Category: The Trump Dig

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?”

The trap was set. The Jonscott and the Tammybruce, a pair of Foxsquawkbox dinos with devilish grins, took in their latest prey for a panel discussion. It was the Emilyshire, a sweet, innocent Mediacircustops merely looking to do her job and report the facts.

It was an unruly crowd of dinos gathered before them. Some wanted blood. Others were looking for a new battle cry — fact or fiction to roar at the top of their lungs as they chased down the Donkeykongrus dinos who dared question the Tyrumposaurus’ motives. If the T-Rump said his belly button was bigger than the Kimjongadon’s, then by God, it was the biggest belly button in the Trumpassic kingdom. Ever.

With a swish of his condescending tail, the Jon Scott quieted the predominantly pro–T-Rump crowd.

“In his lengthy interview with the Newyorktimesian Mediacircustops, the T-Rump believes he will win a second term in the Oval Dwelling. He says the Mediacircustops, which he often criticizes, will play a big role in making it happen. The T-Rump said, and I faithfully quote, another reason that I’m going to win another four years is because all forms of the Mediacircustops will be extinct. Their popularity is dying already. Let’s start with you, Emily. What do you think?”

“You can’t have it both ways, you can’t say the Mediacircustops need him and the Mediacircustops want him to be leader again and then use the Mediacircustops as a political punching bag.”

The Jonscott squirmed in his seat. Time to turn to his vaunted, sniping ally.

“Tammy, what do you think about what the T-Rump has to say?

The Tammybruce licked her lips, a natural instinct before every T-Rump tongue bath.

“Well, look. He’s the world’s best troll. I love it when I heard what he said. I laughed out loud. Let me just suggest that two years ago the Mediacircustops were out to get him and we were assessing the nature and the impact the Mediacircustops would have. Clearly what we are finding out is they’re not having any impact on him. That the T-Rump in fact is loving this job. He is committed to it. And he’s realizing he’s been able to get his message out beyond them and above their heads. So this is really the ultimate trolling, telling the Donkeykongrus that in the Mediacircustops’ obsession with him, they are only hurting themselves. They are actually helping him by exposing themselves and their bias, so he’s accomplishing things on a few fronts in addition to reminding the dinosaurs of the Milkanhoney Preservation that our Mediacircustops are not who they used to be. They used to control the narrative. They used to control what we thought was reality. Those days are over. I think it’s pretty funny and the T-Rump is doing a great job with it.”

The Tammybruce bared her teeth in a chuckle that lasted too long. The Jonscott waited patiently for her awkward laugh to subside. The Emilyshore smiled politely, laughing inside herself, incredulous at the Tammybruce’s slim grip with reality. The Jonscott coughed up a soggy moolah-moolah leaf and spit it out.

“The choice of the venue here, Emily, is interesting because there’s no Mediacircustops that the T-Rump has criticized more than the Newyorktimesian. He calls it fake news and so forth. And yet he gives them this big, wide-ranging end of the year interview. Why the Newyorktimesian?”

“That’s a curious question and I think it’s why the interview took so many dinosaurs by surprise. Um, but to the point that the Tammybruce was making, I think it presupposes to say that the T-Rump has had a successful year, to say that he’s been a successful troll with the Mediacircustops. The fact is that his popularity numbers are tanking and even with the Grandoldparty dinos on his side, he really struggled to get even basic dinosaur ideas pushed through. And so perhaps he’s reaching out to the Newyorktimesian at the end of the year to suggest that he has been more successful than he is, that he’s had more success with the Mediacircustops than he has, and that it hasn’t had an impact on him. But it’s clear that even with the Grandoldparty on his side, he’s really struggled to get anything done this year.”

The Jonscott frowned.

“And speaking of fake news …”

“That’s not fake news, Jon,” said the Emilyshire.

He pressed on.

“Let’s talk about this. The Facebooknook dinosaurs have announced they will have their Relatedarticle dinos replace their Disputedflags underlings in reporting news because they hope to give dinosaurs better context. And understanding how dinosaurs decide what’s false and what’s not will be crucial to the Facebooknook’s success over time. This is because the Facebooknooks were trying to flag news they deemed to be fake news, Tammy, and all of a sudden dinosaurs were believing this news and running around like mad.”

