Category: The Trump Dig

There was the gnashing of teeth and flashing of raw, rare Kosmoceratops meat in the mouths of the Tyrumposaurus, the Jeaninepirro, the Seanhannity and the frizzy-scalped Donking. The four dinos were at the T-Rump’s Mar-a-Guano retreat to discuss strategy and devour spoils befitting their standing in the topsy-turvy political food chain.

The Jeaninepirro paused, blood dripping from her jowls, her sharp teeth and claws deep in a juicy flap of Kosmo red meat. The kind of red meat that makes a dino see red. The Jeaninepirro ate a lot of red meat.

“T-Rump,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join your legal team? I’m free next week.”

“Well, I’ve been giving it a great amount of consideration, meaning I wasn’t thinking about it until you mentioned it, but … I think I’d like you to stay with the Foxsquawkbox and friends. You serve me so well there. Very well. So … so … well.”

“We’re doing our best, T-Rump,” said the Seanhannity. “It’s all we can do to stay ahead of the sick and twisted agenda of the Mediacircustops down at the Main Stream.”

“Sick and twisted agenda,” the T-Rump said. “I like that.”

“I’m truly humbled,” said the Foxsquawkbox host. “I have more. Rabid rabbit-hole reporters … left-leaning, lily-livered liars … deep doo-doo, Deep State defenders …”

“Fine, just fine, Sean. I’ll keep you another week.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding. Just an old line my mother used to tell me. Which is why I like my father much better. When I picture my father and my mother in mind, my father is always bigger. Much bigger.”

“Ahem,” said the Jeaninepirro, “I believe it’s my turn to bash those liberal line-spewing losers. LOCK’EM UP!”

Her loud shout startled the T-Rump. He clutched his throat, choking on a half-chewed flap of Kosmo gizzard, his second helping of gizzard because his guests were only allowed one. The horror in the T-Rump’s eyes spoke of a suddenly realized threat that no one would save him.

“Ohmigod! Did I do that?” she said. “I’m so sorry. Are you dying? You’re not going to uninvite me, are you?”

The Donking sprang to action. He brought his tail around like a roundhouse punch, right to the kisser. A tooth tumbled out of the T-Rump’s mouth. His eyelids sank, pulling the shades over their panic.

“You dummy,” said the Seanhannity. “You knocked him out.”

“That’s all I know,” said the Donking, squatting back on his haunches.

The Seanhannity jumped in the air, landing with resounding thud on the T-Rump’s belly. The T-Rump’s eyelids flew open and the guilty gizzard ejected high up in the air. The three other dinosaurs jockeyed for position under the flight of the juicy red meat. A quick two kicks to two groins and the Jeaninepirro snapped her jaws shut, swallowing the gizzard.

“M-m-m, sloppy seconds.”

A dazed T-Rump struggled to a squatting position.

“Did the Mediacircustops get my successful recovery? Did the Maggiehaberman say anything about me? Anything?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the Seanhannity. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“That’s all that matters.” The T-Rump sighed. “Has her husband left her yet?”

The other three dinosaurs shared the Oval Dwelling’s daily conundrum of wondering whether to humor the leader of the dinosaur world or simply ignore him. They nodded that in this case ignorance was bliss.

The Seanhannity raised a claw.

“Here’s one we haven’t tried yet. Let’s say that the Main Stream Mediacircustops only have jobs if they profess to have an undying, looks could kill, spit in your face hatred of you.”

“I’ll go you one better,” said the Jeaninepirro. “The Sinclair dinos — Sub Family of the Mediacircustops — have close to 200 species at the Main Stream. We should have them all say the same fake news message. Something like …”

“Let’s do this together,” interrupted the Seanhannity. “You know, misery loves company. I’ll start. We, the stalwart, know-it-all Sinclair dinos will root out the …”

“Nefarious, ugly thought-provoking, fickle, time-wasting facts,” chimed in the Jeaninepirro.

“That only serve to take our esteemed leader, the Tyrumposaurus, and his most important thoughts away from his latest game of flog,” finished the Seanhannity.

