David Belisle

The Mikepompeo stuck his neck into the Oval Dwelling.

“Excuse me, T-Rump?”

“WHAT?!”

The Tyrumposaurus looked at him with panicky, bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept in a week. He sent out his Trollertweeties at all hours these days. Their messages, garbled at best, lacked their usual scorched earth policy. Instead, they sounded like those from a sniveling Snotnose, a dino prone to complaining of phantom bone spur pain. The T-Rump was having a bad day, a terrible week and a catastrophic month. The Michaelcohen raid had been a vicious dinosaur tail to the face.

Surrounding the T-Rump were the remaining dregs from the legal dino profession willing to work pro bono in addition to receiving copious amounts of daily verbal and psychological abuse.

‘I – I’ve come to a landmark decision with the Kimjongadon.”

“How nice,” the T-Rump replied through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t help me now, does it!”

“But …”

“Can’t you see we’re in the middle of serious business here!? How can I make the Milkanhoney Preservation great again if I’m in the Solitary Sinkhole?”

“Yes, T-Rump.” The Mikepompeo turned to go.

“Pompeo, tell the Barbarabush funeral dinos I couldn’t make it out of respect … but since the T-Melania is there ….”

“I’ll see what Pornodactyls or Playmatapus are in the neighborhood.”

“You didn’t have to tell everyone.”

The aspiring Secretary of State exited.

“Okay,” the T-Rump said, turning to his lead dino attorney. The Jaysekulow was gnawing thoughtfully on a dead rodent. “What have you got for me?”

“We have some fresh meat, I mean legal dinos, added to the team.”

“Oh?” The T-Rump’s gaze skipped the first two dinos — both males — to land on the third. A female. They shared a smile, the T-Rump wanting more.

“This is the Rudygiuliani …”

“And?”

“The, uh … Martyraskin …”

“And?” The T-Rump grew impatient.

“The Janeraskin, of course. His wife.”

“How unfortunate.” The T-Rump winced.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“So unfortunate that you … and your husband … are only joining our team just now. I, I mean we, could’ve used you before.”

The T-Rump eyed the three new members.

“You will be working pro bono of course and, as none of you have my best interests at heart more than me, I will be calling the shots. One thing you all can do for me however …”

“Yes, yes?” the Rudygiuliani said a little too eagerly.

“I’ll need you to make up derogatory nicknames for yourselves. I simply don’t have the time.”

The Martyraskin raised a claw.

“Excuse me, but I heard that the Grandoldparty committee was spending 25% of its moolah-moolah on legal fees?”

The Jaysekulow shook his head.

“Boy, have you got a lot to learn.” He turned to his boss. “The latest status report:  we have over 100 civil law suits at the federal level, there’s the Stormydaniels thing, the Summerzervos defamation suit, the Muellersavus investigation and, this just in … the Donkeykongrus committee is suing us and the Russodinos and the Wikileakibeak for interfering with their election campaign.”

“Well, sue them back!”

“For what?”

“For suing me in the first place! How dare they!”

The Jaysekulow knew better than to butt heads with the T-Rump. The Dowderpuff had implied he knew more than the T-Rump and was now back to chasing the speedy Ambulansaurus’.

“We’ll come up with something, T-Rump. So … what kind of day are you having? Is it a I’m-smarter-than-the-Muellersavus or a He-hurt-my-feelings kind of day?”

The T-Rump mulled it over.

“That damn Comeyonus has really got me going. Who made him the law of the land? Honestly, if we just keep saying all media and their sources and the Donkeykongrus … am I missing any dino?

“Just say all dinos not present, T-Rump.”

“Right. If we can just keep lying about that then my six lies a day are meaningless, right?”

“Just one thing, T-Rump,” said the Martyraskin, “the Comeyonus has never changed his story. It’s uncanny. I’ve never heard a dino so eloquent, so convincing. Dare I say it, I really believe he’s telling the truth.”

“Hoo-boy,” said the Jaysekulow.

The T-Rump’s brow furrowed into a second frown.

“Do you want to work for me for free or not?”

The Martyraskin looked away, considering the moolah-moolah he would make from his own footprints-in-the-sand tell-all expose of this blowhard buffoon.

“I’m good,” he said.

“Alright then. I’m only keeping you because your wife had to divorce some other dino to marry you, right?”

She hadn’t, but the Raskin dinos quickly recognized the T-Rump’s penchant for maximum humiliation. There was no point in arguing with his alternate reality. Some walnut brains were simply more cracked than others. This was going to be a wild ride.

There was the gnashing of teeth and flashing of raw, rare Kosmoceratops meat in the mouths of the Tyrumposaurus, the Jeaninepirro, the Seanhannity and the frizzy-scalped Donking. The four dinos were at the T-Rump’s Mar-a-Guano retreat to discuss strategy and devour spoils befitting their standing in the topsy-turvy political food chain.

The Jeaninepirro paused, blood dripping from her jowls, her sharp teeth and claws deep in a juicy flap of Kosmo red meat. The kind of red meat that makes a dino see red. The Jeaninepirro ate a lot of red meat.

“T-Rump,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join your legal team? I’m free next week.”