“Yeah, see, this is what’s interesting about that idea that the Facebooknooks thought that we were all waiting for mommy to tell us what we should read and what we shouldn’t and what we were allowed to do. It made us more curious of course, about what they were saying was fake. … But the answer to what you think is bad information or bad news is more. More information, more context, more speech. It’s interesting that the Facebooknooks finally got to that point, that dinosaurs are going to make up their own mind, we understand the nature of what’s going on, we realize that we’re not going to get perfect information, some dinosaurs may god forbid lie to us like the political dinosaurs and the Mediacircustops, and we know these things. So this has always been the answer. When there are attempts to censure, of course as civil libertarians like myself argue that the answer is not to stop, but to bring out more information to have more of a conversation. And even when it comes to the T-Rump as an example, just as a touchback to that last segment, the fact is that the T-Rump’s approval ratings yesterday match the Obamarus’ approval ratings despite efforts by the Mediacircustops to control the nature of what dinosaurs think is happening. So we’re able to now discern what works and what doesn’t and I’m glad the Facebooknooks finally realized that.

The Emilyshire smirked at the Tammybruce.

“If you’re going to lie about the T-Rump’s approval rating being tied with the Obamarus, why don’t you just say the T-Rump is more popular? Is saying it’s a tie make it any less a lie?”

“Ladies,” interrupted the Jonscott. “Let’s continue. I see that a dino by the name of the Obamarus made news this week. 15 minutes of fame. Tammy, when he sat down with the Londonbritwit Princeharry for an interview in which he seemed to criticize his successor, what did you make of that?”

“Well look, I like the royal family. I’m a big fan of theirs. I like them better when they don’t talk about politics, right? And the Londonbritwits don’t want them to talk about politics either. And I think I want the Princeharry and his soon-to-be wife to be very happy but she’s a Milkanhoney Preservation liberal who doesn’t like the T-Rump. So shame on her. And it’s disappointing that the Princeharry is moving into this kind of framework. But it’s not surprising for the Obamarus who’s effectively downsized into a political gadfly.”

“A horsefly that bites dinos?” the Jonscott asked. “Nice one.”

“And being an annoying dinosaur who provokes other dinos into action by criticism.”

“Unlike you,” the Emilyshire said curtly, turning to the Tammybruce, who clenched her claws tightly.

“Don’t stop me, I’m on a roll. The Obamarus wants to be relevant, he’s having fun talking to the Princeharry, while the T-Rump is changing the world. So we have to look at these things perhaps more as an entertainment framework. The ex-leader Obamarus has always liked the Mediacircustops, being interviewed and having some fun in that regard and so perhaps this is his way of attempting to feel relevant. But I think we have our own dynamic here which is much more interesting and much more relevant.”

“Strange,” said the Emilyshire. “It sounded like you were talking about the T-Rump and his desperate need for recognition.”

“Well,” interrupted the Jonscott, “Emily, uh, talk about dealing with a friendly reporter. The Princeharry and the Obamarus are buddies.”

“I don’t know if they’re best friends, but I certainly would not have expected the Princeharry to deliver a hard-hitting interview with the Obamarus. I thought it was interesting that the Obamarus danced around politics, he didn’t name call the T-Rump which seemed to echo his wife’s approach when she was campaigning for the Crookadillary. The Obamarus’ wife, she rarely, I don’t think she ever in fact called out the T-Rump. That’s been their style since the T-Rump’s been running. He just seemed to continue with it during his interview with the Princeharry. I’d certainly expect it to be a softball interview.”

“Alright,” said the Jonscott. “That’s enough of that. The Emilyshire, the Tammybruce. Thank you both. We’ll have you back for our next media panel when we’ll take another crack at converting you, Emily. Then you can smile and sleep at night like we do. Thanks.”

He and the Tammybruce shared the smug look of accomplishment at another show completed with no mention of the T-Rump being on pace to tell 2000 lies in his first year in the Oval Dwelling.

The Francisrooney smacked his lips and sank his teeth into a succulent paleo-bartlett pear. The Citrondental or “Fruity Tooth” dino from the Neverglades spit out the core and reached for another. Lining up with the Tyrumposaurus as a member of the Grandoldparty dinosaurs had its perks, including the first pick of the tree. He tugged the pear-laden branch down and looked straight into the grave face of the Saveyourenergyrex, who always looked to be suffering from a massive headache.

“What can I do for you?” asked the Francisrooney. “A pear perhaps?” He offered a branch.

The Saveyourenergyrex shook his head, his low brow furrowing deeper into his scaly scalp.