“I like it,” said the T-Rump. “Make it so. All 200 species. Give me loyalty. Or moolah-moolah.”

“Speaking of which,” said the Seanhannity. “We finally found a dinosaur poll that gives you a 50% approval rating.”

“How much did we pay for that?”

“We don’t want to say things like that, T-Rump,” cautioned the Jeaninepirro.

“Oh, right. Well, what poll was it?”

“Oh,” said the Seanhannity. “A little dino outfit just this side of extinction. It’s called the Ragamuffin Report.”

“They said 50%?”

“Yes. Well, they polled 5 dinosaurs and it’s a rolling average over a 5-minute period. Give or take 20 percent.”

“Fantastic! That’s more than the Obamarus ever had. Isn’t it?”

“At some point.”

“I want more. 60%. Get me 60.”

“Allow me,” said the Donking. “You want to beat the Obamarus? I can see it now.” He waved his short arms wide. Twice for effect. “We’ll call it The T-Rump Thump-a-Chump.’ You and the Obamarus toe-to-toe.”

“Can we throw in the Crookadillary too? Remember how I thumped her?”

“Are you sure you can handle two at the same time?” asked the Jeaninepirro.

“Oh, sure. You should’ve seen what I did to that place in the Moscovian Bluffs. Trashed it!”

“But what about your bone spurs?”

The T-Rump smiled his satisfied, lounge lizard smile.

“Did you want to see them? I have a private cave just around the corner. Out of the way, unassuming, includes a non-disclosure agreement. But you know all about those.”

Ho-hum, thought the Muellersavus. Another day, another victory. For collusion. His Langleytips DNA told him it was only a matter of sifting through the rubble and connecting the rocks that mattered. Today he was sitting atop a boulder.

He ramped up his steely-eyed gaze and directed it across the rustic rockpile at the latest stool pigeon caught in his gut-squeezing, mind-melding jaws of justice.

The Alexvanderzwaan, a Danishbritwit ex-legal dino from the meager Skadden Arps Slate Formation, squatted before him. He was the 19th dinosaur caught in the Moscovian Bluffs investigation. Beside him squatted the Rickyprisongates, nervously eyeing the Muellersavus. The veteran Langleytips dinosaur had already nailed him for washing millions of moolah-moolah leaves with his kingpin idol, the Manaforta, in all the wrong places. Law abiding dinos knew moolah-moolah leaves should always be washed at home.

“Alex,” said the Muellersavus, “you lied to me about your conversation with the Rickyprisiongates here. Now that you’re staring at the Solitary Sinkhole, you spent the past three days whining to one of my subordinate dinos about how you desperately need to be home to see the egg cracking of your first little dino.”

“Please, Muellersavus. I’m just a lonely Danishbritwit.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The Muellersavus waggled a boney claw at him. “I call it collusion entitlement. Did you ever stop to think how I feel? The Papadopoulus. The Flynnhasbeen. And now you. Lying to me. All of you. Do you think this is some dino game of Hang the Droopy Nose on the Dippy Diplodocus? Well?”

The ex-legal dino dropped his gaze to the ground in shame.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, it’s not some dino game of Hang the Droopy Nose on the Dippy Diplodocus.”

“I should say not. So, no, you can’t go home. Your poor wife is going to have to crack that damn egg all by herself. I hope you remember that.”

The Alexvanderzwaan was moved to tears.  An obvious ploy for pity thought the Muellersavus. Egg crackings, adopted dino babies, the Muellersavus had seen it all. It was time for the boulder play. Crack this one, Manaforta.

“Manaforta! Get in here!”

The Manaforta shuffled in, looking like a Martharaptor caught in the bright light of an incoming meteor. The Alexvanderzwaan’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, Manaforta! It’s been, what … 15 months since we’ve all been together?”

The Manaforta stole a quick glance at the Muellersavus, then turned to the two dinos.

“I don’t know any of you. Never seen you before in my life.”

“Paulie?” The Rickyprisongates looked crushed.

“Oh. Sorry, Ricky. Force of habit. Of course I know you. Only at work though. Remember, you work for me.”

