David Belisle

“Okay, Rudy,” said the Tyrumposaurus. “What have you got for me today? We need something to deflect this disastrous Michaelcohen and Manaforta fake news. And this Dino the Doorman is freaking me out. I can’t keep sending out Trollertweeties with the same message. It’s getting old. It’s tired. Weak. I want results!”

“Have I ever let you down, boss? I’ve got a treat for you. A very special guest today.”

“Oh? A new Playmatapus?”

“No, no, no. No, no, no, no, no.” The Rudygiuliani loved the latest Michaelcohen quote making the rounds. “Trust me, you’re gonna love this dino. He’s nuttier than me.” The Rudygiuliani rose from his squat in the Oval Dwelling and turned to the doorway. “You can come in now.”

A large grizzled reptile with searing eyes and a leering grin slithered into the room. The Rudygiuliani exuberantly slapped tails him.

“T-Rump, I give you the answer to all our problems, the Michaellebron.”

“Please, call me Lionel.”

The three dinos squatted down together. The T-Rump nodded to his guest.

“Welcome Lionel, I’m seeing more of your dinos at my rallies. It must be good, this “Q” thing with the Q-Anonymus dinos. What’s the Q stand for again?”

“Quaint.”

“Excuse me? I don’t do quaint.”

“Oh, Quaint is just a cover. The vast majority of our conspiracy theories involve blaming others for doing nasty, nasty things to young dinos. It’s a branding, you might say …”

“Yes, branding,” nodded the T-Rump. “Branding’s good.”

“A branding that sticks like swamp water to the skin of every Donkeykongrus dino we accuse.”

“Go on.”

“You see, the Q-Anonymus know you’re not, uh … good with facts. And that’s great because fact-based arguments only seem to confirm the opposing idea in our dino noggins. We’re working with walnuts, right? These conspiracy theories are self-sealing. That is, trying to disprove them only helps reinforce them.”

“Fascinating.”

“And most importantly, our raison d’etre, our reason to be, because it’s not evidence that creates these conspiracy theories–”

“No, no, no. No, no, no, no, no,” said the Rudygiuliani. Awkward silence. “Sorry.”

The Q-Anon crackerjack continued.

“These conspiracy theories are successful because there are dinos out there with the desire to believe, to believe that there is a recipe for these events, a grandiose game plan, not pure coincidence or happenstance.”

“Such as,” said the T-Rump, leaning closer.

The Rudygiuliani clapped his hands together like a dino kid sucking sweet marrow from a bone.

“Wow,” said Lionel. “Where to begin. Well, the Sessionsopossum lost the Bamahama Sin Hut seat on purpose to show fraudulent election voting. … Remember the Crookadillary aide, the Huma-abedin? She was actually working for the Muslimbrownbruds, oh yes. … And we all know the Muellersavus investigation is a sham, simply a cover to expose the Obamarus and the Crookadillary as doing bad things …

“With young dinos.”

“You got it. They’ll soon all be nabbed and put in the Solitary Sinkhole.”

“Tell him the funny ones,” the Rudygiuliani said. “These are hilarious.”

“Humor is in the ear of the listener,” Lionel chuckled. “But try not to laugh too hard. We do have the faith of the Q-Anonymus dinos to consider. … So, there’s the one about the Langleyops themselves putting the Kimjongadon in power. … And the Sethrich, who was murdered by the Emmessthirteen dinos on orders from the Wassermanschultz … and you may not know this, but many prominent Donkeykongrus dinos are walking around as we speak with Anklemonitorus’ at their feet because they are secretly under arrest.

“You can’t trust one Donkeykongrus dino, can you,” said the T-Rump. “They’re the worst.”

“We need you to push that message, T-Rump. Remember when you said the calm before the storm? That ‘Storm’ is now your biggest, most important movement. Where we go one, we go all.”

“I’m the one, right?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking.”

“Trust the plan,” said the Rudygiuliani, borrowing another trademark Q response.

“Who’s plan?” asked the T-Rump.

“Why, yours of course,” said Lionel.

“I have a plan?”

“Every time you open you mouth.”

“That easy, huh?”

“Oh, yes. Your T-Rumpspeak is a kind of coded message with the Q-Anon dinos staying up into the wee hours trying to make sense of it.”

“This is good. Real good. Do I send a signal? Can I send one now?”

“Sure.”

“Er, what should I say?”

“Again, anything. Our Q-Anon dinos will work it out.”

