Category: The Trump Dig

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Satire The Trump Dig

“He’s dying anyway.”

Walk it back. Walk it back. The Huckabeecyclops mumbled the words to herself as she plodded backwards down her favorite garden path outside the Oval Dwelling. It was her morning mantra saved for the soothing peace and quiet away from the angry glares of those menacing Mediacircustops — damn them! They only got up each morning to make her look bad. All she was trying to do was give the unwitting public the skinny. That is, the barest necessity of truth. Unwitting was a good thing. The new normal. Only tell them what they needed to know. Transparency with a semi-gloss.

Meanwhile inside the Oval Dwelling, the chief of staff, the Marinegunkelly, busied himself prepping the Tyrumposaurus for his upcoming meeting with the Kimjongadon.

“So, I can’t stress this enough … you’ll make no mention of Rocketman, no fire and fury comments and absolutely no boasting that you have the bigger belly button.”

“You’re really tying my hands here.”

“It’s called negotiation.”

“But name calling, bullying, threats … those are my strengths,” said a flustered T-Rump. “I have to get in the first shot. It’s how I trudge.”

“You want the Nuclearballisticus off the table.”

“Yes, but somebody told me that the Kimjongadon had his brother killed … and his uncle. What if I look at his sister the wrong way?”

“Then don’t look at her.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t know the difference between embarrassment and distraction.”

“I said I was sorry.” It was the Marinegunkelly’s turn to frown. He recently pulled a giuliani by saying one thing to the Mediacircustops when he meant another. The Russodino probe was seriously eroding the Oval Dwelling, T-Rump tail lash by tail lash against the wall.

“I really need this,” said the T-Rump. “I can taste that Nobelpeacepiper.”

“I’m afraid that’s off the table.”

“What?!”

“Remember you decided to move the Middle Eastlands Dino Diplomat Den to Jerusalem’s Lot? The Kushneratops and the T-Vanka are smiling for the Mediacircustops as 41 dinos have died in the rioting. So far.”

“Ah. T-Vanka. She’s such an attractive dino, isn’t she?”

“Uh, T-Rump. 41 dead dinos? That’s a ‘no’ on the Nobelpeacepiper.”

“Well, this is all a waste of time,” the T-Rump fumed. “Why should I meet with the Kimjongadon if I’m not going to win the Nobelpeacepiper? What’s in it for me? It makes no sense.”

Outside the Oval Dwelling, the Huckabeecyclops, still walking backwards mumbling her walk-it-back mantra, bumped into the Kellystadler, an Oval Dwelling staffer.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” said the Huckabeecyclops, “You almost made me step on that down-and-out, droopy daisy.”

“He’s dying anyway.”

“I guess. How’s your new boyfriend, was it Die-Yang or Die-Yung?”

“He’s Die-Ying, anyway.”

“Has he decided yet about changing his skin color with that new mud dye?”

“He’s dying, anyway.”

The Huckabeecyclops flexed her muscles and her evil eye.

“Well, I’ve got to finish my morning mantra backwards walk. Could you be a dear and drop by the Oval Dwelling later? The McCainus is visiting. Maybe you could keep things light with a joke or two?”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Viktorvekselberg …

The Rudygiuliani squatted before a visibly upset Tyrumposaurus. The T-Rump’s tail twitched nervously. The legal dino backed up a step, safely out of tail-whacking distance. One never knew when the T-Rump would lash out. The Rudygiuliani had to think fast — never a good thing for him.

“I know. Just say you never heard of him.”

“Never heard of him? How can you say that? He’s the Viktorvekselberg! How do you erase a name like that from your memory? It sticks out like … like my name. Damn him! He could sink this whole thing and he’s cramping my style.”

“Sink what thing? I’m sorry, you’ll have to bring me up to speed. Help me get my facts straight. And … as your legal counsel, I suggest … I mean, hope you’ll tell me the truth.”

The highly contagious, lying, corrupt Look of 3000 Lies from the T-Rump burned three words into the legal dino’s wobbly walnut. Not. A. Chance.

“Just asking. Okay, let’s look on the bright side. He only threw half a million moolah-moolah leaves into the Essential Slush Pond. That’s just a fraction of what’s there. And let’s not forget, it was the Viktorvekselberg’s cousin who was running the show over there at Columbus Chevynova. Why don’t you let me go and explain this whole Viktorvekselberg thing to the Mediacircustops.”

“No! By the time you’re done, they’ll think he’s my brother.”

“Do you want him to be? I can do that too. Just say the word.”

“No!”