The hairy eyeball from the Manaforta.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Paulie?”

“Ladies,” said the Muellersavus, “let’s cut to the chase.”

“Great,” said the Rickyprisongates. “I’m starved.”

“Figure of speech. Manaforta, you might be interested in knowing, the Alexvanderzwaan and your prodigy here, the Rickyprisongates were speaking with … I’ll call him a mystery dinosaur … the Moscowchickenkiev.”

The Manaforta turned to the Rickyprisongates.

“Did you tell him about the … the … Moscowchickenkiev? Huh? Did you? The Moscowchickenkiev, Ricky!”

“Paulie, stop it. You’re making me hungry!”

The Rickyprisongates coughed up a large, soft-shell rodent, then slowly regurgitated it.

“I’m sorry, Paulie,” he said between swallows. “I had to. I like you a lot but …”

“But what?”

“I don’t like you enough to spend 300 years with you in the Solitary Sinkhole. There. I said it.”

“But we can get pardons, Ricky. Pardons.” He said it through clenched teeth, squeezing his hands into pleading fists.

“Forget it, Paulie. The T-Rump has. The Stormydaniels, the Karenmcdougal, you know how short his attention span is.”

The Manaforta had to give him that one. The Muellersavus raised a claw.

“Manaforta, I think you know who the Moscowchickenkiev is. Oh, who am I kidding? No, I know you know who he is. The question is, do you know how many dinosaurs have already told me you know who he is. Well? … This was just my little way of reminding you that your washing moolah-moolah leaves all over the countryside is just the beginning of the troubled waters I now hold back, just waiting to wash over you. … It’s your turn, Manaforta. Are you a big fish or a little fish? Be the little fish and you may get to see your own little fishies outside visiting hours at the Solitary Sinkhole. What’ll it be, Manaforta? … I’m waiting.”

“Get in here, Joey! Now!”

The Joeydigenova poked his long neck inside the Oval Dwelling.

“My wife too? We’re a team you know.”

Moments later the Joeydigenova and his legal lover, the Victoriatoensing, squatted across from the Tyrumposaurus.

“I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” said the T-Rump. “While you had me at the two-for-one package deal, I’m afraid this just isn’t going to work out.”

“Why not?” asked the Victoriatoensing.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind six ways to Sunday on this one … and when your gut feeling turns to major indigestion, I just can’t always chalk it up to something I ate. No hard feelings?”

“Uh, no, of course not,” said the Joeydigenova. “You mentioned good news?”

“Yes, I didn’t want you two to leave without having done something for me. That’s how the Oval Dwelling rolls.”

The legal duo chuckled at the T-Rump’s joke … but the T-Rump didn’t get it. Awkward.

“We’re listening.”

“The Stormydaniels thing is blowing up again. Damn that Mediacircustops Andersoncooper. It’s all the Tymelania’s fault. If she wouldn’t have had all those head-aches, none of this would’ve ever happened. You do see I need something — anything — to blow this Stormy mess out of the water.”

“Of course.” The legal dino duo leaned toward each other, spoke in muffled terms for a minute, nodded and turned back to the T-Rump.

“You need to ratchet things up big-time,” said the Joeydigenova. “I mean big big. Hugely big. So, what’s the craziest thing you could do?”

“That’s easy. Expel some Russodino diplomats.”

“Exactly.”

“But what will the Putinodon say?”

“Look, do you want the Stormydaniels forgotten for one day, maybe two?”

“Go on,” said the T-Rump.

“Okay, so the question is how many Russodino diplomats are we going to expel.”

“Not too many I hope. The Putinodon’s really a good guy dino.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve come up with a method of giving you plausible deniability. And you can always say this is the reason you fired us.”

“I like it already.”

“Great. To help keep you focused and reduce your Putinodon stress, we’re going to make a game of it.”

“I like games.”

“We know. … We’re going to arrive at the number of expulsions randomly.”

“You lost me.”

“Plausible deniability.”

“Gotcha.”

“Now then,” the Victoriatoensing jumped in, “for every conspiracy theory that led to dead dinos at the hands of the Putinodon, you’re going to expel 10 Russodino diplomats. Okay?”

