Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Huckabee Gets Hucked …

The three dinos nibbled and gnawed on the meaty bones from the Tofuburgur carcass before them. There was the Kirstjennielsen, licking clean the juicy rack of ribs, the Huckabeecyclops chewing through the thick breast and the Stephenmillerus pausing to mull over breaking the wishbone. He snapped it himself, smiling smugly at his latest false success.

“I used to like Tofuburgur,” said the Kirstjennielsen. “Now it’s all I can eat in peace. I was dining on Mexicodino just the other day and — and … all hell broke loose. You’d think I was eating some poor dino’s child. Every dinosaur there was shouting at me. Shame! Shame! Shame! … Why? I had no idea. I had to finally leave.“

“You too?” asked the Huckabeecyclops. “What a coincidence.  Only they asked me and my family to leave. Because I worked for the T-Rump they said. What does the T-Rump have to do with my damn dinner? My survival?”

“We all have to eat,” said the Kirstjennielsen. “Right, Stephen?”

“Quiet, you two. I’m putting together my next Trollertweety message for the T-Rump.”

The architect of the T-Rump’s migration policy barring the Refugeeraptors from entering the Milkanhoney Preservation was in a particularly foul mood. This was standard operating procedure for him. He would channel his aggression into the T-Rump’s merciless directives for the masses. The Stephenmillerus’ eyes narrowed, the germ of a thought materialized and a fresh sneer appeared on his face. He turned to the others.

“The Donkeykongrus are to blame for this bland Tofuburgur menu! A pox on the Mexicodino menu! We need to separate the meat from the bone!”

The two female dinos shared a female dino look that said the Stephenmillerus had once again entered the Dino Dimwit Zone.

“I don’t know if I can spin that,” said the Huckabeecyclops. “Mexicodino meat from bone? I just know I’m going to start salivating.”

“You need to focus,” said the Stephenmillerus. “I never did like Mexicodino, I only ate it to stir up the other dinos.”

“That’s it,” said the Huckabeecyclops, spitting out a mouthful of Tofuburgur blood and gristle. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. For once, I’m going to be 100% completely honest about this whole thing.”

The other two dinos stopped chewing. The Huckabeecyclops looked like she meant it.

“No. More. Tofuburgur,” she said. “That’s right. I’m going on a diet!”

She caught the Stephenmillerus smirking at her.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“No, I was just going to say … you’re lucky. You can go on a diet. Look at me.” He pointed to his protruding rib cage. The Stephenmillerus weighed all of 145 pounds. “If I went on a diet, I’d die.”

The Kirstjennielsen chuckled.

“No, you would-”

“Silence!” he shouted. His eyes fairly bounced with a sudden charge of hatred. “Yes, that’s what they’re trying to do. They’re trying to kill me!”

The Huckabeecyclop’s lone working eye froze in confusion.

“Who’s trying to kill you?”

“The Refugeeraptors,” he hissed, a diabolical gleam in his eye. “Oh, the T-Rump is going to love this. He may even promote me to senior senior advisor.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Kirstjennielsen, “did you say senor?”

“Don’t you ever say that word around me,” he growled.

He tried rekindling the rare joy he’d felt mere seconds before. But the fleeting happiness was gone. He lowered his gaze, retreating back into his dark, demented mind.

The Kirstjennielsen surveyed the scene. The Huckabeecyclops had sworn off Tofuburgurs, the Stephenmillerus was on a death march to Dodoville and she’d recently received a dressing down, then a thumbs-up from the T-Rump. Obviously the kiss of death, her nights had since been sleepless.

Homegrown Security for her had been reduced to a Tofuburgur, cousin to the Nothingburgur. Tasteless. Digusting. She wracked her walnut once more. Why were all the dinos mad at her? 

She couldn’t put two and two together.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Great Flip-Flop …

The Milkanhoney Preservation cringed in the midst of a dino-denigrating crisis at the Southern Border. The Tyrumposaurus had altered a previous Obamarus practice of catch and release to punish and prosecute. There was zero tolerance. Henceforth, any migrating Refugeeraptor caught entering the Milkanhoney Preservation would be confined to the Solitary Sinkhole. Families of Refugeeraptors were being separated. The young Refugeeraptors were relocated to parts unknown. Their shrill cries echoed, then disappeared into the night, haunting their mothers and fathers.  Where the young dinos went was a mystery.

This new policy had two-thirds of the general dino population shaking their heads in disbelief. How could the T-Rump do this to a baby dinosaur? What was the Trumpassic world coming to? Yet six out of ten Grandoldparty dinos and all those in the Oval Dwelling knew exactly what was happening. The T-Rump was kidnapping the Refugeeraptor offspring to gain leverage for the creation of his pet project, his raison d’etre — the Great Tex-Mex Divide. For two years, it remained his running wet dream.

The Sessionsopussum had waxed eloquent with a line from four Bobbyfuller footprints in the sand, saying, “I fought the law and the law won.” Except the Sessionsopossum had said the words a little too giddily, prompting 600 of his Bamahama-Virgin-Yall United Methadone congregation to call him out, telling him he could no longer prey on their vacillating virtues.