“Okay, my mistake. It’s just that you had so many Russodinos there when you were sworn in. And then in the Oval Dwelling after you got rid of that Flynnhasbeen nutjob. I thought they were your relatives. It’s too bad I wasn’t there to help you then.”

The T-Rump shuddered. The Rudygiuliani took this as his cue to leave.

“Not so fast,” said the T-Rump. “You mentioned half million being just a fraction?”

“Ah, yes. Um … a fraction of what?”

“You tell me.”

“Oh, well … You forgot?”

“Look, if it didn’t happen on the Foxsquawkbox it didn’t happen! I’m getting tired of having to send out a Trollertweety EVERY time I want the news the way I want it!”

“Right. Yes. well, I’m sorry to bring it up … but the Michaelcohen raked in 4.4 million moolah-moolah leaves from dinosaurs like the Viktorvekselberg who wanted access to you.”

The T-Rump’s tail lashed out, carving a new crease in the Oval Dwelling’s wall.

“Why that ungrateful Checkercabby-chasing chump! The nerve of that Pursepuppy! After all I’ve done for him!”

“Might I remind you — and the Mediacircustops later — that that moolah-moolah was meant to take care of your problems, your legal issues, your really big mistakes … just like the slush pond I had back in the day … when I knew right from wrong. I mean, trying to right those wrongs. Without other dinos knowing of course. Except now they do. But we can turn this to our advantage. Trust me.”

But the T-Rump knew better. Unless a hanger-on was heaping, Mincepencenow-like words of gushing praise upon him, the T-Rump tuned any dino out after three seconds.

“How dare he make moolah-moolah off me! He’s going to pay it back. With interest.”

“I don’t know about that. He just borrowed nine million moolah-moolah against his cave in Manhattinhand. Gee, you know what? Maybe the Viktorvekselberg could help him out. 13 billion goes a long way these days.”

The T-Rump raised a crooked claw to his crooked chin. A crooked thought crossed his mind. The Rudygiuliani had a bafflegab mouth that might do better behind the scenes.

Because the T-Rump needed a new fixer. Badly.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Punch & Rudy Show …

The Rudygiuliani smiled smugly across the flat rock table at the Muellersavus. He’d only been on board two weeks as the latest Tyrumposaurus legal dino, but was already making waves with the Mediacircustops. Big enough to elicit a meeting with the veteran special counsel in charge of the Russodino collusion investigation. It was the case that refused to go away. But it would, now that he, the Rudygiuliani, was fighting back. He tightened his small, gnarled fists. He was vibrating with energy, squatting, ready to spring across the table and, if need be, punch the Muellersavus right in the nose.

“Okay, Mueller, the way I see it, you don’t have a leg to stand on because that two-dino tango, the Peterstrzok and Lisapage lagoon romance proves that all 850,000 dinos in the intelligence community are operating with a deep state agenda. That’s right.”

“Don’t waste my time with your dinosaur gas lighting deflections. I want to talk about you.”

“Me? Why me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Did you talk at length with the Stephanopoulos yesterday about the T-Rump?”

“Yes.”

“Then you did something.”

“Wait a minute. You’re overseeing the Russodino, not the Stormydaniels case.”

“Oh, it’s only a matter of time before you spill over into Russodinos.”

“But I have attorney-client privilege.”

“Not when you wax so … eloquently … to the Mediacircustops.” He leaned into the T-Rump’s lawyer. “I’m interested in your intent.”

“My intent? You mean the T-Rump’s intent.”

“No, based on what you’ve said to the Stephanopoulos, you’ve quickly moved from being a subject …”

“A subject?!”

“To a target …”

“Target?”

“ … of my investigation.”

“What the …?” The Rudygiuliani fell backward off his haunches. He struggled back to a squatting position with some semblance of dignity. “Why, I’ve only been here two weeks. There’s a million footprints in the sand I haven’t even read yet. You must have me confused for the Devilnunesmemo.”

“No,” the Muellersavus said calmly, his eyes piercing the legal dino’s googly-eyed expression. “You’re my dino now. Is that clear?”

A raspy gulp escaped the Rudygiuliani. The veteran Langleyops continued.

“You wanted to get out ahead of this, didn’t you?”

“Uh … of course I did,” said the Rudygiuliani, veering T-Rumpianly off script. “That’s our strategy. Deflect. Confuse. Repeat. Wait a minute. Maybe that’s not the T-Rump’s strategy. Maybe that’s just my strategy. Can I get back to you on that?

“Are you making all this up on the fly?”

“Okay, so you got me there. But last time I checked, it’s NOT a crime to lie to the Mediacircustops.”

“Are these more of the facts you are still working on?”