“Dead dinos? Hah! The Putinodon would never do that. Sounds like fake news to me. Looks like I won’t have to diss him after all.”

“Let’s begin, shall we? There was the Litvinenko going down with some bad swamp water.”

“Even I remember that one. Okay. That’s ten.”

“Oh, we’re not done with the Litvinenko conspiracy. There’s the Ponomarev who also had some bad water two days before, the Matthewpuncher who invesitgated the poison and the Danielmcgrory, the Mediacircustops who reported it. All gone.

“You made your point. Ten. Next.”

“There’s the Sergeimagnitsky and the Perepilichny, both Sub Family of the Whistleblower dinosaur. Beaten, heart attack. That type of thing.”

“The Sergeimagnitsky … that lead to the …”

“Sanctionsaurus, that’s right.”

“Oh. Well,” said the T-Rump. “The Putinodon wasn’t too upset about that. I guess that’s twenty.”

The Joeydigenova leaned forward.

“For the next conspiracy, we’ll combine the Mediacircustops with the Oligarchus because one dino was relative to both. The Mikhaillesin — right here on the Milkanhoney Preservation. Then there was the Politkovskaya, a Mediacircustops covering the Second Chechen Frontier and the Yurigolubev, an Oligarchus from the Yukosoil Fields.”

The T-Rump tapped his chin with a claw.

“Dead, dead …?”

“And dead,” said the Victoriatoensing. “We’re at thirty. Let’s not forget the Garethwillliams. He was found inside the Duffelbag Barrier. He was a Londonbritwit tracking down where the Russodino moolah-moolah leaves were being washed.”

“Oh, you mean like the Manaforta and Rickyprisongates.”

“Yep. That makes forty.”

“Surely that’s gotta be it,” said the T-Rump. “I mean, if you can’t trust the Putinodon …”

“His competition, the Borisnemtsov, turned up dead in the Moscovian Bluffs. Every Russodino security guard on duty that night was looking the other way.”

“Big coincidence. But I’ll give you that one. Fifty. Let’s wrap this up before I can say fake news.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” said the Joeydigenova. “Remember the Stormydaniels. We need shock value. This final conspiracy we call the Project Moscovian Bluffs. We have the Stevenmoss, the Stevencurtis, the Robbiecurtis — no relation — the Paulcastle, the Johnnyelichaoff, the Scotyoung, the Patarkatsishvili and the mastermind, the Borisberezovsky. A pack of Londonbritwits, legal dinos and Russodinos just looking to make some moolah-moolah before they all started jumping off cliffs and suffering heart attacks in the prime of their lives.”

“C’mon. Eight dinos?” said the T-Rump.

The legal dino duo nodded.

“Well, if it’s eight, it only cost me 10 expulsions. Alright then.”

“That’s sixty total, T-Rump.”

“And you’re sure I won’t get into trouble?”

“Heck no. We coordinated this with sixteen other dinosaur-member states. You’ve got your Stormydaniels deflection and Putinodon cover. You’re good to go.”

“That’s great, you two. Just great. It’s too bad that I have to let you go. But other legal dinos are just dying to get in here, y’know. … Uh, you wouldn’t know any, would you?”

There was the rank and vile smell of guilt in the air. The Tyrumposaurus was meeting with his legal dinos. All six of them. There was the Dowderpuff, who had grudgingly become the main contact with the Muellersavus’ Moscovian Bluffs investigation; the Tycorncobb, who was really the Oval Dwelling’s counsel but liked to dine every other day with the Dowderpuff; the Joeydigenova, the latest hire, who was Sub Family to the Mediacircustops and packed a lot of bite; the Marckasowitz, who had left months before but stayed involved because he was a sucker for accident scenes; the Jaysekulow, whose long nose was second only to the T-Rump’s in forced fibs and fudging facts with the Mediacircustops; and the Michaelcohen, the T-Rump’s official fixer.

“T-Rump,” said the Dowderpuff. “I just got back from meeting with the Muellersavus. He tells me there are four main areas of the investigation he wants to ask you about in the interview.”