“O-o-o-o-o-o-h.” It was the T-Rump’s turn to rub his hands together. “This sounds scary. Diabolical scary.”

Lionel and the Rudygiuliani shared a look as if they’d created a monster. The T-Rump raised a claw.

“Okay. I’ve got it. I’ll tell the world that I – I … hold on, I’m thirsty.”

“You want a Dietcoker?” Lionel asked anxiously.

“That’s it!” The T-Rump held his hands wide. “I. Want. A. Dietcoker.”

And the die was cast. Within hours the Q-Anonymus dinos had their latest, greatest conspiracy. The Trollertweeties were soon in flight, spreading the word about a secret conspiracy stating unequivocally that the Obamarus and the Crookadillary were behind a plot to poison every Grandoldparty dino by dumping tainted Dietcoker into the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir.  Dietcoker which they got from the Putinodon of course.

These were dark days in Dinoville. Somewhere from afar, the Putinodon enjoyed a belly laugh at the new discord heaped upon the Milkanhoney Preservation. But hope stirred yet in the bellies of better dinos, as somewhere from on high, in a better place, the late great maverick, the Johnmccain looked down upon the events unfolding, knowing that in due time the most powerful dino would receive his Tyrumpian cupful of comeuppance. For soon the bells of justice would toll their virtues. In ringing brilliance for all.

“Horrific! It was just horrific what they did to him.”

The Rudygiuliani nodded profusely, eyes bulging, teeth gnashing.

“They had the gall to say they were just doing their job. You’re absolutely right, T-Rump. He never had a chance.”

The two dinos were discussing the plight of the Manaforta following two cataclysmic shockwaves reverberating the Oval Dwelling. The Manaforta had been convicted of eight criminal counts, mere minutes after the Michaelcohen entered a guilty plea on eight counts as well. The Manaforta and the Michaelcohen, two cronies of the T-Rump’s inner circle, now laid claim to a new species designation as the Convicto Felonus.

Further to this low rung on the classification ladder, the Michaelcohen had made a startling new classification of his own, naming the T-Rump as an Unindictus Coconspiratus. Not a good nickname for the leader of the free-running dinosaur world. Hence the meeting, where he and the Rudygiuliani mulled over their options in a mad world gone madder.

“Should we pardon the Manaforta?” asked the T-Rump. “Such a brave dino for keeping his mouth shut in the Solitary Sinkhole. Now that’s loyalty. I think we should pardon him.”

“I’m, uh … not sure about that. The political fall-out would be tremendous. Maybe we should wait. Squat on this one a little longer.”

“Why squat?” asked the T-Rump. “I just told the Foxsquawkbox these moolah-moolah payments came out of my own veggie garden and I made the payment — yours truly — which I only knew about later. There’s no crime there. Every dino does it all the time. Everyone of them. I never bungled in the jungle with either the Stormydaniels or the Karenmcdougal. Of course we can’t get into why I was paying them. The Milkanhoney Preservation doesn’t need to know that. Because what they’re seeing and reading is not what’s happening. I’ve made this extremely clear, Rudy.”

“All good talking points, T-Rump. I’m doing my best with the Truth-isn’t-Truth game plan. Anything to muddy the waters and confuse the hell out of our White Supremasaurus base. But the Manaforta still has another trial in Dino Court coming up.”

“Another trial? What the–? It’s that damn Sessionsopossum!” The T-Rump lashed out with his long tail, carving another groove in the Whaling-Away Wall of the Oval Dwelling. “Whose side does he think he’s on?!  He should’ve taken control of this. He was my very first warrior. I only made him the top legal dino in the land because he was with my war campaign. Where’s his loyalty?”

There was a dino tail waving meekly from the doorway. It was the Huckabeecyclops.

“There you are” said the T-Rump. “Tell me, in the Mediacircustops briefing today, how many times did you say, ‘I’ve already covered this to death, there are no charges and there’s no collusion period.’”

“Eighteen.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“But T-Rump, there were no Mediacircustops there.”

“Don’t worry. That’s because I wasn’t there. Keep trotting out that message though. It’s their loss, not ours.”

“Of course, I just wanted to say that the Sessionsopossum, let me see if I get this right, he said that his legal dinos are not going to be improperly influenced by, um … you, T-Rump.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, you tell him … you tell him …”

“Yes?” The Huckabeecyclops stared dumbly ahead, caught yet again in a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside the T-Rump’s cracked walnut.