One of the T-Rump’s counselors, the Kellyanneconvixway, tackled the Mediacircustops Chriscoumo on the issue. When the Chriscuomo claimed the migrant issue was destructive, harmful and the T-Rump’s team should own it, the Kellyanneconvixway responded with her mocking, snarky remark, ‘how dare you, how dare you’ as if this emotionally-charged issue was a simple yes-no answer.

The T-Rump’s leader of Homegrown Security, the sleepy-eyed Kirstjennielsen trotted out in front of the Mediacircustops and essentially admitted to not following through on the most rudimentary aspects of her job, like keeping track of 2300 little dinos that had been snatched from their mother’s arms.

But the T-Rump backed her up, glaring down all the while at the weak and innocent. Then he naturally doubled down, tripled down and quadrupled down because the Great Tex-Mex Divide was tasty red meat for his deplorable dino base. This migrant mess was also keeping the Muellersavus investigation a distant second in the Mediacircustops news cycle. As leader of the free-running dino world, the T-Rump had never backed down, never lifted a claw to right what was clearly his fault.

Until now … with the unprecedented, the Great Flip-Flop. Who or what caused this stunning shift of the walnut in the T-Rump’s brain? Was it the unrest in the dino masses? The heart-wrenching cries of young dinos disappeared? No, it was the callous, uncontrollable bleat of the Coreylewandowski. An inopportune bleat that led him to being summoned before a very ticked off Tyrumposaurus.

“Thank you very much,” said the T-Rump.

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

“That is NOT a compliment. Now I have to fuh- … fuh- … I can’t even say the word.”

“It’s okay to curse, boss. I do it all the time.”

“Flip flop! I can’t believe I’m doing this. I have to. And it’s all your fault. You’re listening to Donkeycongrus advisor, the Zacpetkanas, who’s talking about a 10-year-old Refugeeraptor with an incurable disease. And you say, ‘Womp. Womp.’ What were you thinking?!”

“Well, I …”

The T-Rump’s long tail suddenly lashed out.

WOMP! WOMP!

The Coreylewandowski was flat on his back, down for the count. The T-Rump stood over him.

“Is that ‘womp womp’ good enough for you?”

The Coreylewandowski stirred.

“But the Hopehicksbagotrix …”

“Yes?”

“She liked it when I’d say, Womp. Wo-”

WOMP! WOMP!

The T-Rump’s tail rained down on the curled up Coreylewandowski.

“I can’t … I can’t help myself,” said the downed dino.

“Neither can I.”

WOMP! WOMP!

And so the Great Flip Flop came to pass. Some called it the Great Womp Womp. Would this be the first of many? Would the Coreylewandowski seek Psychodino advice? And what about the 2300 young dinos stranded across the land? Millions of dinos in the Milkanhoney Preservation were wondering. And watching.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Damage Control Briefing #263 …

A storm was raging. The large walnut minds of the Milkanhoney Preservation had set aside the day’s agenda. There was no time for the Kimjongadon, the hell-bent Tariffraptors or even a surprise visit from a Celebritysaurus. The sun was shining outside, but inside the Oval Dwelling, a feeding frenzy loomed in this on again-off again, dino-eat-dino world. The Tyrumposaurus was on the warpath, eager to blame any dino but himself.

He’d just been informed that the top legal dino in Manhattinhand was suing his My-Moolah-Moolah Foundation for illegal activity. Namely, accepting moolah-moolah leaves from well-meaning dinos who thought they were helping the veteran dinos only to see the T-Rump turn around and line his own nest with it.

“That’s my moolah-moolah,” shouted the T-Rump. “Don’t they understand that?”

The ever-blinking, battle-scarred Rudygiuliani nodded profusely.

“You’re the leader,” he said. “You’ve shown no empathy. No empathy whatsoever. Why on earth would they expect you to now give moolah-moolah to the veterans. It’s crazy. Preposterous!“

“Next,” said the Marinegunkelly at the door. His duties had been reduced to giving short, impromptu manicures to the long claws of the long line of dinos waiting to have access to the T-Rump.

“Oh, yes,” said the Rudygiuliani. “Before we begin Damage Control Briefing #263, I’d like to introduce you to the latest member of the team. We have a terrible turnover rate — I have no idea why — but I have a good feeling about this dino.”

A dinosaur wearing a goofy grin bounded forward with a playful leap. The Rudygiuliani wrapped a short arm around his neck.

“I present you the Stephencolbert.”

The T-Rump gave him the once over.

“Do I know you?”

“Heck, no. I’m up way past your bedtime.”

“Well, Stephen, you’re working for me now. For free. You should know I have a thing against paying a dino an honest wage for an honest day’s work.”