“Only four? That’s great! We’ve got this thing won already. I can’t wait to tell him myself I never did the dirty dino deed with the Stormydaniels.”

“The Russodino investigation, T-Rump.”

“Oh. Well, that goes for the Karenmcdougall as well. I was going to pay her but she wouldn’t take it. What, my moolah-moolah is not good enough for her?”

“I said Russodino.”

“And as for that sexual assault dino …”

“Which one?” asked the Joeydigenova, who obviously wasn’t up to speed yet.

The Dowderpuff was tired of trying to keep the T-Rump on point. He’d just raise his rates like the rest. It helped fight the stress. Being a T-Rump legal dino was akin to closing the cracks of an earthquake or putting lava back in the volcano.

“It’s the Kushneratops, isn’t it?” railed the T-Rump. That kid’s gonna kill me!”

“You’re getting warmer,” said the Dowderpuff. There were rumors amongst legal dinos that he was looking to leave the T-Rump team. He secretly believed the Muellersavus investigation had all the nuances of molten lava flowing through and obliterating the Oval Dwelling.

“Okay, then. You were wrong, I mean I was wrong. You were momentarily, er … off-base. Thankfully, I won’t have to die on the cross for you again. Your stable genius within surely guessed that the four main areas the Muellersavus is pointing us to are: one, your role in the statement provided following the kerfuffle about why the T-Rump Jr. met with all those Russodinos.”

“Three words. Father knows best.”

“I don’t think we can use Family Privilege on this one.”

“Are you saying my family isn’t privileged?”

“Moving on, the second area was the circumstances surrounding the meeting with the Russodinos.”

“Baby dinos,” said the T-Rump. “Stick with the orphaned baby dinos. Unless the Dacadreamers go tobacco loco on us. Then just call it fake news.”

“You can’t call your testimony to the Muellersavus fake news. You’re under oath.”

“What if … the orphaned baby dinos were fake?”

Even in the T-Rump’s most turbulent moments, brains froze and walnuts cracked with the hand wringing cry of “why-not-give-that-a-shot?” The lawyers nodded at the potential loopholes they could waltz through.

“Number three,” continued the Dowderpuff, “would be your firing of the Comeyonus.”

“He wasn’t loyal. AND he doesn’t like Russia.”

“You can’t say that.”

“Which one?”

“Both,” all six lawyers answered in unison.

“Finally, number four, your firing of the Flynnhasbeen.”

“That poor guy, I heard the Rushlimbaugh, bless his heart, mention three times in five minutes that the Flynnhasbeen lost his home. That’s sad. Really sad. I think I could put him up in the guest cave.”

“No, you can’t, T-Rump. You need to distance yourself from him.”

“Oh, I see. This is all about the Russodinos, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” said the Tycorncobb.

The T-Rump had fire in his belly. Burning bright.

“So what if I congratulated the Putinodon? We need him. I need him. He won another six-year term as the Russodino leader by defeating the opposition.”

“What opposition?” asked the Tycorncobb. The Alexeinavalny, the Putinodon’s main opponent was trapped in the Solitary Sinkhole on trumped up charges.

“He is not a crooked-necked dinosaur,” said the T-Rump. “73 percent of the Russodinos were squarely behind him.”

“What about the other 27 percent?” said the Tycorncobb. “I worry we may never see them again.”.

The Dowderpuff frowned at the Tycorncobb.

“Are you done yet?”

The T-Rump jumped five feet in the air.

“Don’t you EVER interrupt one of my lackies, I mean … lawyers when they’re talking about the Putinodon.”

“But … he’s not here.”

“He’s always here.”

The Dowderpuff waited for the T-Rump’s solemn, prayer-like vigil to pass.

“Don’t you guys worry,” said the T-Rump. So what if there’s not a legal dino in this neighborhood who wants to work for me, damn that Tedolson. Imagine, a former solicitor general turning me down. Who needs a solicitor general anyway?”

The half dozen legal dinos looked at each other nervously. Several coughed up phlegm from the sudden shock. The Joeydigenova wondered what he’d signed up for.

