Category: Satire

“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.

Stepping lively down the path, a dino with a date, the Muellersavus approached the Langleytips Private Den. It was an area off the beaten dinosaur path, with nondescript bushes, trees and a few knee-deep swamps, the kind most dinosaurs avoided, save for snowflakes like the pampered Pamparaptor, destined to naively stroll into extinction.

The Muellersavus had no time for snowflakes. He was a member of the hard-shelled Titano-investigatus species, prepared to chew gaping holes in whatever defense the Tyrumposaurus had built through lies, deceit and his fleet of Trollertweeties. The Muellersavus vowed there would be dinosaur justice for all, or at least as far as the blood sprayed.

Today was shaping up to be a very juicy day. The Muellersavus looked forward to staring down the Bannoncanon, grilling the former T-Rump chief strategist about all things T-Rump.

Spotting his prey behind a bush at their designated meeting place, the Muellersavus licked his lips and flexed his pointy shoulder blades, a telltale sign that he was about to stick it to you. Accompanied by a Subpoenasaurus, the best tracking dinosaur in the land, the Bannoncanon stepped forward, cheeks flushed with the most peculiar, disarming smile.

“Tis a fine day for toppling a dynasty.”

The Muellersavus eyed the Bannoncanon carefully. Had he been nipping from the wrong end of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir already?

“Good morning,” the Muellersavus offered. “You’re here awfully early.”

“I’ve been waiting two hours … and I cleared out my schedule for the next week. I’m as eager as a Sessionsopussum saying he can’t remember. Say, thanks for sending the Subpoenasaurus after me. It’ll help make it look like I’m trying to get back in Trump’s good graces. For the umpteenth time. Fortunately, he can’t recall what happened yesterday. I’m sure he’s already forgotten everything I told the Michaelwolff. I was wondering …”

“Yes?”

“Could you say a few nasty things about me to the Mediacircustops, to show the T-Rump I’m not cooperating? And how much you hate me? You know, something like I’m a sh*thole in a sh*thouse. Nothing says loyalty like that, while reminding him I stand beside him on the migration route policy. He’ll eat it right up.”

“I’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“I’m Pocahantas living in a hut?”

“Now you’re mixing metaphors.”

“Like he’s going to notice.”

The Muellersavus’ grave face said not a chance. He waved off the Subpoenasaurus and the two dinos hunkered down to business.

“Let’s begin,” said the Langleytips  legend. “What did the T-Rump tell you about the T-Rump Jr. meeting taken with the Kayjeebeeops while the T-Rump was campaigning?”

“Oh, right. The babies. The T-Rump told me he didn’t want to get germs from kissing baby dinos but if the Kushneratops, T-Rump Jr. and the Manaforta could tell the Putinodon that the Milkanhoney Preservation would take all the Moscovian Bluffs baby dinos they could export, the T-Rump was positive the Putinodon would say something nice about him. That’s all he wanted. To be noticed by the Putinodon. What a maroon.”

“And what did the Kayjeebeeops say?”

“They told the T-Rump no dice. They had more dirt on him than they had on the Crookadillary and they wanted to keep it that way.”

“Were there any moolah-moolah leaves being washed here or the Cypress Spygrass, the in the Moscovian Bluffs?

“Moolah-moolah, here, there, everywhere … but don’t go looking at the T-Rump’s moolah-moolah. Don’t cross that line. Oh, no. Don’t you dare.” He jokingly waggled a claw at the Muellersavus.

“Ahem. I already did. In your mind, was there any collusion between the T-Rump and the Putinodon?”

“Let’s just say the T-Rump defines collusion as a solid working relationship.”

“Really?”

“As sure as the Dickydurbin tells the truth.”

“What about the Tyvankanatrix and the Kushneratops?”

The Bannoncanon fell back with a snorting laugh that led to a loud coughing fit. His nose turned a crimson red.

“You mean the answer to the Middle Eastlands? And the T-Rump Jr.’s sister, who threw him under the Priebusunderbus so she wouldn’t dirty her pretty claws? Those two only think about the common working dino when it’s time to collect the rent.”

“Is it true that the Stephenmillerus wrote most of the T-Rump’s speeches?”

“You’re going to throw him in the Solitary Sink Hole for that? Wow. I’ll set’em up, you knock’em down.”

“Why do you think the Stephenmillerus is so angry with the Mediacircustops?”

“You think he’s angry now? Wait til the Flakenator compares the T-Rump to the Stalinator.”

The Muellersavus knew he’d be here for days.

“Have you seen the Hopehicksbagotrix?” he asked. “She seems to have gone missing.”

“Are you kidding? Every dinosaur on the T-Rump team always looked to have one foot out the cave. Maybe she felt sorry for the Lewandowsky or the Scaramoochkin or the latest staff member with a failing marriage. They scraped the bottom of the food chain dry. It was beginning to look like the Fall of the Roaming Empire.”

