David Belisle

“Merry Christmas, T-Rump.”
“What’s good about it?” the Tyrumposaurus shot back at the somewhat stunned Markmeadows. “You should go talk with my wife. She’ll tell you what Christmas is good for.” …

“Dad? Can I come in?”
The Tyrumposaurus looked up from his meal of day-old salamander tails. The extra-crunchy kind.
“Yes, Junior. What is it?”
“Didn’t the T-Melania tell you to stop eating those because they’ll only make your delirium worse? …

“You wanted to see me, T-Rump?”
“Come on in here, Mitch.”
The Moscowmitch ambled into the Oval Dwelling and took a seat across from the Tyrumposaurus.
“Now what’s this about you congratulating the Joebiden as the new leader? …

The long throng of T-Rumpers, that is, dinos that would bite their tails off if it would please the Tyrumposaurus, slogged their way down the main path in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. It was their 35th consecutive day of marching. …