“Look,” said the Rudygiuliani, “it’s just like I was telling the Stephanopoulos, I don’t know how you separate fact from opinion. Maybe your walnut is bigger than mine. You tell me.”

The Muellersavus frowned as an elder dino might when a dino tot runs into a tree, falls down, gets up and runs back into it.

“I’ll ask the questions here. Why did you call the payment to the Stormydaniels a nuisance payment?”

“Oh, good. I thought it was going to be a hard one. It’s like this, Robert. Can I call you Robert? In the grand scheme of the T-Rump battle campaign, 130-thousand moolah-moolah leaves, let’s face it, it’s not a lot to chew on. So when you get into the millions, well that’s more dinos the T-Rump needs the Michaelcohen to hush up.”

“How?”

“How. Well, let’s see. I think I can put my finger on it.” He slapped his forehead. “Why, from his slush fund of course. I mean retainer fees.”

“So you’re saying there were more payments?”

“Does a diplodocus skinny dip? Of course there were more. At least, I’m pretty sure. I’m still ramping up. But we’re talking the T-Rump here. The dino of a million caves. Now, these other caves had nothing to do with the Stormydaniels. One cave. One Stormydaniels. Got that? Maybe I need to describe it differently.”

“Please.”

“Well, since I am here to get out ahead of all this. I can’t state it too clearly. This was not uncommon. By any stretch of the imagination. The T-Rump’s agreement with the Michaelcohen, as far as I know, is a longstanding agreement — we’re talking decades, Robert — that the Michaelcohen takes care of situations like this. I have no knowledge of that but I — I — I would think if it was necessary, yes. Definitely yes. Let’s not forget, he’s an honest, honorable legal dino.”

“Moving on,” said the Muellersavus, “when did the T-Rump know about payment to the Stormydaniels?”

“We’re still talking about the Stormydaniels? … I don’t know. From the beginning would be my best guess, but that’s all irrelevant. He’s the leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation and I’m just here to preserve his good name. If the Obamarus and the Crookadillary can get preferential treatment, then you know what? Wow. Work with me. The T-Rump may as well take the Fifth because this is all nonsense. If he isn’t already, he should be above the law, you know.”

This last statement caught even the Muellersavus off guard.

“There you are!”

It was the Marinegunkelly, the T-Rump’s chief of staff, standing in the doorway. The T-Rump had evidently found something for him to do. A quick nod from the Marinegunkelly to the Muellersavus said the interview was over. The chief of staff glared down at the Rudygiuliani.

“The T-Rump wants to see you,” he growled. “NOW.”

The Rudygiuliani rose from his haunches to leave. He turned to the Muellersavus.

“I think that went well. Don’t you?”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Rudy to the Rescue! …

“Okay,” said the Jaysekulow, “We released the 49 questions to the Mediacircustops.”

“You mean the dumbed-down version,” corrected the Donmcgahn.

“I heard that!” the Tyrumposaurus said from across the Oval Dwelling.

Governing the Milkanhoney Preservation had come to a screeching halt. All of the T-Rump’s energy and his daily Trollertweety blasts were focused on saving his tail in the Muellersavus Russodinos, the Michaelcohen and the Stormydaniels investigations. The latter had now seen the T-Melania taking up separate sleeping quarters for a record 279 consecutive nights.

“I just don’t get it,” said the T-Rump.

“That’s why you pay us the big moolah-moolah leaves,” said the Jaysekulow.

“No, you released the 49 questions to the Mediacircustops and then you have me act upset in a Trollertweety message, saying it’s disgraceful. Why?”

“Because,” said the Donmcgahn, “we need to fool your delusional, I mean delightful dino base into believing that since you said the release of the questions was disgraceful, they will ignore the Muellersavus and not even bother to read one of them …”

“That we obviously sent out,” the Tycorncobb said with a roll of the eyes. “Why can’t we just roll the bones and sit down with the Muellersavus, play nice and answer all 49 questions?”

“Hold it right there,” said the Rudygiuliani. “I said several of the questions, two to three hours max. 49 questions. That’s just ridiculous. This is the T-Rump we’re talking about. The most honest and respected dinosaur in all the land.”

The other dinos looked at him like he’d cracked his walnut.

“Pardon me and common sense,” said the Tycorncobb, “but the Muellersavus runs the show.” 

“No,” roared the T-Rump,  “I run the show! … And, since this is Friday, you’re fired!”

“You can’t fire me. I quit!”

The T-Rump’s eyes went wide. He doubled-down on his double-take.

“I said it first!”

The Tycorncobb twirled his wide, handlebar hairlip.

“And I’m saying there are several astonishingly excellent, existing sources here who will say you fired me because it’s, ahem … a Friday.”