“What do we tell him?” the T-Rump asked the Rudygiuliani.

“Me? Well, uh … the usual suspects never hurts. Tell him to go after all the Donkeykongrus corruption, the Comeyonus, the Muellersavus conflicts, the Andrewmccabe, the Peterstrzok, the Crookadillary …”

The Huckabeecyclops sighed.

“Again?”

“Yes, again,” roared the T-Rump. “And what did I say about that defeatist attitude? We’re winning dammit!”

He glared at her, getting angrier that she was still rooted to the spot. He seethed at her.

“Why are you not moving?”

“I have more news.”

“What, is my parade back on?” He turned hopefully at the Rudygiuliani, who quickly looked away.

“No,” she said. “It’s the Peckersaurus. He’s been granted immunity.”

The T-Rump clutched his heart, gasping for air.

“That Peckersaurus … he’s going to screw me!”

The Rudygiuliani’s bulging eyes rolled. Twice.

“For once, I – I don’t know what to say. Truth isn’t truth but screwing is screwing.”

“Oh, T-Rump?” asked the Huckabeecyclops.

“What now? Haven’t you caused enough trouble today? … I need some cheering up. Go find the Weisselbergus and find out how much moolah-moolah we transferred this week from the Foundation to my Organization.”

“That’s why I’m here, T-Rump. The Weisselbergus? He was just granted immunity too.”

This time the T-Rump’s hand never made it to his heart. He fainted dead away, face first into a pile of cheezbuggabuggas.

“She has what?!”

The Tyrumposaurus stared in shock at the Kellyanneconvixway, who repeated the breaking news.

“The Omarosa has 200 tapeworms.”

“But how? How did she get them?”

“Right here in the Oval Dwelling, I suppose. She was always in here.”

“You mean, she got them from right here?”

A sheepish nod.

“How could she do this to me?”

“To, uh … you?”

“This is a disaster! Those are my 200 tapeworms!”

The Kellyanneconvixway blinked. Twice. It was going to be another one of those days. Just smile, keep her eyes forward and her tail between her legs.

“Okay,” said the T-Rump, “she has the tapeworms, but can she hurt us?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s contagious …”

“I don’t care about her health, dammit! I know her sort. I taught her everything she knows. Everything. She’s just trying to make me look bad.”

“With 200 tapeworms?”

“Oh, she can handle 200 tapeworms. You think she’s sick now, wait til next week. It’ll be something else. It always is. She’s one sick dino alright. She’s trying to gain sympathy from the Milkanhoney Preservation, that’s what she’s doing. At my expense of course. Well, two can play that game!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Punch back. Bigly.”

“You’re going to, um … double down?”

“Of course.”

“But, T-Rump … that’s four hundred tapeworms. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Of course I can. Don’t you see how far she’ll go with this? I can’t have her making a fool of me. This is better than deflection. Consumption.” He waggled a finger. “This will be total consumption like the world has never seen.”

“But 400 tapeworms. That takes time.”

“Hah! Look around, I’ve got plenty of leftover, rotting Caviaraptor legs and Cheezbuggabuggas lying around. Under foot, in cracks and crevices, they’ve been here for weeks, months even! The Omarosa doesn’t know who she’s messing with. I’ll be up to 400 tapeworms in no time. They multiply, don’t they? Tell me they multiply.”

“You’re making me sick, T-Rump.”

“You’re not sick, Kellyanne. You just have a nutjob for a husband. But we need to get on this tapeworm thing right away. I want you to call the Maggiehaberman. This will impress the hell out of her. Me and 400 tapeworms.”

He grinned his smug, evil grin.

“And the failing Nooyorktimesian says there’s no method to my madness. Hah!”

With that he reached behind a rock, scraped up an ossified Cheezbuggabugga and held it over his open mouth. He caught the Kellyanneconvixway watching him nervously.

“Don’t worry. It’s organic.”

He dropped it down the hatch and licked his claws clean. She winced.

“Do I look any bigger?” he asked.

“But you just …”

“I know. I feel bigger though. Like I’ve already added five tapeworms. Maybe ten.”

He burped.

“I think I just felt one move.” He looked down at his gut. “Here, touch my belly.”

“E-e-e-w-w-w-w.” She recoiled, taking a step back.

“I said, touch my belly.”

She put a wavering hand forward … and quickly withdrew it.