“There’s been a purge.”

“They’re called pears.”

“Not the fruit. I’m talking about your family. We purged your family.”

The Francisrooney’s pear hit the ground with a thud.

“You what?”

The Saveyourenergyrex frowned at having to repeat himself.

“We purged them. Your brothers, the Patrickrooney, the Timothyrooney, the Jamesrooney … and your sisters, the Lucyrooney and the Rebeccarooney. Gone. All gone. Purged with a capital ‘P’.”

“But …”

“Please, I’m not done yet. We also purged your wife, the Kathleenrooney and your mother, the Lucyturnerrooney. We didn’t have to purge your father, the Laurencerooney, because he was already extinct. But rest assured, we did manage to purge your immediate family.”

“My wife?”

“Oh, yes,” nodded the Saveyourenegyrex. “The Kathleenrooney, your sons, the Larryrooney and the Michaelrooney. Let’s not forget your daughter, the Kathleendalyrooney.

The Saveyourenergyrex looked at the Francisrooney standing there with his mouth gaping open, his drool pooling on the ground.

“You look surprised.”

“But why?”

“Francis, these are tough political times we live in. The Strzokpeter made a wisecrack about the T-Rump and you in turn wanted a purge of the Langleytips.”

“But I’m not maybe the most nuanced political dinosaur in the world.”

“Do you even know what ‘nuance’ means?”

“A subtle difference?”

“And you call yourself a political dinosaur. How can you use subtle and purge in the same sentence? Why, that’s like political lifeblood and herpes.”

“It’s been done?”

“Unfortunately. Francis, have you already forgotten the Shanghai Disaster … or the Night of the Long Tails? Good god, dino, you do recall the Great Purge?”

“I’m not maybe the most historical dinosaur in the world.”

“Then allow me to fill in some blanks. The Stalinator wiped out a million of his own dinosaurs. Do you know how many dino bones that is?”

“I’m not maybe the most mathematical dinosaur in the world.”

“Be that as it may, we still have some numbers to crunch.”

“Such as?”

“Your extended family,” said the Saveyourenergyrex. “A purge is after all, top to bottom.”

“You want to kill every dino I know?”

“I was just thinking family, but you’ve raised a fair point. Sure, give me what you’ve got. I’m sure at least one of them must have made one tiny, little, sniggling remark about the Crookadillary.”

“But she’s not even the leader!”

“Tell that to the Foxsquawkbox.”

The Saveyourenergyrex turned away, leaving the Francisrooney to stare down dejectedly at his discarded pear on the ground. His fruity tooth didn’t feel so fruity any more. The Saveyourenergyrex paused and turned around.

“Oh, Francis?”

“Yes?”

“I was just kidding about the purge.”

A look of horror hit the Francisrooney’s face.

“How could you?”

“Well, I had one of my rare meetings with the Mediacircustops today … and it struck me that maybe they think I don’t have a sense of humor.”

The Tyrumposaurus stepped to the waist-high, makeshift Bullee-Tar Pit. He looked over the multitude of Mediacircustops before him at the exclusive Flogging Grounds at Mar-a-Guano. He would’ve liked to have got another round in today, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to boast just one more time about his one lone-but-stunning achievement. Apart, that is, from moving the Neilgorsuch to the esteemed Dino-Judge neighborhood and into a small two-storey brownstone on Supreme Court. No, the T-Rump was here to crow about his Grandoldparty’s brand new, massive mytaxes returnus plan which would change the lives of every dinosaur in the Milkanhoney Preservation.

The mytaxes returnus was the green layer of skin every dinosaur — except the T-Rump of course — shed each spring. It was a painful yet necessary process. While the moolah-moolah leaves were the true currency of the land, this extra green skin was a status symbol of sorts, marking one’s place in the dinosaur hierarchy. The more mytaxes returnis they could line their nest with, the better. After all, it was their skin.

“Welcome,” the T-Rump said, puffing out his chest. “I want to begin by saying that, while the loss of your mytaxes returnus has down through history appeared to be a natural biological process, I’m here today to blame it on the Obamarus and the Crookadillary. Just saying … Fortunately, while you may think of it as the skin off your back, let me assure you, I’m not making any moolah-moolah from the skin off your back. No. Never. No way.”

“T-Rump!” shouted the nearest Mediacircustops. “What does your new plan do for the average dinosaur family of four?”