“Because you’re dishonest. Of course. No shocker there. I understand completely. Never mind the money, I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Hah!” the Rudygiuliani said with a forced laugh, punching the Stephencolbert in the arm. “That’s the spirit. Isn’t he a funny dino? … Of course he is or he wouldn’t be here. He’s smart, he cares … because there’s that hole to fill. Did I say he was funny too?”

The T-Rump dragged a claw across his chin, then the Stephencolbert’s chin for good measure.

“Smart, caring and funny like the Kimjongadon?” he asked.

The Stephencolbert brightened.

“Did you hear about the explosion in the Nuclearballisticus population? I mean, KA-BOOM!”

“O-k-a-y,” said the Rudygiuliani, “we don’t need the T-Rump mumbling that in his sleep. Moving right along, welcome to the team, Stephen. We have, uh … more messes than normal to clean up today. But first some good news. The Inspector General dino’s footprints in the sand were finally on display today. They say that lying, no-good Comeyonus acted out of line and some nonsense that he wasn’t politically motivated. I think we should just forget that last part because after all, as your legal dino, it’s my duty to contest everything.”

“What do you think, Stephen?” asked the T-Rump.

“Well, the way I see it … you fired Comey. Then you lied about it. But you’re a good liar, I’ll give you that. You need to look at your reflection in the water and ask yourself, are you the best liar?”

The T-Rump’s brow furrowed in confusion. He’d heard the special word. That ringing endorsement of desperately sought recognition.

“The best? Of course I’m the best.”

“Next!”

Claws groomed, the Michaelcohen scrambled into the room. The T-Rump bristled at the sight of him.

“Do I know you?”

“T-Rump, it’s me, your legal dino, your fixer. The dino who would dive off Smashed Dino-Head Jump for you.”

“Wrong on the first two counts,” said the T-Rump. “But you still have a shot at the third.”

“I know we’ve been through a lot, T-Rump. But my family needs me. You must understand. I was hoping … Could you pardon me? You know … like family?”

“Sure. I can pardon family.”

“Oh, thank you, bless you, T-Rump.”

“Not your family. Mine.”

“And don’t forget, T-Rump” said the Rudygiuliani, “the Kushneratops is disposable.”

The Michaelcohen stood there shocked, the familiar look on his face like he was being chased by something much bigger than him.

“But you pardoned the Sheriffjovenator. And the Scooterlibby. They’re not family.”

“Those were … those were my practice pardons.”

“Practice?” said the Stephencolbert. “You don’t need no practice. Practice? I mean, we’re talkin’ practice.”

The Stephencolbert turned to the Michaelcohen.

“Enquiring dinos want to know. Are you still thinking about flipping like a little purse puppy?”

“It’s a shame what’s happening to you,” the T-Rump said to his former fixer. “But no one knows of the hardship I’m going through trying to replace you. That’s the real shame.”

“You – you’re replacing me. Already?”

“Somebody has to take care of my, uh … discrepancies.”

“And there are SO many,” chimed in the Stephencolbert.

The T-Rump eyed him strangely.

“I don’t know what to say,” said the crestfallen Michaelcohen.

“Exactly,” said the Rudygiuliani. “What you just said. Say it to the judge. Over and over.”

The Michaelcohen trudged dejectedly for the door.

“Oh, Michael,” the Stephencolbert called after him. “If you need someone to look after your little dinos, you can drop them off at the Great Tex-Mex Divide. You might even see them again.”

A defeated Michaelcohen staggered out the door.

“Well,” said the Rudygiuliani, “I think we’re doing well. Just one last crisis.”

The Stephencolbert skipped around the room.

“The Manaforta’s in jail, the Manaforta’s in jail,” he sang gleefully.

The Rudygiuliani frowned.

“I wouldn’t be too happy about it.” He turned to the T-Rump. “The Manaforta was busted for witness tampering. He’s in the Solitary Sinkhole until his trial.”

“Witness tampering?” said the T-Rump. “I like his style. Even when facing 300 years in the hole, he keeps breaking the law. That’s impressive. It really is. He’s a real team player.”

The Rudygiuliani rose from his haunches.

“Well, time for me to make the rounds with the Mediacircustops. Bafflegab, bafflegab. Comin’ up.”

The Stephencolbert headed for the door as well.

“Where are you going?” asked the T-Rump.

“Me? Oh, bells to ring, songs to sing, hands to wring … and mud to sling.”

“Good,” said the T-Rump. “Mud slinging’s good. Hit the Sessionsopossum with some while you’re at it.”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Singapore Sideshow …

The tight-lipped Tyrumposaurus sized up the opponent before  him. Here he was at Singapore-Sling, staring across a flat rock table at the short, squat dinosaur, a dino he’d referred to just six months before as the Little Rocket Dino. How times had changed. His lips curled into a sneer as he reminded himself the Obamarus had never done this.

The Kimjongadon, supreme leader of Ping Pong Valley, carefully studied the T-Rump. He was indeed a dotard. But an unpredictable dotard. This was their first meeting. After three generations of being a nobody, the Kimjongadon was now a somebody. A somebody with a stock of Nuclearballisticus, hence this hurried meeting at Singapore-Sling.