The T-Rump snapped his tail.

“I’ll just have to do it my way. Again. That’s right. My way or the other my way. I’m going to tell the Muellersavus that I plan on working with the Russodinos in the future. But let’s be clear on one thing. Just because I’ll be working with them doesn’t mean I’ll be drinking from the same pond. You got that?”

Serious nods from the legal dinos.

“Too many Russodinos have been turning up dead. It must be the water. I like the Putinodon but I like living too. Michael, you’ll have to be my new water taster.”

“But T-Rump, you still owe me 130-thousand from the, uh … non-Stormydaniels thing.”

“Okay, fair enough. 130-thousand moolah-moolah so you don’t have to drink my water first. Consider your slate clean.”

The Michaelcohen paused to mull over if his life was worth 130-thousand moolah-moolah. The T-Rump gave a snort.

That leaves you, Dowderpuff.”

The 77-year-old Dowderpuff quickly transformed into a puddle of flop sweat. This was too much. He was so close to retiring with his mate to the white, sandy shores of Why Kinky Beach. No. This wouldn’t do. He rose from his haunches.

“I quit!”

He stomped out. With that, it was officially just another day in the Oval Dwelling.

The T-Rump made a face. Then another. His latest meeting with the T-Rump Whisperers, a close lot of Neerdowell dinosaurs who had more moolah-moolah leaves than some entire Trumpassic Period species, had not gone well. They wanted him to get rid of dead weight. Except no dino was extinct yet. He’d have to do it while they were alive.

The Sessionsopposum squatted before him, sneaking peeks between giggling into his hands.

“Okay, I told you what needs to be done,” the T-Rump bellowed. “Now get out there and do it. And not one word to the Mediacircustops about this conversation.”

“You bet, T-Rump.”

With a snicker, the Sessionsopposum slithered out of the Oval Dwelling. He stopped and looked at the sun. It was a few hours before bath time, but he always felt stinky after a T-Rump meeting. The Attorney General headed down to the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir.

Moments later, he felt the soothing swamp water cleansing his dry, itchy, arthritic scales.

He felt so good, he felt a song coming on. The Sessionsopposum liked singing in the swamp. He didn’t realize however, there were several Mediacircustops on the other side of the reservoir, behind bushes, biding their time until the next earthquake-like news headline from the Oval Dwelling.

The Attorney General began warbling his swamp song, sounding eerily similar to a Lynyrd Skynyrd tune from millions of years later.

Big wheels keep on earning

Carry me home to save my skin

Singing wrongs about the T-Rump

I miss ‘ole’ Bama Hama, I done sinned again

Well I heard the T-Rump call me beleaguered

Well I heard the T-Rump put me down

Well, I hope he will remember

He won’t be ‘round much longer anyhow

Sweet home Bama Hama

Where my lies are so true

Sweet home Bama Hama

McCabe, I’m comin’ to fire you

In Birmingham they loved Judgeroymoore, boo-hoo-hoo

Now we all did what we could do

Now Muellersavus does not bother me

Does your conscience bother you, tell the truth

Sweet home Bama Hama

Where my lies are so true

Sweet home Bama Hama

McCabe, I’m comin’ to fire you, here I come.

Now Moscovian Bluffs has got the Putinodon

And he’s been known to poison too (yes, he do)

Lord he scares me off so much

I did recuse myself, now how ‘bout you?

Sweet home Bama Hama

Where my lies are so true

Sweet home Bama Hama

McCabe, I’m comin’ to fire you

Sweet home Bama Hama, oh sweet home

Where my lies are so true and Judgeroymoore’s blue

Sweet home Bama Hama

McCabe, I’m comin’ to fire you

The Sessionsopposum smiled and shook his head to get the swamp water out of his ears. He didn’t hear the Mediacircustops racing through the jungle to spread the latest news.

With the turn of a phrase came the winds of change, sweeping yet again through the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir, splashing more mounds of mud in the face of the muddy-faced in this chaotic, quixotic quagmire, the Trumpassic Period.