The T-Rump smacked his tail against the wall

“Damn, where’s the Michaelcohen when you need him? It’s all his fault.”

The T-Rump sized up his latest firing.

“Well then, aren’t you going to at least thank me before you go? Bow, kneel or kiss my tail perhaps?

“You just fired me!”

“I fire a lot of dinos. Your point?”

The Tycorncobb shook his head and shuffled out, every legal dino in the room wishing they could trade places with him. The T-Rump forgot him in a flash.

“Next!”

The Imminentflood rolled in. His boyish grin seemed out of place. The Donmcgahn knew that youthful optimism would disappear by the next day.

“Hello, everyone, I’m …”

The Jaysekulow tapped his arm.

“Don’t bother. You’re not going to be here long enough to put any footprints in the sand. We’re representing a dinosaur who’s lied 3000 times, remember?”

“I’m still right here,” said the T-Rump.

“Sorry,” said the Jaysekulow. “Sometimes I have to tell the truth just to remind myself what it sounds like.”

“Speaking of which,” said the Rudygiuliani, “I’m going to go and have a long chat with the Seanhannity to set the record straight. It’s been a while since I’ve practiced law, but the Milkanhoney Preservation needs to know what a great leader the T-Rump is and how the Comenyonus is such a pathological liar. We should also ramp up the Crookadillary conspiracy in case that issue is beginning to fade again. Oh, and the Subpoenasaurus? Not on my watch. No, sirree.”

“Anything else?” asked the Jaysekulow. “It’s imperative we’re all saying the same thing.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I may accidentally segue into the Stormydaniels issue and let them know that the T-Rump repaid the Michaelcohen the $130 thousand moolah-moolah, and that the leaves were funneled through a legal dino for work not done. And sure, the exchange was made two weeks before the election but it had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the campaign.”

“Are you kidding me?!” The Jaysekulow was apoplectic. “Get back here!”

The Rudygiuliani brushed him off with a wave of the hand.

“Relax. I got this.”  

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Satire The Trump Dig

The Pregnant Playmatapus …

“No-BELL! No-BELL! No-BELL!”

The crowd of dinosaur deplorables at Faux Washington Falls chanted as one, stamping their feet and punching the air with their short arms. The chant was in honor of the Nobelpeacepiper, a high-flying Pterodactyl known for dive-bombing into potential dinosaur warfare and incessantly pecking the instigators on the nose, the Achilles Heel of all dinosaurs.

The chanting continued for the T-Rump, who had threatened the Kimjongadon with annihilation unless he released all his captive Nuclearballisticus. It was the absolute threat of fire and fury, a suicidal game plan the T-Rump’s dino base reveled in.

“No-BELL! No-BELL! No-BELL!”

“Thank you, thank you,” said the T-Rump. “That’s right. No Bull. No collusion. No Russodinos and — you said it — No Bull!”

The next day, the Stormydaniels lawyer Michaelavenatti squatted alongside the Jaketapper on Tapper’s Sunday morning caveside chat.

“So, Michael, did you predict that the Huckabeecyclops and Kellyanneconvixway would be sitting together at last night’s Mediacircustops T-Rump Roast?”

“No, they probably drew the short sticks.  But it’s hard to have a roast when the host fails to show up. He can run away from the laughs but not from the law.”

The legal dino grinned mischievously.

“You’re grinning mischievously, Michael,” said the Jaketapper. “Moreso even than my trademark Goofy Chuckle. Where’s that grin coming from? Could it be your glee at the Michaelcohen’s predicament … or perhaps from your recent claim that the disgraced former moolah-moolah director of the Grandoldparty, the Elliottbroidy, had nothing to do with the T-Rump’s legal dino, the Michaelcohen?”

“That information comes from an impeccable dino source.”

“Well, you haven’t been wrong yet. Are you suggesting that the T-Rump got this third dino, a Playmatapus pregnant? That would be number two on the Out-of-Wedlock Pregnancy Scoreboard for the T-Rump.”

“No predictions. Yet.”

“Let’s kick this latest T-Rump rumour around the room, shall we?”

“You kick. I’ll litigate,” the Michaelavenatti said smugly.

“The Michaelcohen,” the Jaketapper began, “is the T-Rump’s legal dino. Why would the T-Rump loan him out? What’s in it for the T-Rump? And why on earth would the Elliottbroidy take the fall for the T-Rump?”

“Notice that the names in the sand never changed, just the dinosaurs. One of them anyways.”

The Jaketapper tapped the flat rock.