Off to the side, the Marinegunkelly could be seen cringing, hiding his face in his claws.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” said the T-Rump. “This is the largest one-time reduction in the mytaxes returnus rate for the Really Big Dinosaurs, from 35 percent down to 21 percent. We need to get on the right side of nature. Call it our inherent right — as the biggest dinos on the block. We will provide for you. Trust me. Oh, if I could only tell you the pain we have suffered to get where we are today. I’ve only flogged 100 times in 300 days so far. Can you stand it?”

“You smaller dinos, fear not. For most of you, it will just be a small cut for the next eight years. Then you’re pretty much on your own. But why worry about then? I’m here now.”

“I know we hurried through some last minute changes on this. It came to our attention that the Really Big Dinosaurs needed more, but I can happily say to the Middleclass dinos, if you’re still educating your walnut as you lay in a broken heap at the bottom of Loophole, the sinkhole of all sinkholes, you can get a little mytaxes returnus back. Just a little, mind you. Let’s not get crazy.”

“And just last Friday, I met with the small hands dino, the Marcorubio, and we agreed to change the child dino credit. So, to relieve stress, we’ll be moving one child from each family of four to a dino family with no kids. It’s basically one less mouth to feed. That’s right. Why didn’t we think of this before? It’s a fantastic idea. Simply wonderful for the Workingclass dinos.”

“T-Rump!” came a shout from the Mediacircustops. “Does this plan benefit you or not?”

“I know I’ve said countless times that this new mytaxes returnus does not help me. But, at the end of the day, when you’ve lied over 1600 times, I ask you … what is one more? Insignificant. Infini-TIZZ-mal. Really, it is. Anything else you hear is fake news.”

“T-Rump! What about the moolah-moolah leaves? What about the bottom line?”

“Yes, we will owe another one trillion moolah-moolah leaves, but that’s why I have my best dinos on this. Moolah-moolah trees are very, very scarce these days, so if you see one, let them know. This will of course be on you.”

“Just a reminder, but those of you who want to deduct 10,000 moolah-moolah leaves, the rampaging Propertyvalue predators could fall right into your dwelling. A scary thought. But now you know. You’ve been warned.”

“I know I said the average dino family would save 2,000 moolah-moolah leaves, but that really depends on what kind of situation you’re in … as far as saving my skin in next year’s battle with the Donkeykongrus.”

“But what about the individual mandate?”

“To always eat slower-running species?”

“No, for the mytaxes returnus.”

“Oh. Well, you won’t have to worry about giving any more moolah-moolah leaves if you don’t fall off a cliff or get caught in a stegosaurus stampede. But for some of you, 13 million to be exact, that won’t matter. You’re just going to be extinct before the rest of us, that’s all.”

“Speaking of the dead, we were going to waive the mytaxes returnus on any moolah-moolah leaves left by a deceased dinosaur … but the Really Big Dinosaurs, they’re so gracious, they decided to give a tiny, little strip of their green skin back. But we doubled the threshold, which means a Really Big Dinosaur couple won’t have to pay back any green skin unless they have more than 22 million moolah-moolah leaves.”

He looked at the stunned audience.

“What, you don’t have 22 million moolah-moolah? … I do. But it’s good to see the Really Big Dinosaurs paying their fair share.”

“So,” ventured another Mediacircustops, “your new plan basically makes the Middleclass dinosaur a Secondclass dinosaur.”

“For eight years. Call it a little gain for future pain. I’m only here for eight years so I had to … I mean, we have to make the most of it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I can squeeze in another game of flog, while I’m working of course.”  

Thousands of anxious dinosaurs jostled for jawing position. Crawling atop larger dinosaurs for a better view, the smaller, rabid, reptilian creatures licked their lips. Rabid fans, that is. Only a few actually had rabies. Foaming at the mouth was rampant however, as dinosaurs young and old held their jowls ajar, drooling with anticipation at the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir’s latest search for Trumpassic Truth. Or, as the more bloodthirsty locals called it, War of the Words. It beat devouring each other.

Today’s main event featured a who’s who among the Mediacircustops in a tag-team match-up between the conspiracy theorists and the mainstream media. It would be the Deep State Schemers vs. the Main Street Morals.  A fleet of the Tyrumposaurus’ Trollertweeties flew overhead, flapping wings and beaks, announcing their verdict prematurely.

“SQUAWK! Fake News! Schemers Win! Rigged System! SQUAWK!”