Sadly, the once stalwart Saveyourenergyrex had stuck his neck out too far, publicly admonishing the Putinodon and his ruthless lot of Russodinos for their obvious role in sending a Nervegasattackaurus upon the Sergeiskripal, a former Kayjeebeeops gone rogue.

The Tyrumposaurus promptly fired his Secretary of State. Some dinos claim it was retribution as well for the Saveyourenergyrex having months before privately called the T-Rump a moron. Many dinos wanted to know what he really thought of the T-Rump.

Thus, another opening to fill. Another itch to scratch. There were few walnuts left to crack, few daring dinos on the T-Rump’s Triple-S List of sidekicks, sycophants and souls for sale.

“All right,” said the T-Rump. “We’re all here.” He looked around the Oval Dwelling at the just-glad-to-be-here faces of the Mikepompeo, the Devilnunesmemo and the Stephenmillerus.

“I’ve already sent out my fleet of Trollertweeties announcing today’s changes.”

The Stephenmillerus nodded profusely.

“We all understand the disgusting horror you’re faced with when having to personally dismiss a dinosaur. It obviously points to some messed-up migration path they failed to report. Vetting. We need more vetting.”

He made a bullet-point mental note for his next speech for the T-Rump.

“Be that as it may,” said the T-Rump, “Nunes, sorry about raining on your parade. Your quick whitewash of the Dino Home Committee hearings was great, just great, and deserved more Grandoldparty frenzy. But we finally got it out there. No collusion. I had my Trollertweeties positively squawking throughout the land!”

The Devilnunesmemo beamed broadly, almost swallowing his tongue.

“However,” the T-Rump continued, “I needed to steal the Mediacircustops news cycle today for the grave, very grave … the most serious mistake the Saveyourenergyrex has ever made. Is it too late to call him the Shutyourmouthrex? I mean, can you imagine him actually blaming the Putinodon for what happened to that Kayjeebeeops? Not on my watch. The Putinodon means too much to us. Er … me.”

“I’m your dino, T-Rump,” said the Mikepompeo. “I admit the rest of my Langleyops colleagues have been jumping up and down saying the Dino-Who-Can’t-Be-Named meddled in your rise to power, but remember, I have never ever mentioned the “P” or the “R” word in front of you.”

He was referring of course to Putinodon and Russodinos. Countless T-Rump aides had been released into the Wild Beyond the Wild because their sycophant status clearance had confirmed minimal brain activity.

“Wait a minute,” said the Stephenmillerus. “What about me? Secretary of State? I thought it was my turn.”

“Maybe next time.”

The Stephenmillerus rose from his squat.

“I’m a 55-year-old trapped in a 32-year-old body.” He stamped his feet impatiently. “My bio-political clock is ticking!”

“Settle down. You are after all my Senior Advisor. One of them anyway. That’s a great job title.”

“Well, I do appreciate it, T-Rump. It just sounds so … slapped together.”

“That reminds me,” the T-Rump said, turning to the Mikepompeo. “That old Marinegunkelly has got to go. I don’t think he likes me. I’m just not feeling it with him. How’d you like to be my Chief of Staff too?”

“Aw, come on!” said the Stephenmillerus.

The T-Rump ignored him.

“Would you like that, Mikey? Can we do that?”

“You can do anything, T-Rump.”

“Great. I’ll keep it in mind. Now, about those back roads to the Moscovian Bluffs. You know, those ones along the Incognito Way … ”

The Marinegunkelly hid his head in his hands. He found himself doing that a lot lately. Everyday actually, since he’d taken the job seven months previous as the Tyrumposaurus’ Chief of Staff. Such was the day-to-day chaos, a.k.a. the survival of the fraudulent in the Oval Dwelling.

He raked his claws over his bald, scaly head, trying to convince himself one more time that working with the T-Rump was not as difficult as hand-to-hand combat with a rabid Zombieraptor. Except it was.