“There was the Middle Eastlands kerfuffle the Elliottbroidy started against the Qatartatertots. Then his measly mea culpa to the Mediacircustops, apologizing to his wife and little dinos, saying the hanky panky was between two consenting dinos. Who says that?”

“All my clients, actually.”

“But … and here’s the dark underbelly, the potential tyrant-toppling news … the Playmatapus had an abortion? What the heck is that?”

“An abortion? I don’t know, Jake.”

“It – it just sounds wrong. Maybe that’s what we should be talking about.”

“It sets a dangerous precedent, whatever it is.”

“A dinosaur abortion. How does the Plodding Church of Blue Hair Dino Immaculate Mercy roll past that one? Can they?”

“My client has no comment.”

“What’s next? The T-Rump abandoning the Great Tex-Mex Divide? No wonder this, this …”

“Abortion, Jake.”

“It’s an abortion of our senses, that’s what it is … worth 1.6 million moolah-moolah leaves evidently. And the Michaelcohen made 250 thousand off that. His newfound hobby. Dino Belly Watching. I can’t believe we’re talking about dinosaur gestation periods. How did we  get here, Michael?”

“Well, it appears that if you’re a Pornadactyl or a Playmatapus, it’s only a matter of time before the T-Rump is going to knock you … I mean, come knocking. Following that, a meeting with the Michaelcohen-Keithdavidson conspiracy combo to put your signature footprint in the sand, thereby buying your silence.”

“I’m sorry, did you say conspiracy, Michael?”

“Conspiracy-collusion, Pornodactyl-Playmatapus. They’re all the same to the T-Rump and the Michaelcohen. The latter being of course, a Pursepuppy without a bone.”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

My French Bromance …

The Tyrumposaurus sighed and stared down at his scaly, arthritic right hand. He flexed it, marveling at the ghosts of gallivanting goosebumps. He could swear his hand still tingled, he still tingled from the day’s events.

My own wife won’t hold my hand. But Emmanuel will. My Emmanuel. Just an hour ago. I miss already the feel of his warm grasp, his soft, supple flesh pressing mine. And when he let go, it felt like my heart being wrenched from his. The pain. Worse than bone spurs. Hugely.

Because dinosaur leaders can only hold hands for so long. Then tongues wag and tails droop. That’s the world we live in. These are the constraints I’m under. The rules I yearn to break. I remember staring at his hand. His immaculate, finely manicured claws. Their touch so close, yet so far. My starving vanity crying out for his clean cut attention, my limp wrist failing miserably, resigning itself, seeking instead the sloppy second, the cold, bland hand of the T-Melania. So sad.

Great days with her are of course long gone. It was the Stormydaniel’s fault. The Karenmcdougal’s fault. The fault of all those female accusers, those heartless, lying temptress dinos eager to knock me down a notch. They all spurned my well-meaning advances. How dare they. I was just being me, a sucker for a pretty Pornodactyl.

But Emmanuel didn’t abandon me. No, Emmanuel was there for me when I needed him most — to show the world I am a somebody … a dino able to attract another dino and hold onto their attention span for more than five minutes.

Emmanuel clutched my hand. It felt good. Then my arm, my shoulder, with strength bordering on malice. His pat on the back. No one has ever pat me on the back. Not even my father. Am I mothering Emmanuel because my mother didn’t mother me? I shuddered, craving yet one more affectionate assault from him. Emmanuel is the hand with the French accent.

Oh, sure, I’ve shaken hands with the Justintrudeau, but it was less Francophoney. Or was it more Francophoney? Anyway, with Emmanuel it was just right. Better accent, that’s it. I don’t like my accents watered down. Besides, the Justintrudeau is just next door. Who wants the bromance next door? Too easy. The T-Rump doesn’t settle.

With Emmanuel there will alway be the thrill of the chase, until our hands touch, sealing our fate, the reassuring grip of reality that makes me want to drag him around behind me all day long. Perhaps that’s just the dinosaur in me, dinosaur energy looking to escape. And be noticed.

Emmanuel listened to me. Oh, perhaps he trashed what I had to say afterwards but after all, they are only words. He will hold my hand again. And listen. His smile so genuine. It’s as if he really cares. Unlike the fake news Mediacircustops who can’t find anything nice to say about me from all their non-existent sources. But Emmanuel exists for me. He makes me feel young and vibrant. He makes me forget flogging. Who can do that? Perhaps he’ll let me help him with his back swing. I must invite him back. And get him something. The T-Melania’s birthday will have to wait.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Meager Legal Dinos …

The Mikepompeo stuck his neck into the Oval Dwelling.

“Excuse me, T-Rump?”

“WHAT?!”