The Muellersavus had long stopped shaking his head in disbelief. He had a mind like a steel trap that cracked all walnuts before him.

“Say,” said the Bannoncanon. “What do I need to tell you to get the Huckabeecyclops thrown in the Sinkhole until her eye is as red as my nose? I’m sure the Mediacircustops would then name me dino of the year.”

The Muellersavus allowed a rare smirk.

“We all know how that turned out.” 

It was the daily JABBER — Just Another Blow-Back Emergency Response — meeting in a side cave to the Oval Dwelling. The Hopehicksbagotrix, the Kellyannconvixway, the Stephenmillerus, the Jasonmillerus and the Marinegunkelly were all in attendance. The latest threat to toppling the T-Rump reign had come from his own mouth. During a migration route meeting with Grandoldparty and Donkeykongrus dinos, he’d referred to the Hayshun Nation and Africana regions as “sh*thole areas”. He preferred dinosaurs migrating from Morenorway.

“I can’t believe he said it,” said the Hopehicksbagotrix. “It’s not him.”

“C’mon, Hope,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Join the program. Sh*thole. Just say it.”

You are what you say, mused the Marinegunkelly, his right claw scratching his wrinkled chin.

“Leave her alone, Stephen,” said the Kellyannconvixway. “Look, it’s just another day, another meteorite explosion.” No one bothered asking why they were always at ground zero. “We need to just wrap our walnut brains around this, come up with a logical explanation to feed the Mediacircustops. We know it’s all about the Mediacircustops. That’s all the T-Rump cares about. Because tomorrow we’ll be right back here talking … maybe talking about the end of Why Kinky Beach. Who knows?”

The Marinegunkelly realized it was time to give this meeting a wide berth. The Kellyannconvixway reminded him of a low-lying lizard that had nipped his tail in the Persian-Gaff War and then denied it. He still remembered the lizard saying curtly, “No, I didn’t,” as the blood dripped from her mouth. He wasn’t going to provide one syllable of input to this moronic discussion. He rose to leave.

“What? You can’t go anywhere,” said the Jasonmillerus. “You’re in this with the rest of us.”

“I have battle scars,” he said in a haunting tone that made them shudder. “And I have to point the Kushneratops in the right direction. He always forgets his way to the Middle Eastlands.”

The others nodded matter of factly. The Marinegunkelly retreated from the meeting.

“Boys?” said the Kellyanneconvixway.

“Yes, well … uh,” stammered the Jasonmillerus. He spit out a walnut shell. His cheeks appeared to be constantly stuffed with them. He’d heard from a brooding Brachiosaurus that eating nuts made you smarter. “The T-Rump was anticipating these dinosaurs coming to him with a migration plan. It was obviously unacceptable and he was upset. There was some salty language.”

“He said sh*t, not salt,” said the Kellyanneconvixway. She shared a knowing look with the Hopehicksbagotrix.

“Look,” said the Stephenmillerus, “am I the only one that sees this? Dinosaurs are just going to have to accept the T-Rump for the racist, vulgar, back-stabbing, bigoted boor he is.”

“Stop it, Stephen. Just stop it.” The Hopehicksbagotrix held up a finely manicured claw. 

The Kellyanneconvixway marveled at it. The Tyvankanatrix had discovered the Hopehicksbagotrix at a claw spa near Hell’s Kitchen. After telling her father about her, the T-Rump and the Hopehicksbagotrix had been inseparable. She stared down the Stephenmillerus.

“That is precisely the bad boy dino-speak we do not need.”

“Who are you calling a Hollywood-Access Bush Pig?”

The Stephenmillerus turned to the Jasonmillerus.

“C’mon, Jason. Let’s go find a Mediacircustops to beat on. I’m so angry I could eat a Wolfblitzer.”

The two dinos, eyes red with testosterone, trudged off.

The two remaining lady dinos clutched claws and sighed.

“You’re one brave dinosaur,” said the Kellyanneconvixway. 

“Well,” said Hope, “we have our little secret. We know the T-Rump would rather deal with women than men. So … I’ve come up with three options for us to handle the T-Rump’s unfortunate comment.”

“Oooh. I shudder just thinking of that word.”

“Alright then. Instead of “S-H-I-T-hole,” we can say the T-Rump meant to say … The poop on the migration he received was hollow. … Or … This is a lot of crap about the depression that the Crookadillary caused.”

“Blame it on the Crookadillary. That’s always good. He’ll like that.”

“Or … He meant to say the migration policy was simply droppings into the void.”

“Hopehicksbagotrix! The T-Rump is going to love being a poet.”

“Yes, he will want to ensure his legacy one word at a time.”

“All rise.”

The dinosaurs gathered around the flat, circular rock tablet rose as one.

“Now sit.”

