this.”

“But, in a larger sense, I’m talking about myself again, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow — this ground to the Latinonachos. No. Absolutely not. 11 million dinos have already illegally migrated. Blame the Donkeykongrus on their poor power to detract.”

“Dinos throughout the land will take note, though they may not have a personal stake in what happened here, they can never forget that I was here. Because I won’t let them. It is for them to remember that I was here to dedicate the unfinished work that the Nancypelosi and the Cryingchuck screwed up. It now falls into my lap to get the job done because I’m the only one, the only stable genius who knows how.”

“It is rather for you to be here to appreciate the great task remaining before me — that from these Latinonachos stopped dead in their tracks, we take increased devotion to that cause for which they tried to sneak past us, the slithering reptiles they are. We here highly resolve that isolationism and nationalism shall not have died in vain — that this dino nation, under my leadership, shall have a new birth of T-Rumpism — and that government of the dinos, by the T-Rump, for the T-Rump, shall not perish from the Milkanhoney Preservation. Ahem. You may thank me now.”

The Bushfortythree turned to his wife.

“That was some weirder shit.”

Inside the Oval Dwelling, the Huckabeecyclops’ mood was somber. Her lazy, wandering eye found the Tyrumposaurus.

“Blessed be the fruit,” she said.

“Alright already, Huckabee,” said the T-Rump. “And stop looking at me like that. I didn’t drive you to religion. Give your head a shake and squat. The Mincepencenow has an official status report on the Middle Eastlands. Mike?”

“Yes, oh, esteemed T-Rump. I can say with absolute, complete and total certainty that our fine dinosaur forces have put a triumphant end to the Isisasaurus threat.

Two nanoseconds later there came a great roar of clashing dinosaurs in the distance. Horrific shrieks and the painful wails of mortal dino combat filled the cave, causing the T-Rump to shudder.

“What is it, Mike?”  

“I’m sorry, T-Rump, but that was the unmistakable sound of several of our own brave dinos being senselessly slaughtered by rebel Isisasaurus.”

“Great, you idiot. Why’d you have to go and say that?”

“But you said.”

“That’s right,” said the T-Rump. “I said. I can get away with anything. But you. One sentence and you make a mess of it. No wonder every dino lies to you.”

“Every one?”

“Newsflash, Mike. Even me.”

The Mincepencenow was crestfallen. His shoulders slumped and a single dino tear rolled down his cheek.

The T-Rump shook his head.

“Why is everybody so sad? None of you appreciate chaos. You really don’t. Steven, what’s up with the Donkeykongrus? Tell me they all caught hoof-and-mouth disease and are gravely ill.”

The Stephenmillerus smirked.

“Unfortunately not, T-Rump. However, we do have an issue. The Nancypelosi is forcing us to move your State of the Preservation Address to sometime after the shutdown. Some poppycock about it not looking good for you to pat yourself on the back while dinos are starving.”

“Why that … that …” The T-Rump grabbed the Stephenmillerus by the throat. “I want you to find me a dino who knows a terrible, horrible, derogatory word that rhymes with Pelosi, you got that?”

“Gulp. Yes, T-Rump.”

“What are we going to do with her in the meantime? I want her to feel pain.”

The Huckabeecyclops forgot religion and brightened.

“She was planning a trip to see our fighting dinos in the Afghan Sandstand.”

“Big deal,” said the T-Rump. “What good is that?”

The Stephenmillerus clapped his hands.

“She bumped your speech. You bump her trip.”

The T-Rump beamed.

“What would I do without you two? I’m serious. You do know they’re going to throw you both in the Solitary Sinkhole when this is over.”

The two conniving cohorts looked at each other.

“But what a ride!” they sang together.

“Okay, so, while you’re at it,” said the T-Rump. “Cancel the trip to Daveys.”

“Davos,” said the Stephenmillerus.

“Right.”

“But you don’t have to,” said the Huckabeecyclops.

“Nonsense! I didn’t want to go anyway. If I can’t have a secret meeting with the Putinodon, why bother?”

“Uh, T-Rump?”

“What now, Huckabee?”

“Did you know that the Williambarr and the Muellersavus are, um … friends?”

“What?! Why am I finding out about this now? I spend all this time lying about the Comeyonus being friends with the Muellersavus and now my new attorney general dino actually is. How did this happen?”

“Remember the No Vetting Rule you put in place two years ago?”

“Ancient history. But don’t change a thing. We don’t have time for that. Hell, we don’t even have dinos for that.”

“We need more dinos to keep up with this breaking news,” the Stephenmillerus said almost proudly. “The Michaelcohen blabbed about those two polls you rigged for 50,000 moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Yes. Hmm. I’m thinking family.”

A confused look from the Dino of Deportation.

“Not my family,” said the T-Rump. “The Michaelcohen’s family. Hit him where it hurts.”

“Oh, I think he just hit us where it hurts.”

“How so?”

The Stephenmillerus paused. The kind of pause signaling profoundly bad news.

“He told the Mediacircustops that you told him to lie to the Kongrus Kave about your proposed luxury caves in the Moscovian Bluffs. They have the footprints in the sand to prove it. It’s a crime, T-Rump. They finally got you!”

The T-Rump grabbed his chest. His eyes rolled over. He fainted, falling forward in a perfect face plant.

A rumbling roar in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir rose to a crescendo of patriotic proportions, echoing throughout the land as dinosaurs young and old turned their tonsils to the skies to proclaim …

“Praise be!”