The Tyrumposaurus looked at him with panicky, bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept in a week. He sent out his Trollertweeties at all hours these days. Their messages, garbled at best, lacked their usual scorched earth policy. Instead, they sounded like those from a sniveling Snotnose, a dino prone to complaining of phantom bone spur pain. The T-Rump was having a bad day, a terrible week and a catastrophic month. The Michaelcohen raid had been a vicious dinosaur tail to the face.

Surrounding the T-Rump were the remaining dregs from the legal dino profession willing to work pro bono in addition to receiving copious amounts of daily verbal and psychological abuse.

‘I – I’ve come to a landmark decision with the Kimjongadon.”

“How nice,” the T-Rump replied through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t help me now, does it!”

“But …”

“Can’t you see we’re in the middle of serious business here!? How can I make the Milkanhoney Preservation great again if I’m in the Solitary Sinkhole?”

“Yes, T-Rump.” The Mikepompeo turned to go.

“Pompeo, tell the Barbarabush funeral dinos I couldn’t make it out of respect … but since the T-Melania is there ….”

“I’ll see what Pornodactyls or Playmatapus are in the neighborhood.”

“You didn’t have to tell everyone.”

The aspiring Secretary of State exited.

“Okay,” the T-Rump said, turning to his lead dino attorney. The Jaysekulow was gnawing thoughtfully on a dead rodent. “What have you got for me?”

“We have some fresh meat, I mean legal dinos, added to the team.”

“Oh?” The T-Rump’s gaze skipped the first two dinos — both males — to land on the third. A female. They shared a smile, the T-Rump wanting more.

“This is the Rudygiuliani …”

“And?”

“The, uh … Martyraskin …”

“And?” The T-Rump grew impatient.

“The Janeraskin, of course. His wife.”

“How unfortunate.” The T-Rump winced.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“So unfortunate that you … and your husband … are only joining our team just now. I, I mean we, could’ve used you before.”

The T-Rump eyed the three new members.

“You will be working pro bono of course and, as none of you have my best interests at heart more than me, I will be calling the shots. One thing you all can do for me however …”

“Yes, yes?” the Rudygiuliani said a little too eagerly.

“I’ll need you to make up derogatory nicknames for yourselves. I simply don’t have the time.”

The Martyraskin raised a claw.

“Excuse me, but I heard that the Grandoldparty committee was spending 25% of its moolah-moolah on legal fees?”

The Jaysekulow shook his head.

“Boy, have you got a lot to learn.” He turned to his boss. “The latest status report:  we have over 100 civil law suits at the federal level, there’s the Stormydaniels thing, the Summerzervos defamation suit, the Muellersavus investigation and, this just in … the Donkeykongrus committee is suing us and the Russodinos and the Wikileakibeak for interfering with their election campaign.”

“Well, sue them back!”

“For what?”

“For suing me in the first place! How dare they!”

The Jaysekulow knew better than to butt heads with the T-Rump. The Dowderpuff had implied he knew more than the T-Rump and was now back to chasing the speedy Ambulansaurus’.

“We’ll come up with something, T-Rump. So … what kind of day are you having? Is it a I’m-smarter-than-the-Muellersavus or a He-hurt-my-feelings kind of day?”

The T-Rump mulled it over.

“That damn Comeyonus has really got me going. Who made him the law of the land? Honestly, if we just keep saying all media and their sources and the Donkeykongrus … am I missing any dino?

“Just say all dinos not present, T-Rump.”

“Right. If we can just keep lying about that then my six lies a day are meaningless, right?”

“Just one thing, T-Rump,” said the Martyraskin, “the Comeyonus has never changed his story. It’s uncanny. I’ve never heard a dino so eloquent, so convincing. Dare I say it, I really believe he’s telling the truth.”

“Hoo-boy,” said the Jaysekulow.

The T-Rump’s brow furrowed into a second frown.

“Do you want to work for me for free or not?”

The Martyraskin looked away, considering the moolah-moolah he would make from his own footprints-in-the-sand tell-all expose of this blowhard buffoon.

“I’m good,” he said.

“Alright then. I’m only keeping you because your wife had to divorce some other dino to marry you, right?”

She hadn’t, but the Raskin dinos quickly recognized the T-Rump’s penchant for maximum humiliation. There was no point in arguing with his alternate reality. Some walnut brains were simply more cracked than others. This was going to be a wild ride.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Seanhannity Calamity …

The Seanhannity clan gathered around the fresh kill of the day for supper. A delicious, 6000-pound Denversaurus. The Jillrhodes looked over the carcass at her husband and their two young dinos, the Patrickhannity and Merrihannity, drooling at the feast before them. The Seanhannity hadn’t killed it of course. No, when you made 36-million moolah-moolah a year as a Foxsquawkbox mouthpiece, you had others do your killing for you. The Jillrhodes knew the meat would expire in a few hours and they’d better eat fast. Still, there were flat rock table manners. She eyed her dino tots’ grubby hands.