The two dinos’ gazes wandered, their tails thumping haphazardly on the ground. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation of the first words ever spoken between leaders of the Milkanhoney Preservation and Ping Pong Valley.

“So …” said the T-Rump. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to talk about?”

The two dinos sighed, easing back on their haunches. Introductions and opening witty repartee accomplished.

“They make a great lunch here,” said the T-Rump. “Absolutely fantastic. The best.”

The Kimjongadon paused. The T-Rump wasn’t crazy like a Foxasaurus. He was just plain crazy. Time to negotiate, er … swindle.

“I’m prepared to offer you the same thing I’ve offered every leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation for the past 25 years.”

“That’s great,” gushed the T-Rump. “Just great. I knew you’d give me something.”

For a moment, the Kimjongadon considered stopping right there, but he was after all,  offering nothing.

“I will consider reducing my amount of Nuclearballisticus. In exchange …”

“Yes, yes,” said the T-Rump, bouncing on his haunches.

“You will need to stop playing your war games with the Seoulkoreasaurus.”

“Is that all? Done.” The T-Rump looked up at the sun. “My, look at the time.”

“Uh, T-Rump.”

“Yes?”

“Your Mediacircustops are going to inquire about Ping Pong Valley and the, um … un-dino-like conditions I’ve imposed.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“You know. The horrific conditions I’ve inflicted upon over 100,000 dinos. They’re good dinos at heart. They just need some containment. And then there’s my executing my brother and uncle.”

“Look, you really don’t need to go into family …”

“Here’s what you can tell your Mediacircustops.”

“Woah. You mean I have to remember something?” The T-Rump groaned. “Just when I was getting good with ‘270 percent.’”

“You can tell them that I feed my dinos bullweed.”

“Bullweed?”

“Yes, strictly grass roots, low on nutrition, leaves a bad taste in your mouth. But it won’t rot your teeth. At least initially. And the tapeworms love it.”

“Loves his 270 dinos. I can remember that.”

“Loves his dinos. That’s all.”

“Right.”

“I have a question, T-Rump.”

“Damn. I mean, what is it?”

“How come you treat the bad dinos, like me and the Putinodon better than the good dinos, like your Justintrudeau next door? Could it be that you’re keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?”

“No, I just saw this as an opportunity to improve my ever-growing popularity, so I jumped at it. It’s all about me. … And you.”

The Kimjongadon smirked. Those poor Milkanhoney Preservation dinos. Their leader was certifiable.

“I want to make one thing clear,” said the Kimjongadon.

“Yes?”

“I am my Nuclearballisticus. When I no longer have my Nuclearballisticus I will no longer be. Do you understand? No longer.”

A dismissive nod from the T-Rump. He rose from his squat.

“Race you for the door!”

The two tyrannical dinos thundered towards the exit. Meeting adjourned.

The next day the T-Rump fired off a lengthy Trollertweety message. It was the same four words squawked over and over throughout the land.

“SQUAWK! … Kimjongadon no longer Nuclearballisticus! … SQUAWK! ”

 

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Charlevoix Charade …

The Velvetlounge Lizard Peternavarro slammed his fist on the flat rock table. His long, forked tongue flicked out and reeled back in as he glared at the Jaketapper.

“There’s a special place in hell for any foreign leader that engages in bad faith diplomacy with the Tyrumposaurus and then tries to stab him in the back on the way out the door.”

“Stabbed him in the back he did,” said the Larrykudlow. “Stabbed him! Kind of. Really.”

The two T-Rump economic dinos, who thought an interest rate was anything above boredom, frowned indignantly at the Jaketapper.

The Mediacircustops host was somewhat puzzled.

“You two must be ramping things up for the T-Rump’s big Singapore-Sling meeting with the Kimjongadon.”

The Peternavarro threw his short arms up in the air.

“The Kimjongadon? Hell no. We’re talking about that … that …”

“Easy, Petey,” said the Larrykudlow. “We don’t want you having a heart attack. You know what the doctor said about your cold, cold blood.”

The lizard shook him off.

“That Justintrudeau!”

“I’m sorry,” said the Jaketapper. “Do you mean the polite and reasonable Justintrudeau?”

“Wrong,” said the Larrykudlow. “Fake news. The T-Rump said he’s mild and meek. That makes him what, Petey?”

“The mildest and the meekest. Bar none. Somebody had to say it.”

“And he made false statements,” added the Larrykudlow. “Falsehoods. Lies. Despicable. The Justintrudeau is a liar. He’s weak. Dishonest.”

“But the T-Rump has told over 3000 lies. In 500 days. That’s six per day, Larry.”

“You’re winning my argument for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what we’ve come to expect from our leader. That’s the way he bungles, I mean, rumbles in the jungle. But this Justintrudeau. We expect the truth from him. One lie and now we don’t know what to expect. Unpredictable. One lie too many. I don’t know what to say. It’s shocking. Really.”