The dino crowd promptly sat.

“Rise again,” said the smiling Tyrumposaurus. “I love doing this. Okay, sit.”

He was exercising his power. Because he could. The morning meeting with two dozen dinosaurs in the Oval Dwelling included Grandoldparty and Donkeykongrus dinos, all there to discuss the Big Issue. The T-Rump and his governing cronies were running out of moolah-moolah leaves. They had to make a decision on that, the Dacadreamers, new dinosaur migration routes and what to do with the T-Rump’s greatest campaign promise, the Great Tex-Mex Divide.

The Mercedeschlapper, the T-Rump’s latest chief strategist, jumped to her feet.  

“At the end of the day, the T-Rump will solve this problem! He will, you just watch!”

“Thank you, Mercedes,” the T-Rump said with a sideways smirk. “Yes, I will solve everything today because I am, like, really smart. My walnut is just a little bit bigger than the rest of yours. Who am I kidding? A lot bigger. Don’t ask me how I know. I just know that I am a stable genius. Look at how my hind legs support me.”

He rocked back and forth on his legs for good measure.

“Very stable.”

The Marinegunkelly stayed close behind him as a precautionary measure.

“My opening remarks have put you all well on your way to figuring this all out. I expect results. Because I’m, like, really smart.”

The Mercedeschlapper jumped up.

“Correction, by lunchtime, the T-Rump will solve this problem.”

“Thank you, again, Mercedes. I hope your husband appreciates you. I really do.”

The Mercedeschlapper blushed.

“Now then,” he said. “Where was I? Stephen? That must be your cue.”

The Stephenmillerus leaned forward, set his jaw and stared down his nose at as many Donkeykongrus dinos he could in a single snort.

“In case you forgot, I destroyed that left-wing, liberal lamebrain Jaketapper the other day and …”

“You ignoramus,” said the T-Rump.

“Sub Family of the ignoramus,” corrected the Stephenmillerus.

“Not that,” said the T-Rump, “We’re her to discuss the, uh …” He turned to the Mercedeschlapper and got lost in her headlights.

“The Big Issue, T-Rump,” said the Marinegunkelly.

“Hey,” said the Stephenmillerus, “I’m leading the discussion here, thank you very much. I outrank you.”

“Excuse me?” The Marinegunkelly snarled and pawed the ground.

“Don’t crack a scale. I’m talking seniority. I was here when you were still suffering from P.T.S.”

“Hmph. I never suffered from post traumatic stress.”

“No. Political Type Stuff.”

“You too?” said the T-Rump.

The Luisgutierrez, a Chicagoland Donkeykongrus pointed a claw at the Marinegunkelly.

“You lied. You promised the Mexicodino Dacadreamers could stay.”

The T-Rump brightened.

“The dreamers! You know … the uh, dinos … and their dreams.”

There was a hush. The dinosaurs all gaped slack-jawed at their leader. This was of course the Mercedeschlapper’s cue.

“Any minute now, the T-Rump will solve this problem.”

“You don’t have to be so specific,” said the T-Rump. A worried frown from her.

“And?” he said.

“You’re, like, really smart.” She finished with a flourish.

The Stephenmillerus was not about sweetness however. He sized up the Marinegunkelly.

“You lied to the Luisgutierrez.”

“He’s a Donkeykongrus.”

“I don’t care if he’s Hezbollan-Ayatollan. The Jaketapper was just a tune-up. We haven’t had some good infighting in two days. I am dinosaur. Hear me roar!”

It was a half-roar at best, followed by a whine, a sniffle, and his awkward half-chuckle. Audio difficulties aside, he charged at the Marinegunkelly. Twice his age but twice as wise, the elder chief of staff stuck out his foot, sending the Stephenmillerus sprawling into a tall stack of rocks. The highest rock, a foot wide, flipped off the top, landing on the Stephenmillerus’ head.

“Ow!”

A baseball-sized lump sprang from his bald noggin.

“That’s it!” said the T-Rump.

“He solved it!” shouted the Mercedeschlapper, giddily jumping up and down. “The T-Rump solved it!”

“Of course I did. But hear me out any way. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re all going down to the Great Tex-Mex Divide.”

“Then what?” asked the Stephenmillerus.

“We’re going to use your head.”

“Well, heh-heh … what can I say? I’m honored you’re finally acknowledging my expertise.”

“I said your head.”

“I, uh … don’t understand.”

“You and the Marinegunkelly are going to fight a pitched battle beside a stack of rocks. There will be a nice long line of Dacadreamers there.”

The T-Rump placed his claw on the Stephenmillerus’ shoulder.

“Look, just because you’re a loser doesn’t make you a loser.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Marinegunkelly is a veteran. He’s a winner. You, on the other hand.”

“A loser,” the Stephenmillerus repeated, as if taking an oath.