“Patrick, Merri. No mud on the meat now. It’s all in the presentation.”

The children quickly licked their dirty hands clean, salivating all the while.

“I want the eyeballs!” said Patrick.

“No, I want the eyeballs!” said Merri.

“Here,” said their mother, ripping the fleshy orbs from the eye sockets of the wide skull. “Thank goodness dinos have two eyes. But ribs first, you two. Then the eyes.”

A Denversaurus Rib-Eye was indeed a delicacy. With the two young dinos immersed in the dripping spoils, the Jillrhodes turned to her husband.

“Can you believe the Michaelcohen?”

“The Michael who?”

“That slimeball legal dino.”

“Oh.” The Seanhannity pretended to lose himself in the meaty armpit before him.

“Not that he’s ever been in Dinosaur Court. At last count before the raid, his clients were mixed up with a Pornodactyl, a couple of Playmaytapus and that smiling nincompoop, the Keithdavidson. Not once or twice. Three times!”

“That’s not a charm,” her husband said, thoughtfully swallowing a chunk of meat.

“No, it’s downright disgusting. How’d he come to be the T-Rump’s legal dino?”

“Uh, this is still the Milkanhoney Preservation. He has rights, you know.”

The Jillrhodes snorted. Bloody mucus spewed from her nose.

“Hah! What good are rights when you have no morals?”

The Seanhannity thanked his lucky charms his wife wasn’t on his show.

She picked up the club-like femur bone and quickly stripped the meat from it.

“You think the T-Rump doubles down? I’ll show you doubling down. If I ever caught you with a Pornodactyl …”

She whacked him twice on the noggin. Hard.

“Ouch! Hey!”

“Mommy’s hitting daddy again,” Merri announced.

“Everything’s okay, children. Your mother is just laying down the law.”

She turned back to her husband.

“When you go into Foxsquawkbox mode, I have no idea what you’re up to.”

“You would if you’d just watch my show.”

“You know I wouldn’t waste one second on that trivial tripe you call the truth.”

“Can we watch, mom?” the dino tots said as one.

“NO! It’ll poison your minds!” She turned back to her cowering mate. “And this mystery client. Hah! What a crock of Shishkabobcats.”

“Mom, what’s a mystery client?” asked Patrick.

“A dino who is trying to hide something.”

“Like what?”

“Ask your father.”

The Seanhannity gulped, swallowed a bone and hacked it up.

“What?! … I mean … (cough, cough) who knows? Yeah. … Pffph. Who knows?”

Patrick scrunched his face.

“But you said you knew everything, including the Donkeykongrus’ Deep State thoughts, daddy.”

“Seanhannity! Have you been teaching our children those cornball conspiracy theories again?!”

“Hey, it’s a dino-eat-dino world out there.”

“But what the Michaelcohen is doing is criminal.”

“Innocent until proven guilty?” He looked to his kids for support. They weren’t buying it. Better they not see ol’ daddy dino like this. “Kids, time to play outside the cave.”

“Seanhannity!” his wife exclaimed. Good to see how popular he was in his own home.

“You know very well we’re in the Pterodactyl prime pickin’s corridor this time of day.” She eyed him warily. “Something’s wrong. What are you hiding? C’mon, out with it.”

“Uh. Nothing.”

“Don’t you nothing me.” She pointed to the bloody Denversaurus. “You’re next on the flat rock if you don’t cough it up right now. And your sudden demise won’t be a Sethrich conspiracy story. I’ll tell them I did it.”

She bonked him twice again with the bloody femur bone. It was their new Talking Bone.

“Alright, alright.” The Seanhannity surrendered, holding his short arms in the air. “I’M the mystery client. But he’s not really my legal dino. He helped me out with some advice on real estate. You know, the Porno-, I mean Hornoplenty Badlands.”

“Oh, this could end badly for you alright.”

She took one look at their children and told herself she wouldn’t scar them for life. No, she’d bide her time. Because hell hath no fury like a dino scorned by a Michaelcohen client.

She gave her husband the extra-hairy eyeball. Her nostrils flared, slimy snot bubbles boiling over. Momma was mad.

Merri turned to her brother.

“Daddy’s sleeping in the den tonight.”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Doorman Knows …

She lowered her head to sniff the sweet magnolia blossoms. She nibbled, then devoured the flower in one bite. Hearing a noise, she looked up. A perfectly wonderful day in Manhattinhand … ruined.