The silver lining of today’s cloud was that incredibly, out of the blue, the T-Rump had agreed to meet with the  Kimjongadon, the rogue leader of Pingpong North. No ruling dinosaur of the Milkanhoney Preservation had ever agreed to meet the short, squat crocodile-like dictator. The meeting was still two months away, giving the Marinegunkelly valuable time to bring the T-Rump up to diplomatic snuff.

The leader of the free-running dinosaur world squatted across from the Marinegunkelly, staring at a Pornodactyl beside the Oval Dwelling’s doorway. The Marinegunkelly had arranged for a different Pornodactyl to appear every few minutes. This would keep the T-Rump focused. He had a tendency to get up during meetings and wander off to play with his Trollertweeties.

The Chief of Staff took a deep breath and turned toward the T-Rump. Here goes nothing.

“I’ve taken the liberty of inviting the Saveyourenergyrex to our meeting.”

Hearing his cue, the Saveyourenergyrex entered the Oval Dwelling with his usual grim, let’s-get-down-to-business demeanor.

“Saveyourenergyrex,” said the T-Rump. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this. You can go back to whatever global backwater mud puddle you were playing in.”

The Saveyourenergyrex stopped in his tracks. He turned and frowned at the Marinegunkelly. Common sense stymied yet again.

“But he’s your Secretary of State,” said the Marinegunkelly. “He needs to be here.”

“You’re forgetting about the Victorcha.”

The Victorcha was a whiz on all things Pingpong North. Unfortunately he’d voiced an opinion that backed off any shock and chew battle plans, leaning instead towards nibbling diplomacy. His slip of the lip had cost him a plum job as the dino ambassador to Seoulkorea.

“The only dino that needs to be here …” said the T-Rump.

“Is you,” the Chief of Staff said from rote.

The Saveyourenergyrex said nothing, wishing for a speedy, catastrophic Fall of the Trumpassic Empire as he quickly exited the Oval Dwelling. The T-Rump’s gaze followed him, fell upon the latest Pornodactyl and he immediately forgot about the Secretary of State.

“T-Rump,” said the Marinegunkelly. “What I suggest you do, uh … T-Rump?”

The T-Rump finally turned around.

“Sorry, occupational hazard.”

“Yes, here’s the deal …”

“No,” said the T-Rump. “I make the deals around here.”

The Marinegunkelly stifled a groan.

“I’m going in there in full campaign mode.”

“You can’t do that, T-Rump. They didn’t vote for you.”

“But the Kimjongadon has been saying nothing but bad things about me. The nerve. … You saw how well we played in Schlitzburg. This is my big chance.”

“But they don’t know the Maxinewaters, the Chucktodd or the Conorlamb.”

“Ah,” relished the T-Rump. “Very low I.Q. … Sleepy-eyed S-O-B … Lambthesham. This show HAS to go on the road.”

Panic was written on the Marinegunkelly’s face.

“Tell me you’re not going with the Little Rocketmanosaurus crack.”

“Only if he says his belly button is bigger.”

“You do understand we’re trying to rid the peninsula of the Nuclearballisticus?”

“Now that’s a waste of time. What’s in it for me?”

“You’ve, uh … successfully weathered the storm?”

“I have? You mean the Stormydaniels has agreed to never discuss our rumbles in the jungle? That’s great. I was just wondering if she’s the next dino coming in here. Make it so.”

“No, no and no. Let’s return to Pingpong North, shall we?”

“As long as I receive ample coverage from the Mediacircustops.”

“You mean the fake news crew.”

“Did I tell you I had a dream about the Maggiehaberman last night? She told me I was her best interview. Ever.  I only said hello. Well, okay. I winked at her too. That always helps.”

“Of course, sir.”

The T-Rump sighed.

“I wish the Stormydaniels would talk more.”

“No, you don’t.”

The Marinegunkelly’s patience had finally bottomed out.

“I suppose we’ll be leaving it as the, uh … usual, then?

“Nothing but. Divide and conquer. Pandemonium … chaos. Oh, and don’t forget the ominous alternative. Heh-heh. Great line.”

The Marinegunkelly exited the Oval Dwelling, flexing his claws, wanting to rip out the tongue of the obvious source of that chilling diplomacy, the Stephenmillerus.