“Couldn’t agree more,” said the T-Rump. “That means all the time, now. Before he throws you into the stack of rocks, the next Dacadreamer in line calls out if the top rock is going to land top side or bottom side up. If they’re correct, they get to stay in the Milkanhoney Preservation. If they’re wrong, they move in with the Mexicodinos and pay 100 moolah-moolah leaves for the Great Tex-Mex Divide. Am I stable genius or what?”

“What about my head?” The Stephenmillerus gently massaged his large bump and winced.

But the T-Rump had already forgotten about him. The leader of the Trumpassic Period turned to the Mercedeschlapper.

“You know, I can have you hide behind a rock right over there. Then I’ll meet with your husband a short distance away. I’ll talk about other lady dinosaurs with him. He may be a nice dino but I know you’ll be disappointed in what he says. Because, you know, I’m like …”

“Really smart?”

The Ryanlizzard took a gulp from the stagnant green gunk otherwise known as Ye Olde Watering Hole. It was an escape from the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir for the truly down and out. The disgraced Mediacircustops dinosaur was drowning his sorrows, a month after being exiled from the species for putting his tail where it shouldn’t be.

Prior to that transgression, he’d been a damn good Mediacircustops, even getting the scoop of the summer when the Scaramoochkin had staggered up to him behind a Pignut Hickory and unloaded on the Tyrumposaurus team with a profanity-laced tirade, chock-full of suggestive dino body parts. The Scaramoochkin was soon after exiled by the Marinegunkelly. The mini-mouthpiece had lasted all of ten days in the Oval Dwelling.

There was a ripple in the green gunk. The Ryanlizzard turned to his right where the Michaelwolff was lapping up dirty water like nobody’s business.

“Hey, said the Ryanlizzard, “leave some for the unemployed.”

The Michaelwolff came up for air.

“You should cheer up. Have another drink. Celebrate with me.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Oh, that’s right, I almost forgot. You’ve been exiled. You’re, uh … not up-to-date anymore. Such tragedy for a former Mediacircustops.” He frowned, shaking his head.

“You … you bring news?” asked the Ryanlizzard.

“Well, let’s just say I’ve had unfettered access to the Oval Dwelling for months.”

“Un-f-f-fettered access? F-f-for months?”

He was awestruck.

“200. Count’em. 200 interviews,” boasted the Michaelwolff.

“But how?”

“Easy. It takes a rat to catch a rat. I told the T-Rump they needed someone to witness the campaign and his early days as a leader … and I was their down-in-the-dirt dino.”

“Ingenious. Do tell.”

“Oh, we don’t have all day … I’m going to take this fire and fury story on the road. But here’s a little snippet.”

The two dinos took another swig of green gunk and the Michaelwolff launched into his wide-eyed tale …

The T-Rump had gathered in the Oval Dwelling with his nearest, dearest and of course most loyal. There was the Manaforta, the newly appointed campaign manager; the T-Rump Jr.; the Kushneratops with the Ivankanatrix; and T-Rump’s ever-present aide, the Hopehicksbagotrix.

They were mulling over how to feed the Lewandowski to the Mediacircustops.

The Lewandowski was a Simplebattery Dinosauriform.  That is, a reptile waiting for official dino status. He’d been recently exiled back to his wife and four little dinos in the Newhampshire-Drugg Den following a power struggle with the Manaforta. During his time in the Oval Dwelling however, the Lewandowski, had managed to share the shadows with the Hopehicksbagotrix for, ahem … dino dalliances. It was on again, off again. Depending on the shadows.

“How did we ever wind up with a reptile like that?” asked the Manaforta. “Why, he doesn’t know any Kayjeebeeops, not one from the Moscovian Bluffs.”

“He’s an arm grabber!’ snapped the Kushneratops, referring to an incident in the Neverglades when the Lewandowski had been sternly reprimanded for roughly grabbing the arm of an attending Mediacircustops.

The Kushneratops returned to squatting. He turned to the Ivankanatrix and she sent him one of her wistful, wondrous smiles, reward for his sounding like the dangerous dinosaur she dreamed him to be.

“T-Rump Jr.?” said the T-Rump.

“I can’t think of bigger lies, but that exactly goes to show you what the Donkeykongrus and the Crookadillary will do. They will lie and do anything to win.”

“Never mind,” his father sighed.

“T-Rump,” begged the Hopehicksbagotrix, “I do hope you’ll say a few good things about the Lewandowski. I mean, I seem to recall. Yes, I believe there were a few.”

“Why? You’ve already done enough for him. You’re the best piece of tail he’ll ever have.”

The Hopehicksbagotrix put her claws to her mouth, copious amounts of mucus streaming through her nostrils. She honked twice and scampered out of the Oval Dwelling, short arms waving, her tail wagging between her legs.

The T-Rump turned to watch her exit.

“Was it something I said?”