“There! I saw it move. I mean, them … they … all of them,” she lied. “Ten. You’re right. Ten squiggling … squirreling … scurrying … A-a-a-a-c-k! …” she coughed up something into her hand, “tapeworms.”

She slapped her ashen face with the other hand to bring some color back to her cheeks. Her faux emotion cycle kicked back into high gear and within ten seconds her gag reflex was replaced by a beaming smile for her boss.

“You’re an incredible dino leader, T-Rump. It’s truly an honor to serve you. I’ll let the Huckabeecyclops know she can tell the masses that you’re striking back at the Omarosa as only you can.”

She turned to exit. He called after her.

“And somebody bring me a Dietcoker. The tapeworms have spoken!”

“Are they gonna bring us food? They better bring us food,” said Juror 1.

Several other jurors nodded, smacking their lips expectantly. Juror 2 smacked his head.

“Damn. I forgot my lactate leaves.”

It was the first day of jury deliberations following closing arguments of the Manaforta trial. Dinosaur court was similar to kangaroo court, except for the jumping to conclusions.

The Manaforta was charged with 18 counts of failing to pay the tax dino on millions of moolah-moolah leaves, lying about which river banks he’d left them on and for being a fake dino to the fake-fake, fakiest, fake-fake degree. This was serious stuff. So serious that the Tyrumposaurus had begun floating a Kissin’ Cousins conspiracy theory that the Putinodon and the Crookadillary were actually long lost relatives.

Juror 3 looked around the jury den.

“Alright then. Where do we start? I move we go down the list of charges one by one, flip a beaver — heads or tails — Bob’s your Unclesaurus and we’re all home for supper.”

The female dinos looked at him aghast.

“I’m kidding!” He chuckled at having gotten a rise out of them. Juror 3 was on the prowl.

“I have four questions,” said Juror 4.

Juror 5 leaped up from his squat.

“Four questions! We just got here. How can you have four questions?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t sleep through the whole damn trial.”

“Well, excuse me for being a Narcalepsus.”

“What are your four questions?” asked a bored Juror 6.

“Well, if the Manaforta is splitting the foreign moolah-moolah leaves 50-50 with his wife and they have over 10,000 of them … and they used them to buy the Ostrichpython and his wife has it four days a week, does that let him off the hook?”

“Of course. Possession is four-sevenths of the Ostrichpython. Next question.”

“Okay. Shell company and shelf company. What the heck is the difference between them?”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” said Juror 7. “Shell company, those are your typical turtle friends. Shelf company however, now those are your best friends, the ones you put up on a pedestal.”

“I see. Thanks for clearing that up. My third question … I’m kind of embarrassed, because well, you might think it’s a stupid question.”

“Now, now, we’re talking about the Manaforta. There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

“Okay. Here goes. Can you, um … redefine ‘reasonable doubt’?”

“You’re right. That’s a stupid question. And you call yourself a dinosaur.”

“Now hold on there,” said Juror 8. “The Manaforta never. Said. A. Word. Based on that, how can we trust him? Not even a simple hello. I’m sorry, I have every reason to doubt him. He’s hiding something, just sitting there with his mouth shut.”

“Excuse me,” said Juror 4. “Was that the definition?”

“Reasonable doubt,” said Juror 9, “is when you lie awake nights wondering if the T-Rump is selling out the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

“No, that’s treasonable doubt,” said Juror 10.

“Oh. Pardon me. Swamp water in the ears, y’know.”

“You dino dum-dums,” said Juror 11. “It’s beyond a reasonable doubt. You’re going to have to concentrate here. Close your eyes and think about where you were the last time you had doubt. … Got it?”

Eleven nods followed.

“Okay. It’s just beyond that.”

“How far?” asked Juror 4.

“I’m gonna bop you in the nose!”

“It’s beyond me,” sighed Juror 12. “I guess that makes me a doubter. I think. Ohmigod.”

“What is it?” asked Juror 11.

“If I’m thinking, am I doubting?”

“Dinos, be reasonable!” said Juror 1.

He looked at the dinos around him. There was snarling in the air. They didn’t like doubt. It kicked in their survival instincts.

“Oops.”

Juror 12 attacked Juror 1 for showing weakness. Juror 11 attacked Juror 4 for asking too many questions. The other jurors squared off, looking at each other, jowls dripping. Puddles forming.

Suddenly the T-Rump burst into the room.

“Hey,” said Juror 5. “You can’t be in here.”