“Uh, Larry, this may be breaking news, but the Justintrudeau is our ally. Our friend. He merely said he wasn’t about to be pushed around.”

“There. You said it yourself. He was picking a fight.”

“You think you know a dino,” scoffed the Peternavarro. “The Justintrudeau should know better than to say such things before the big Singapore-Sling meeting. He knows the T-Rump has a short fuse.”

“The shortest,” added the Larrykudlow.

The Peternavarro waggled a claw at the Jaketapper.

“The T-Rump showed the utmost courtesy of showing up at Charlevoix-Kaybeck. In a socialist setting, no less.”

“He was supposed to be there.”

“And there he was, things were going so well. The T-Rump was all set to agree with the other dinos that something was actually being accomplished — and wham!”

The Larrykudlow jumped in.

“The Justintrudeau had to go there. He had to remind everybody about the Tariffraptors the T-Rump released in the Region D’Aluminum and behind the Steel Curtain.”

Try as he might, Jaketapper couldn’t stop from rolling his eyes.

“Dinos, one of the first things the T-Rump said in Charlevoix was to ask how come the Putinodon wasn’t there. That the Putinodon should be there.”

“Yes, well, uh,” stammered the Larrykudlow. “The T-Rump said something happened.”

“That something was the Putinodon’s Russodinos rampaging through the Ukrainia into the Creme de la Crimea four years ago.”

The Peternavarro jumped up from his haunches.

“That was the Obamarus’ fault! The T-Rump said so!”

“Of course,” said the Jaketapper, eyebrows firmly clamped down. “Finally, with this Singapore-Sling meeting the T-Rump has rushed off to. Any comments on how it’s going to go? The T-Rump said he’ll know in the first minute if it will be a success or not.”

“That’s right,” said the Larrykudlow. “The T-Rump doesn’t even have to prepare. He’s ready. Because if anything happens, and I mean anything, it’s the Kimjongadon’s fault.”

“Or the Obamarus,” said the Peternavarro. “And don’t forget the Justintrudeau. The meek and mild be damned.”

His long, forked tongue flicked out and reeled in.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Sounds Like Chicken …

You could cut the tension in the Oval Dwelling with a sharp-edged dinosaur bone. Glum faces all around. There was the Paulryan, a seasoned but largely silent Grandoldparty dino. Beside him sat the Scottpruitt, an Enviromenace whose unethical shenanigans had launched no less than a dozen investigations. A former heavyweight from the Philadelphian Free Range, the Michaelnutter was also in attendance. The Huckabeecyclops snuck inside the doorway, collapsing beside it, weeping softly into her hands. The others paid her no mind. It was just another day in the Trumpassic Period.

The Tyrumposaurus entered the Oval Dwelling and took a quick, cursory glance around the room. His angry glare settled upon the Paulryan.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this, Paul. Using your cabinet position as Beaker and a Louse to gain favorable consideration for your spouse to receive a fresh Chickfillay. What gives you that special right? Did you ever consider asking me if I might want a fresh Chickfillay? You know what? I should rename that beast. To make it sound even better. Because I can, you know. We’ll call it the T-Rump Chickfillay.”

“Excuse me, T-Rump,” said the Paulryan. He pointed at the Scottpruit. “He’s the Chickfillay.”

The T-Rump moved over to the Scottpruitt.

“You Cheekyphilly,” he said, glaring down at the Enviromenace. “You think you’re so special, saying you’re going to be here at the Oval Dwelling and then you don’t even show up. I said don’t kneel and you kick and scream saying you’re free to kneel. Who ever heard of a dinosaur kneeling? Dinos squat! You got that? Such disgraceful conduct for our national anthem, The Flight of the Trollertweeties. I used to know a few words. I think I can still hum it.” He eyed the Scottpruitt warily. “I ought to kick you out of the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

The Scottpruitt motioned over to the Michaelnutter. “Uh … he’s the Cheekyphilly.”

“Ah, yes. Chock-fullah … spies.” The T-Rump’s evil eye found the Michaelnutter. “I know all about your Langleyops penetrating my leadership campaign. You’re a sneaky bunch, you are. But you weren’t looking for Russodinos. You were looking for me!”

“Oh, T-Rump,” said the Paulryan, “I happen to agree. They were just doing their job.”

“Silence! Don’t stick up for him. … Chickfillay. Cheekyphilly. Chock-fullah. Call it what you may. It’s all the same thing. You’re all against me. Everyone of you. Against me … the stable genius!

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the sobbing Huckabeecyclops.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, I … it’s the Mediacircustops.”

“Are you crying? There’s no crying in politics!”

“They’re ganging up on me! They’re calling me a … chi- … chi- …”

“Chickfillay?”

“No.”

“Cheekyphilly?”

She shook her head.

“Chock-fullah … ?”

Another shake of her head.

“Chicken! They’re calling me chicken!”

“Frankly, Huckabee, I don’t give a damn. They can call you whatever they want as long as they say nice things about me. Remember, you’ve got a job to do.”