It was her ex, the Dinodoorman, heading hell-bent her way. It had been five years since she’d kicked his skinny, scaly butt out of their cave. She being the Nikkibenfatto of course, no relation to the Joeybuttafuoco.

“Whaddaya want?” she growled without looking up.

“Ain’t ya even goin’ to say hullo?”

“To the magnolias, maybe. I like them.”

He shrugged and plowed on.

“I got news.”

“You always had news, Dino. Sorry, no cartwheels today. My lower extremities, you know.”

“I’m talking real news. News I wasn’t supposed to tell, but now I can because, news-wise, for two days it’s been all the news.”

“You’re old news, Dino.”

“Remember that job I had with the T-Rump?”

“The one where you leaned against the wall outside his place all day, yakking to any dino that stumbled by?

He ignored her. As he had throughout their 14 years of cohabitation.

“I finally spilled the beans! The T-Rump had a love child — a little dino — with the hired help, 30 years ago.”

“You jumped off the Joyzee Turnpike to tell me that?”

“They paid me 30-thousand moolah-moolah to keep my trap shut all this time.”

“Who paid you?”

“The Davidpecker.”

“You watch your mouth around my cave, Dino.”

“But that’s what he is.”

“Why don’t I believe you? Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re a manipulative, malicious, pathological liar.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that. But did you hear about the T-Rump and the Comeyonus?”

And the game begins, she thought, sinking into a squatting position, listening to this goofball dino suck the sweetness out of her nearby magnolias.

“The Comeyonus is releasing his memoirs in a series of etchings and the T-Rump is going nuclearballisticus!” The Nuclearballisticus was a hard-shelled Ankylosaurus known for Tasmanian Devil-like tantrums.

“Now I know you’re lying. The T-Rump can’t read.”

“It’s all pictures, so he can. Etchings, remember?”

“Oh, yeah? What colour are they?”

“Golden.”

“Golden, huh. How do they stay golden in the rain, smart guy?”

“I dunno. I guess you pray there’s no golden showers.”

The Nikkibenfatto shook her head.

“Still nutso as ever.”

“And the T-Rump, our kind, humble leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation, he called the Comeyonus a weak and untruthful slimeball!”

“No, he did not. What’s next? I suppose you’re going to tell me the T-Rump’s own legal dino is under investigation.”

The Dinodoorman was aghast.

“How’d you know? The Michaelcohen was in cahoots with another legal dino, the Keithdavidson. They had it in for that Pornodactyl, the Stormydaniels, and the Playmaytapus, the Karenmcdougall.”

“S-u-u-r-r-e, they did. You’re famous for your stories, Dino. Remember the Chupacabra?”

The Chupacabra was a monstrous, dog-like dino that killed and drank the blood of cow-like dinosaurs. She went on.

“Then there was the Brachiobigfoot. And our friend, the Larrynextdoor, who passed away. You said you saw him skipping down the trail one day. Always something.”

The Dinodoorman set his elongated jaw in place.

“The Oval Dwelling. I’ll bet you didn’t know that all the dinos in the Oval Dwelling are saying nasty things to get rid of the Rodrosenstein.”

“Now why would the T-Rump do that?” she snapped. “He appointed him in the first place! It’s the Rodosenstein’s footprint on the slate that got Comey fired.”

“Which then forced the Rodrosenstein to bring in the Muellersavus,” said the defiant Dinodoorman, hands on hips.

The Nikkibenfatto looked around for something to shut him up with. Her walnut brain was aching and it wasn’t even noon.

“Dino, face it. You’re unstable on every level. Where’s the evidence?”

“Evidence! I’ll give you evidence. You know the Elliottbroidy?”

“Who doesn’t? He’s a Grandoldparty major donor and deputy finance chair dino on their big committee.”

“Well, he just resigned. He got a Playmaytapus pregnant and paid her off with the help of the Michaelcohen.”

“Well now, wasn’t that nice of the Michaelcohen.”

“Too nice if you ask me. She got 1.6 million moolah-moolah while the Stormydaniels and the Karenmcdougal only got a tenth of that. They sure got stiffed, huh?”

“Just like me.”

Dino hesitated, trying to picture his ex with the Elliottbroidy.

“Never mind,” she said.

Her stomach gurgled. She was dying for another magnolia.

“As always, you have an extreme, bizarre gift for gab, Dino. Love children and moolah-moolah corrupting the most powerful dinos in the land. Hah! Haven’t seen you in 5 years. Guess that’s how long it took for you to come up with all this.”

“Nope. Five days.”