The T-Rump glared at him.

“I can do anything.”

The fighting dinos stopped in mid-bite.

“Okay, everybody,” said the leader of the free-running dino world. “I just want you to know that if you don’t let the Manaforta off, I’m going to take away your security clearances.”

“But we don’t have security clearance,” said Juror 3.

The Rudygiuliani hopped out from behind the T-Rump.

“And you never will. Let’s think about that. How can you live your lives when you’re under the constant stress and pressure knowing you will never — ever — have a security clearance? Why, it’s a ton of rocks to the noggin, isn’t it? A ton of rocks.”

He blinked his eyes crazily, expunging what he’d just said from from his own walnut, lest he get a ringing migraine.

Juror 4 raised his hand.

“Ahem, my fourth question, I just wanted to know. What’s on the Herbivore Menu?”

“Well? Well? How’d it go?”

An anxious Rogerstone asked the Manhatinhandmadam as he welcomed her into his small, sparsely decorated cave. He liked it that way, for quick exits to chase down any Mediacircustops looking to fill a slow news day.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?”

He leaned in for a quick peck, leery of her lips that were too full, too rubbery. Thankfully it was okay for him to close his eyes. (Smack.) Ugh. Mission accomplished.

“Okay, okay. How’d it go?”

“I – I think it went okay. I just told him the truth.”

“You what?!”

The other two dinos in attendance, the Andrewmiller and the Randycredico leaned forward, all ears.

“But you said I should, that’s what you told the Mediacircustops.”

“That was for the Mediacircustops! For the Muellersavus, I needed you to lie your face off.”

“Roger, you know I hate it when you say that.”

The Manhatinhandmadam had a facial skin condition made worse by years of bogus beauty muds and lagoon oils recommended by the neighborhood snake.

“Sorry,” he said.

“If I lied … I – I don’t want to go to the Solitary Sinkhole.”

“That would never happen. The T-Rump is passing out pardons like Happy Hour swamp water. You know I would put in a good word for you. … But what exactly did you tell him?!”

“I’m sorry, Roger. He told me not to tell you.”

“Kristy! We’ve known each other ten years. We even had a dino tot together!”

“Who you refer to as ‘The Accident.’”

She had him there. He needed time to think.

“Say something funny, Randy.”

“Ahem. Believe it or not, last week, the Betsydevos had an idea. Yes, I know. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Okay, okay. I got it.”

“That’s great, Roger, because most of my jokes, you usually don’t.”

“No, dummy, I have an idea. Listen up, everybody. Andrew, you’re dodging the Subpoenasaurus even though you know nothing …”

“Hey!”

“About the Wikileakibeak.”

“Oh.”

“And you, Randy, are the back channel to everything and you have agreed to speak with the Muellersavus.”

The Andrewmiller and the Randycredico nodded slowly, unsure where this was leading.

“Can’t you see the problem?” said the Rogerstone. “We’ve got this ass-backwards!”

The two dinos instinctively looked at each other’s rear ends.

“It’s just an expression!”

The Rogerstone groaned, frustrated at the cat and mouse game he was playing with a couple of cheeseheads. Corrupt but intelligent help was s-o-o-o-o hard to find in the Trumpassic Period. But he knew how best to keep his name on the Mediacircustops tongues and his own butt out of jail. He hoped.

“Okay, so it seems the Muellersavus wants to talk to everybody here but me. That makes yours truly the target.”

“Oh, Roger,” said the Manhatinhandmadam, “you’re so smart. Your dream is coming true. Did you want me to make footprints in the sand for this? ”

“Not just yet. Now then, my good friend who I rarely have dinner with, the Julianassange, is still holed up at the Ecuadorian By-the-Sea. Andrew, I want you to seek refuge at the Peruvian By-the-Sea and you, Randy, the Chilean By-the-Sea.”

“Excuse me, boss,” said the Andrewmiller. “Um, why don’t we just join Julian?”

“One word. Branding.”

The Randycredico scratched his noggin.

“Branding Julian? O-k-a-a-a-y … but we don’t know how to make fire.”

“I’m talking about marketing! Exposure!

The two dinos looked at him like he was speaking Swahili.

“The more dino nation’s by-the-sea locations we hole up at, the United Dino Nations might even step in. They take forever and nothing gets done. It’s perfect! Think of the pandemonium — and I’ll be in the middle of it!”