“Keep misinforming them?”

“Away you go. Back to work.”

She slowly rose to her haunches and dragged herself out the door. The T-Rump turned back to the others.

“Now then, I think this weekly Pardon Program I’ve begun is going to be very successful. It may even put me in the running for the Nobelpeacepiper, I’m such a nice guy. I think 30 or so pardons should do it.”

“T-Rump,” said the Michaelnutter. “Before you pardon others, maybe you should pardon yourself.”

“I will. Eventually.”

“I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your begging the pardon of the fine dinos of the Philadelphian Free Range, for embarrassing them over this whole Oval Dwelling visit fiasco.”

“I don’t beg.”

“You, on the other hand,” the T-Rump said, turning to the Paulryan, “you could use a pardon.”

“What!? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t I know it. If you’d back me up on a few of these things I’ve got going on here, that wouldn’t be a problem, now would it? You’re a little too squeaky clean for my liking.”

The T-Rump’s gaze found the Scottpruitt.

“Scotty here, on the other hand … ah, my good dino, Scotty. You’re doing a great job. Ethically speaking, the environment as well, you’re a monster! I hope you’re still here after another dozen investigations, you’ve done so much for me. It’s too bad I’ll only be able to pardon you once. Hmm. Maybe I can change that. Until then, keep up the great work. Oh, and I have some used moolah-moolah leaves I’ve been sleeping in. Would you like those?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Changing Recollection …

“Take a look already.”

“I just did.”

“Go look again,” said the Tyrumposaurus.

The Marinegunkelly slowly rose from his haunches and trudged across the Oval Dwelling. It was his only role these days: Subpoenasaurus Look-Out. He reached the doorway and stuck his crooked neck out.

“All clear,” he called back.

“You’re sure now?”

“You’re paranoid.”

The T-Rump turned to the Rudygiuliani and the Jaysekulow.

“That Muellersavus is going to be the death of us all. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months. I’d start paying you two moolah-moolah but I can’t afford to slip ONE notch in the FORD List.”

FORD stood for Filthy, Obscenely Rich Dinos.

“We need a new strategy,” said the T-Rump. “The Treygowdy blew up our Spygate excuse, that little white-haired weasel, talking out of the wrong nostril again. Whaddaya got, Rudy? Something crazy, I hope?”

The Rudygiuliani leaned forward. Too fast. He was so eager he did a face plant in the sand. No one came to his aid. It was all part of his daily sideshow. He struggled back on his haunches, rubbed his eyes with his short arms and blinked wide-eyed several times. Head cleared, he slapped his hands together and his delirious grin finally reappeared. He pointed a wavering claw in the air.

“Changing recollection.”

“What?!” said the T-Rump. “This isn’t some recycling program!”

“No, no. It’s a new way we can LIE.”

He drew the word out like the seasoned veteran he was. He knew the T-Rump liked a long lie. The longer, the better.

“Go on.”

“We got good mileage out of the Kellyanneconvixway’s ‘alternative facts,’ right?”

“God, I hate that phrase, and she’s on our team,” the Jaysekulow said, shaking his head.

“You see,” said the Rudygiuliani, “we need a new cover phrase for our lies because we need to get out front of a lot of them. And I mean a LOT.”

“Are we talking all 3,251?” asked the T-Rump.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Just the big ones. You know, the whoppers.”

“Well, I am the greatest.”

The Jaysekulow wiped his nose on a moolah-moolah leaf and frowned.

“They got us dead to rights on you dictating that message to the T-Rump Jr. after the Russodino meeting.”

“Damn Mediacircustops,” the T-Rump cursed. Always with the questions.“

“Problem solved,” said the Rudygiuliani. “We just say with so much information out there, coupled with us having to concoct cover stories for cover stories for cover stories, there’s no way we could keep things straight.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said the Jaysekulow.

“Quiet,” said the T-Rump. “I can always bring back the Dowderpuff.”

The two legal dinos looked at each other. They knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. The Dowderpuff had last been seen hightailing it for the Valley de la Vegetatif, home to dinos both vapid and vacuous.

The T-Rump caught the eye of the Marinegunkelly.

“What are you looking at. The, uh … doorway?”

The chief Subpoenasaurus Spotter trudged once more to the entrance.

“Ahem, I’m not done,” said the Rudygiuliani.

“There’s more?” said the T-Rump. “Such great return on my investment.”

Another look shared by the two legal dinos. What investment? They were working pro bono.

“Uh, that’s right,” said the Rudygiuliani, “we get around this whole obstruction of justice thingamabob by telling them who you really are.”

“The Tyrumposaurus? … Or one of my many aliases used to help pump up publicity for my insatiable need of recognition from the Mediacircustops.”

“No, not that. You are leader of the free-running dinosaur world. And as such, you probably — that’s the key word here because, heh-heh, I’ve forgotten more than the Jaysekulow will ever know.”

“Very funny,” said his crusty colleague.