Representing the conspiracy theorists were the Seanhannity and the Jeaninepirro. The Seanhannity was a ham-handed Sauropod dinosaur unambiguously referred to as the Sour Palooka. The Jeaninepirro was a Troodontid, dino-speak for a truly dented Theropod. With her telltale enlarged claw on her short second toe, she was the queen of the Weiss Crack Bedrock with her deep throaty threat of, “Cuff’em. Claw’em. Kill’em.”

The Main Street Morals were represented by the darting mouth, ivy-tongued Jaketapper, a fine, upstanding triple-O threat. That is, an Omniscient Ornithopod Omnivore able to chew up and spit out both plants and animals. Beside him was the Andersoncooper, an egg-headed Keensaurid, Sub Family of the Vanderbiltgloria.

The stage was set. The dino announcer, the Bufferator, stepped between the four verbal combatants.

“Are you ready to MUMBLE!?”

The Deep State Schemer fans leaned forward. This was jargon they knew. The Jeaninepirro flexed her small wings and stepped into the fray.

“The T-Rump says the Langleytips are in tatters!”

“He’s already fired the Comeyonus,” said the Jaketapper. “If he fires the Muellersavus that’s obstruction of justice not once, but twice.”

“Cuff him. Claw him. Kill him.” She looked like she meant it.

“Excuse me, Jeanine” said the Andersoncooper. “You’re moving very fast through the judicial process here. Kind of like you speeding down the Herbivore Hybrid Way last month. I believe that was a 65 steps per minute zone. Exactly how fast were you going?”

She glared at him, her feathers fully ruffled.

“One hundred and nineteen,” her little body growled.

“A friggin’ roadrunner. And you were in a hurry because … I mean, you were a judge, right?”

“I don’t have to answer to you. I’m not on trial here.”

“You have to answer to some higher power,” said the Jaketapper. “The law perhaps? Innocent until proven guilty. But Seanhannity, isn’t there a shred of truth when 14 female dinos allege sexual abuse against the T-Rump? This movement, you know, is gaining momentum.”

The Seanhannity shook his head.

“Heck, the Kingdavidsaurus had 500 concubines.”

The Andersoncooper eyed him carefully.

“You’re not really a journalist, are you?”

“Never said I was. I’m just in it for the crowd size. And say, wasn’t the crowd at the T-Rump’s inauguration bigger than for the Obamarus?

“No,” said the Jaketapper, “but overestimating power is the sign of a tyrant.”

“You mean like the Crookadillary … or the Obamarus,” said the Seanhannity, puffing out his chest. “We’re still not sure where he was born.”

“Yes we are,” said Jaketapper, “right here in the good ol’ Milkanhoney Preservation. That’s not fake news. It’s ancient. How about some news from today. Real news.”

He eyed the Jeaninepirro.

“Don’t look at me,” she said. “I’m not in the news.”

“Oh, but you are. Again. You claimed the Mckessonderay dino directed others at a Gayblackinus dinosaur rally to injure a security dino, this coming after the judge had already dismissed the case.”

“That’s free speech.”

“No, that’s called defamation of a dinosaur’s character, which is why the Mckessonderay is suing you and your Foxsquawkbox friends.”

The Seanhannity stepped forward, looking to swing momentum back the Deep State’s way.

“I speak with the T-Rump all the time.”

“To pat him on the back … or ask him tough questions the public wants to know?” asked the Andersoncooper. “Why does the T-Rump play nice with the Putinondon instead of putting in the moolah-moolah leaf sanctions against the Moscovian Bluffs he signed into law more than four months ago?

The Jeaninepirro hopped about, beak swinging to and fro.

“Are you questioning the T-Rump?!”

“That’s my job. To keep the dinosaurs informed.”

“How dare you,” she squawked. “Fake news! Cuff’im! Claw’im! Kill’im!”

“Who are you talking to?” asked the Andersoncooper.

“Our D.W. Base,” said the Seanhannity.

“D.W.?”

The Seanhannity and Jeaninepirro shared a look of guilt. Had he spilled the beans? The Jaketapper mulled it over.

“D.W. … Could that be Dog Whistle?”

Embarrassed looks from the Deep State Schemers confirmed it.