The two dinos looked at each other, wondering if the Rogerstone actually was thick as a stone. Even the Manhatinhandmadam pretended she hadn’t heard. Their boss frowned.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“I know,” said Randy. “The Muellersavus is waiting for the one dino that is going to roll on the Tyrumposaurus. That could be you, Roger. You could go down in history as the dino that sank the T-Rump.”

A chuckle escaped the Rogerstone.

“Very funny, Randy.”

“Uh, that’s no joke.”

The Tyrumposaurus fumbled in the dim light of his night chamber. A grope here. A grope there. He grunted in dismay. No luck. He knew he’d left it here somewhere.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

“A-a-a-a-g-h!” the T-Rump recoiled in fright. “The Stevenseagalus? What are you doing here?”

The visitor handed him a half-eaten Cheezbuggabugga. The T-Rump munched away on the marsupial morsel, continuing his conversation with the Stevenseagalus.

“Good to see you, Steven. I know why you’re here.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I get to rub shoulders with you, you tell me how great I am and then you give me a dinosaur you’d like to pardon so the Manaforta believes he has a gasp of hope. So, who’s the lucky dino?”

“Uh, no. I came to tell you that the Putinodon has made me a Diplodino. That is, an ambassador for the Milkanhoney Preservation and Moscovian Bluffs on dino rights issues.”

“After all the dinos you beat to a pulp? They had to put some of those dinosaurs down.”

“That’s why the Putinodon gave me the job. But between you and me, I’m a Buddhist dino now.”

“Oh, yeah? I just looked at a Catholic footprint in the sand six months ago.”

“That’s good, T-Rump. Real good. But the real reason I’m here?”

“You’re going to beat the crap out of the Sessionsopossum for me.”

“No.”

“The Rodrosenstein?”

“No. T-Rump, I’m a Buddhist, remember?”

“That’s your problem. When you lie like me, you never have to remember.”

“Which brings me to why I’m here.”

“Oh, you’ll never catch me, Steven. I’m 4,286 lies ahead of you. The Mediacircustops says I’ve actually increased my pace lately. What can I say? I’m the greatest.”

“No, it’s not that. The Mediacircustops believe I’m dino-sitting the Yabshi Pan Rinzinwangmo, the only dino tot of the 10th Panchenlama of the Tibetlands.”

“Bully for you. … Say, when you return to the Moscovian Bluffs, would you mind keeping an eye on the Randpaul? You know how he gets into trouble when he starts talking about the grass being greener on the other …”

“No problem. But T-Rump, the real reason I’m here …”

The Stevenseagalus looked around the room and back to the T-Rump.

“This whole dino rights ambassador gig is a ruse.”

“That’s what I said. I’ve seen you throw dinos off cliffs.”

“No, no. It’s a ruse I’m using as a cover. I’m a spy.”

“A spy? You mean like the Christophersteele? Have you left any footprints in the sand?”

The Stevenseagalus nodded solemnly. The T-Rump was worried.

“Any, um … dino pee?”

“Aikido.”

“Excuse me?”

“Aikido is a way of unifying life energy, the way of harmonious spirit. Now then, when you peed, was it harmonious?”

“I am not saying another word.”

“Okay.” The Stevenseagalus looked at him seriously. “Would you like to come hum with me?”

“Maybe another time. … So, um, what side are you spying for?”

“Why, the Milkanhoney Preservation of course.”

“I don’t know about that. Right now I’m having a lot of problems with spies. I hate the Langleyops. They’re all against me. … But, a dino celebrity spy on the other hand …”

“I could be a double agent.”

“I’m not paying you double. Everybody here works for free.”

“Okay, okay.” The Stevenseagalus lapsed into deep meditation. It was a reflexive condition, one that was quickly interrupted by the T-Rump.

“That’s it. I don’t want you to be a spy. If anybody thinks you’re a Russodino spy, that will obviously delegitimize my victory. Major talking point.”

“T-Rump, it was almost two years ago.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re going to add that to your footprints in the sand.”

“I’m sorry I came. I saw this as an opportunity to serve my dino brothers and sisters. I really did.”

The T-Rump put his claws to his chin.

“Are you still doing those therapeutic oil products and energy drinks? You know, at the cleaner end of the pool?”

“Sure, did you want to see my six-pack?”

“Keep your belly to the ground, big boy. The Putinodon may get jealous. … Why don’t you go see the Tyvankanatrix. She can slap her name on your stuff and we’ll be rolling in moolah-moolah leaves. No offense, Steven. Goodbye.”