“Which means maybe,” said the Rudygiuliani, “just maybe, you can tell the Meullersavus to stick it where Brown Nose Raptor goes. I mean, you’re the boss … the head honcho … the T-Rump of this dump.”

The T-Rump’s orange brow furrowed.

“You mean I can’t obstruct myself? I can pardon any dino I want — including myself — and I can call off the whole Russodino investigation?”

“Basically,” said the Rudygiuliani. “We just need to throw in some ‘ifs,’ a few ‘maybes’ and sprinkle in some ‘buts.’”

“Don’t forget the ‘probablies,’” said the Jaysekulow. “Lots of probablies.”

“Make it so,” said the T-Rump.

And that was how the T-Rump’s vaunted legal dino team set in place 20 footprints in the sand a judicial planning strategy, a JPS that stood for Just Plain Stupid, the most insane legal stance ever hatched by the Oval Dwelling walnut-brained.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Williameffbuckley …

The Tyrumposaurus had a penchant for cheating on his Milkanhoney Preservation-sponsored fitness diet. The calorie-counting crime typically began with a few extra servings of Caviaraptor legs topped with two bushfuls of huckleberries and a drizzle of gargantuan gristle. But tonight he was paying the price. The T-Rump tossed and turned in his sleep before finally losing himself … if only to find himself in the most profound of prophetic dreams.

He dreamt he was flogging with the Putinodon on a sunny hillside overlooking a den of healthy, vibrant Playmatapus frolicking in a waist-deep, sandy beach lagoon.

The Putinodon went one way, the T-Rump the other, and the leader of the free-running dinosaur world soon stood before a cave with a large boulder blocking the entrance.

A voice came from within.

“I’ve been waiting.”

It was dino English, but spoken with an idiosyncratic accent: something between an old-fashioned, upper class Mid-Atlanticus accent, and Britwit Received Pronunciation, with a Fine Southern Dixie drawl.

The boulder moved slowly to the side, a beam of light came from the heavens and a flock of Trollertweeties suddenly passed by overhead, a squawking squadron of sorts. It almost had a religious feel to it. The T-Rump wondered if a parade may be in store. But only a single dinosaur stood there, carefully studying the Tyrumposaurus.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am the Williameffbuckley. Some refer to me as the Williameffenbuckley. Perhaps you’ve read my footprints in the sand. No, of course you haven’t. You don’t read. What did you do at bedtime with your baby dinos?

“We counted. Moolah-moolah leaves. Every night.”

The Williameffbuckley smirked.

“I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting that you really believe what you just said.”

Even dinosaurs wonder while dreaming and the T-Rump wondered what in blue blazes a Williameffbuckley was doing in his.

“You’re fired!” he blurted out, a knee jerk reaction. Only in the dreams that blur reality, it sounded like the croaking of an old, withered frog.

And the Williameffbuckley was still there.

“Go on,” said the T-Rump. “Shoo. Be off.”

“Oh, you can’t be rid of me. I’m the preeminent voice of Milkanhoney conservatism. Some call me its great ecumenical dino.”

“Great, huh? Sorry, bub. I’m the greatest. At whatever you said.”

“Indeed you are the greatest at what you do during your executive time, because I profoundly believe it takes a lot of practice to become a moral slob.”

“I don’t have to put up with this. I know the Putinodon, you know. He almost invited me to dinner once.”

“Ah, the Putinodon, your home away from home. He’s still practicing communism. What would happen if the Communists occupied the Sahara? Answer: Nothing—for 50 years. Then there would be a shortage of sand. … The Putinodon cannot take permanent advantage of our temporary disadvantage, for it is the West he is fighting. And in the West there lie, however encysted, the ultimate resources, which are moral in nature. The Putinodon is not aware that the gates of hell shall not prevail against us. Even out of the depths of despair, we take heart in the knowledge that it cannot matter how deep we fall, for there is always hope. In the end, we will bury him.”

The T-Rump raised a claw.

“Before you do that, I believe I still owe him some moolah-moolah leaves. I mean, would you like to do some campaign stops with me? You sure have the gift of gab. I could use you. The Rudygiuliani is getting stale, believe it or not.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. As your most basic politicaI tenets are on the far side of common sense, I hereby expel you from the entire neo-classic conservative spectrum. You are a dino demagogue and narcissist.”

“Oh, come on. I was just having an off day like the Roseannebarr. I’m really a nice guy.”

“T-Rump,” the Williameffbuckley said as if cajoling a dino tot. “You are almost unique in your search for notoriety and absolutely unequalled in your co-existence with it. I would like to take you seriously but to do so would be an affront to your intelligence.”

“There you go again with that reading thing. Why read when I can just lie?”

“Because every dino has a right to his own opinion, but no dino has a right to be wrong in his facts. Today this seemingly indisputable truth no longer holds. Propaganda is indistinguishable from fact and we find ourselves living in the frightening Georgeorwellian footprints in the sand.”

“George who?”

“Truth is a demure lady, much too ladylike to knock you on your head and drag you to her cave. She is there, but people must want her, and seek her out.”

