Like a cow, humor must be milked daily.
It was the first day of a new world in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. The Tyrumposaurus, the Stephenmillerus and the Huckabeecyclops hunkered down in the Oval Dwelling, commiserating over that very fact. The aging wonder, the Nancypelosi, …
Inside. Alone. And angry. It was just that dangerous, toxic combination that caused many dinosaurs to throw the ‘F’ word, then the ‘E’ word around. Extinction. …
‘Twas three nights after shutdown, when in my dwelling,
Mice yanked out whiskers at my latest retelling;
“I’m all alone, poor me,” I heard myself bawl,
“Oh, please, Donkeykongrus, I want my damn wall!”
“Hope! Hope! Where are you, my lovely Hope?”
The Tyrumposaurus was on his knees, clutching his short arms together in prayer. Three shutdowns. Oval Dwelling ineptitude not seen since the Fubar-Filibuster Period.
“Excuse me,” said the Mickmulvaney, poking his head into the Oval Dwelling. …
Dino court was in session. The presiding judge was the Emmetsullivan, a no-guff dino whose stinging rebukes left deeper marks than a T-Rump tail swipe on a good day. The judge stared down the latest ne’er-do-well in the sin bin,
The Tyrumposaurus eased back into his standard Oval Dwelling squat. Prime “executive time” for some serious navel gazing. He scratched for a moment and nibbled