The T-Rump waved him off.

The Stevenseagalus squeezed his fists and briefly considered taking out the leader of the free-running dino world, one cracked vertebrae at a time. He took a deep breath however … and focused on a peaceful hillside in the Tibetlands. He hummed a tribute to an endangered daisy and pranced in slow motion out the doorway.

The T-Rump’s stomach gurgled. He began looking anew for one more Cheezbuggabugga. There had to be one here somewhere.

“Class.”

The Trumpassic Period Grade Seven dino teacher, the old, decrepit Black Boardbarker, spoke in the bored, nasal monotone symptomatic of IBS — Instructional Burnout Syndrome. This had been brought on by expanded class sizes and curriculum being combined to cut costs. The Black Boardbarker was now teaching Social Studies and Math to a class of 48 young dinos thanks to sweeping reforms by the Betsydevos, the T-Rump’s educational go-to-gal. Some dinos wondered aloud if she’d seen an educational setting in 30 years. The Betsydevos seemed more intent these days on tracking down her 10 Longyachts who often strayed from home.

The Black Boardbarker gave her grade sevens the hairy eyeball.  

“Alright then, class. Joey! Stop playing with Sally’s tail. You don’t know where it’s been.”

“Let’s go over your Math homework from yesterday. We were working on our Manaforta Trial word problems. Billy, the Russodinos gave Manaforta 75 million moolah-moolah leaves to clean and he kept 60 million. What percentage did he give to his partner in crime, the Rickyprisongates?”

“20 percent?”

“Very good, Billy. … Okay, who am I going to pick on now? … Rebeccah, the Manaforta has 14 different river banks on which to wash his 75 million moolah-moolah leaves and the Putinodon wants him to wash twice as much moolah-moolah in three of those places — because of certain corrupt Russodino connections. How much moolah-moolah does he wash at each of those three places?”

“8-point-8 million moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Correct, Rebeccah.

“Last math question. … A two-part question for you, Harold. The Manaforta took out a loan from the Olegderipaska for 10 million moolah-moolah eight years ago. At the standard Russodino loan shark rate of 25% interest, compounded monthly, how much does the Manaforta owe the Olegderipaska today … and, the second part of the question, to what extent — percentage, please — would the Langleyops say the Manaforta has been compromised by the Russodinos?”

“Um … the Manaforta owes the Olegderipaska 72,387,719 moolah-moolah leaves.”

“That’s why the Manaforta wants to stay in the Solitary Sinkhole!” came a cry from the back.

“Okay, Ralphie, let Harold answer the second part of the question.”

“The Manaforta has been totally compromised. 100 percent,” said Harold. “And that’s not fake news.”

“Hands up if you agree with Harold,” the Black Boardbarker said, gazing around her learning brood.

47 short dino arms raised in unison.

“I only count 47,” said the teacher. “Which little dino didn’t raise their arm?”

“Sorry,” came the soft voice of Tiny Tim. He meekly held up an arm.

“That’s better. No one gets left behind here. Okay, class. Moving right along to Social Studies. I need to okay your essay topics for the theme “My Dino World is Crumbling Around Me.” What is your essay topic, Mortimer?”

“I’m analyzing the T-Rump’s quote, ‘What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening.” I’ll be exploring it from three perspectives: the deplorable, the sublime and the asinine.”

“Very good, Mortimer. I look forward to reading it. Try and keep it clean. Suzie?”

“I’m doing an environmental study, as seen through the disgraced Scottpruitt’s eyes, of the impact the Manaforta has had in endangering the Ostrichpython species for his personal gratification.”

The Black Boardbarker smiled sweetly.

“I’m sure humor will be a key element in your essay.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Henry, what’s your essay topic?”

“I’m going to dissect the T-Rump’s 4,263 lies, or 7.6 per day as the Waposaurus reports, and explore the social ramifications his negative populist propaganda has played in obliterating the pillars of free speech and justice in our dino democracy.”

The Black Boardbarker was clearly pleased.

“Yes, it’s a no-brainer, but unlike so many of our Grandoldparty dinos in power, somebody had to come out and say it. I’m glad it was you, Henry. The Betsydevos be damned! Oops, did I say that out loud? … Well, class .. heh-heh … I have to thank Henry. And what am I thanking him for?”

48 little voices responded as one.

“Your teaching moment of the day!”