“Sounds like work.”

There was a pause, making the T-Rump nervous at his limited vocabulary.

“What?” he said. “Did you run out of fancy words already?”

The Williameffbuckley shrugged.

“I am satisfied to sit back and contemplate my own former eloquence. … But so you don’t go away angry … you just go away … I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine, a great patriot …”

“Oh, no you don’t. Not the Muellersavus.”

“Rest assured, there will be time for him. I was talking about the …”

A ferocious, jagged toothed, saliva-dripping-from-jaws dinosaur stepped out of the wings. His roar sent a chill down the T-Rump’s spine.

It was the Joemccarthy, foaming at the mouth in a foul, anti-Russodino sympathizing mood.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

The Non-Existent Source …

The senior Oval Dwelling dino looked nervously over the edge of the cliff on the south face of Mount Pushmore. He shivered at the dizzying drop to certain death below.

“Don’t jump!” the Maggiehaberman shouted from a hundred feet below.

“Why did you have to say that?” cried the senior dino.

“I said I was sorry. I was just wondering allowed that if the T-Rump said the senior Oval Dwelling source the Mediacircustops referred to didn’t exist — when in fact it is you — and every Mediacircustops saw and heard you, then in effect the T-Rump is saying you, um … don’t exist. And I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you would take this so hard …”

“He said I don’t exist. After every lie and secret and Pornodactyl I’ve kept quiet. This is the thanks I get.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“I’ll show him. I’m going to provide background upon background upon background information until the Muellersavus won’t even need to interview him.”

“Wow. Could I get that on the record?”

The senior non-existent source mulled it over.

“Well, since I was planning to jump.”

Suddenly, the T-Rump came huffing and puffing around the corner. The Lesliestahl was in hot pursuit, chasing him up the side of the mountain. They stopped beside the Maggiehaberman.

“Okay, okay,” the T-Rump said out of breath to the Lesliestahl, “I’ll answer your damn question.” He turned to the Maggiehaberman. “Why couldn’t it be you chasing me?”

The Lesliestahl cleared her throat, dousing a nearby lilac bush with a fresh coat of phlegm.

“T-Rump, I know it’s been a year, but it’s never too late for a follow-up question. You told me that you lie to us Mediacircustops to discredit us and demean us, so when we say negative things about you no dinos will believe us.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You’re lying again.”

“Only to prove my point. Lying continues to improve my popularity. Why stop now?”

The T-Rump raised his chin smugly and spotted the senior dino on the ledge high above. He shaded his eyes with his hand.

“Who the heck is that up there?”

“What?!” came the shout from above. “You pompous blowhard! How dare you say you don’t know me!”

The Maggiehaberman shifted her feet.

“Um, that would be the senior Oval Dwelling official, you know, the one you said didn’t exist? He’s right up there … and because you’ve upset him so …”

“Jump!” hollered T-Rump. “You can do it.”

“Oh,” said the source, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I would jump so I could land on top of your fat smiling face. Then you’ll see if I exist or not, you ungrateful, lying lizard.”

“Wait, not so fast,” said the Maggiehaberman. “You mentioned background … and then on the record.”

“About what?” asked the T-Rump.

“About you.”

“Jump, damn you.”

At that, the Rudyguiliani appeared before them, huffing and puffing, out of breath. He nodded toward the Maggiehaberman.

“I thought I smelt a Mediacircustops.”

“Rudy!” shouted the senior dino from above.

The Rudyguiliani craned his neck.

“Do I know you?”

“No,” snapped the T-Rump.

The Rudyguiliani pointed a claw in the air.

“Oh, I know. You’re the senior Oval Dwelling dino that doesn’t exist.”

The T-Rump kicked him in the shin.

“Ow! I mean, no. You’re not at all the senior Oval Dwelling dino that doesn’t exist. Because you can never tell how sneaky those Langleyops dinos can be. You must be that informant …”

“Sinister informant,” said the T-Rump.

“Oh, yes,” said the Rudyguiliani, “so sinister you must be a spy. Spygate,” he said, salivating. “But you’ve already been outed … which goes to show you that even more material is being provided to us by the Langleyops — home to that sick and twisted deep state society. I didn’t say the investigation was illegitimate. Only it’s premise. I ask you, has anybody looked into the premise that the Muellersavus may have had an illegitimate dino? Huh?”

“Good one, Rudy,” said the T-Rump. “And check the Obamarus and the Crookadillary too. Illegitimate dinos, all of them.”

“What about me?” came the cry from above.

The T-Rump frowned, looking to the Rudyguiliani for counsel.

“It depends if he’s going to jump or not. If he does, it’s collusion. If he doesn’t, it’s obstruction. Now that you can talk about with the Muellersavus.”

“And no Russodinos. That’s great, Rudy. Just great.”

“You’re gonna love this, T-Rump. Today I told the Danabash that the Jamesclapper and the Johnbrennan are clowns. A couple of clowns, I said!”

The two dinos laughter echoed throughout the valley.