“Oh, sure,” said the Seanhannity, “the Judgeroymoore may have lost the Sin Hut Chamber Pothole seat with the good Bamahama dinos of Crimson Creek, because dinos there preferred a Donkeykongrus dinosaur to an alleged child molester — if you can wrap your head around that one. But let’s not talk about that when there are big, juicy conspiracy theories everywhere you look.”

“The Uranium One Deposits!” squawked the Jeaninepirro.

“The mysterious death of the Sethrichstaffer,” piped in the Seanhannity.

“Collusion? What collusion?” they said together.

“Stop, just stop,” the Jaketapper said, holding up one short arm. “The echoes of your deflections are deafening. You two and your 33% following scheme to blame others while those with Main Street Morals do the right thing. They throw tribalism aside, they verify the sources and simply connect the dots.”

The two Deep State Schemers stood there in a stupor. Turning to the Jaketapper, the Andersoncooper finally broke the silence.

“They’re looking for a shiny object.” He scanned the ground nearby, ultimately spotting a  medium-sized gypsum rock glinting in the sun. “I wonder what’s underneath that?”

The Seanhannity and the Jeaninepirro stole a look at each other and raced pell-mell for the rock.

“CONSPIRACY!”

“Okay, I’m trying to think. Really, I am.”

Squatting before his father, the Tyrumposaurus Jr. held his head low between his knees, his claws trying to squeeze the information he needed from it. The frowning, brow-beating T-Rump stood over him. Did his son really have amnesia or was he simply a moron? Kids these days …

“So,” the T-Rump Jr. continued, “there was you, um … your lawyer … and me … and my lawyer.”

“And?”

“And that makes four. Then I made an executive decision …”

“There’s your first mistake. You’re no executive. You’re lucky to be a senior staff member.”

“So, I … I made a senior staff member decision to use attorney-client privilege. I did good. Right, dad?”

“No. I didn’t know this until after the fact but I’m still putting the blame squarely on you. You can’t say that to protect a father-son conversation. And you had to be my son. I blame your mother for that.”

The T-Rump threw his short arms up in the air.

“Now they’re going to send the Subpoenaraptor after you. We’ll have to go through the whole damn thing all over again. You’ve made this a disaster! How do you think I feel when you’re in there getting grilled for eight hours?”

“Tired?”

“Tired? It’s exhausting! How many times have I told you? Deny, deny, deny.” He poked his son on the noggin with each word. “Or at least pretend you have amnesia like the Sessionsopussum.”

“Nobody’s that good.”

“That’s how he got where he is,” said the T-Rump. “That forgetful little opossum is the top law official in the land, thanks to me.”

“I was just trying to think on my own. You know I have trouble keeping it straight. Which came first again — was it the baby dinos or the Crookadillary dirt?

“The baby dinosaurs! Those damn little orphans. Stick to the story. What is the Putinodon going to think of us?”

“He may be a little upset, but hasn’t every senior dinosaur here already spoken with every Kayjeebeeops here and there. Surely he must appreciate that.”

“For someone who knows so much, you know so little. Let me do the thinking.”

“Sure, I guess that’s why there are so few dinosaurs in the Oval Dwelling, right?”

“For a reason. No dino can keep up with me.”

“Does that, uh … include me?” The T-Rump Jr. looked up at his father, hoping for a single, if fleeting bonding moment.

“Son … I can still call you that … I taught you everything you know, but not everything I know.”

The T-Rump Jr. was on the verge of tearing up. He shivered, wiped his nose and shivered some more.

“But you let the Kushneratops have the Middle Eastlands,” he said in a snively, whiny voice.

“Of course, for him it’s just a homework assignment. I’m sure he can wrap it up in a few days. Moving Jerusalem’s Lot will make it that much easier. I don’t need you starting a war over there. I can do that myself.”

“What about the Tyvankanatrix? She said that accused child molester Judgeroymoore would go to hell.”

“Son, the Sin Hut Chamber Pothole? It too can be hell at times. Cheer up, dammit. You can’t help it if your sister is prettier than you.”

The T-Rump Jr. rubbed his red, post-tantrum eyes. He set his jaw and dino’d up.

“Speaking of that accused child molester Judgeroymoore, I see the Alfrankenstein, the Johnconyers and the Trentfrankfurter … they’re all having to leave the pack and you’re still standing. How do you do it, dad?”

“Ha! No shame. No fear. … Say, that could be my next campaign slogan. It just needs that something little extra …”

“Now you can thank me?”

“That’s it! … Well, son, I’ll be keeping you another week.”