“Well, I’ve been giving it a great amount of consideration, meaning I wasn’t thinking about it until you mentioned it, but … I think I’d like you to stay with the Foxsquawkbox and friends. You serve me so well there. Very well. So … so … well.”

“We’re doing our best, T-Rump,” said the Seanhannity. “It’s all we can do to stay ahead of the sick and twisted agenda of the Mediacircustops down at the Main Stream.”

“Sick and twisted agenda,” the T-Rump said. “I like that.”

“I’m truly humbled,” said the Foxsquawkbox host. “I have more. Rabid rabbit-hole reporters … left-leaning, lily-livered liars … deep doo-doo, Deep State defenders …”

“Fine, just fine, Sean. I’ll keep you another week.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding. Just an old line my mother used to tell me. Which is why I like my father much better. When I picture my father and my mother in mind, my father is always bigger. Much bigger.”

“Ahem,” said the Jeaninepirro, “I believe it’s my turn to bash those liberal line-spewing losers. LOCK’EM UP!”

Her loud shout startled the T-Rump. He clutched his throat, choking on a half-chewed flap of Kosmo gizzard, his second helping of gizzard because his guests were only allowed one. The horror in the T-Rump’s eyes spoke of a suddenly realized threat that no one would save him.

“Ohmigod! Did I do that?” she said. “I’m so sorry. Are you dying? You’re not going to uninvite me, are you?”

The Donking sprang to action. He brought his tail around like a roundhouse punch, right to the kisser. A tooth tumbled out of the T-Rump’s mouth. His eyelids sank, pulling the shades over their panic.

“You dummy,” said the Seanhannity. “You knocked him out.”

“That’s all I know,” said the Donking, squatting back on his haunches.

The Seanhannity jumped in the air, landing with resounding thud on the T-Rump’s belly. The T-Rump’s eyelids flew open and the guilty gizzard ejected high up in the air. The three other dinosaurs jockeyed for position under the flight of the juicy red meat. A quick two kicks to two groins and the Jeaninepirro snapped her jaws shut, swallowing the gizzard.

“M-m-m, sloppy seconds.”

A dazed T-Rump struggled to a squatting position.

“Did the Mediacircustops get my successful recovery? Did the Maggiehaberman say anything about me? Anything?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the Seanhannity. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“That’s all that matters.” The T-Rump sighed. “Has her husband left her yet?”

The other three dinosaurs shared the Oval Dwelling’s daily conundrum of wondering whether to humor the leader of the dinosaur world or simply ignore him. They nodded that in this case ignorance was bliss.

The Seanhannity raised a claw.

“Here’s one we haven’t tried yet. Let’s say that the Main Stream Mediacircustops only have jobs if they profess to have an undying, looks could kill, spit in your face hatred of you.”

“I’ll go you one better,” said the Jeaninepirro. “The Sinclair dinos — Sub Family of the Mediacircustops — have close to 200 species at the Main Stream. We should have them all say the same fake news message. Something like …”

“Let’s do this together,” interrupted the Seanhannity. “You know, misery loves company. I’ll start. We, the stalwart, know-it-all Sinclair dinos will root out the …”

“Nefarious, ugly thought-provoking, fickle, time-wasting facts,” chimed in the Jeaninepirro.

“That only serve to take our esteemed leader, the Tyrumposaurus, and his most important thoughts away from his latest game of flog,” finished the Seanhannity.

“I like it,” said the T-Rump. “Make it so. All 200 species. Give me loyalty. Or moolah-moolah.”

“Speaking of which,” said the Seanhannity. “We finally found a dinosaur poll that gives you a 50% approval rating.”

“How much did we pay for that?”

“We don’t want to say things like that, T-Rump,” cautioned the Jeaninepirro.

“Oh, right. Well, what poll was it?”

“Oh,” said the Seanhannity. “A little dino outfit just this side of extinction. It’s called the Ragamuffin Report.”

“They said 50%?”

“Yes. Well, they polled 5 dinosaurs and it’s a rolling average over a 5-minute period. Give or take 20 percent.”

“Fantastic! That’s more than the Obamarus ever had. Isn’t it?”

“At some point.”

“I want more. 60%. Get me 60.”

“Allow me,” said the Donking. “You want to beat the Obamarus? I can see it now.” He waved his short arms wide. Twice for effect. “We’ll call it The T-Rump Thump-a-Chump.’ You and the Obamarus toe-to-toe.”

“Can we throw in the Crookadillary too? Remember how I thumped her?”

“Are you sure you can handle two at the same time?” asked the Jeaninepirro.

“Oh, sure. You should’ve seen what I did to that place in the Moscovian Bluffs. Trashed it!”

“But what about your bone spurs?”

The T-Rump smiled his satisfied, lounge lizard smile.

“Did you want to see them? I have a private cave just around the corner. Out of the way, unassuming, includes a non-disclosure agreement. But you know all about those.”

Ho-hum, thought the Muellersavus. Another day, another victory. For collusion. His Langleytips DNA told him it was only a matter of sifting through the rubble and connecting the rocks that mattered. Today he was sitting atop a boulder.

He ramped up his steely-eyed gaze and directed it across the rustic rockpile at the latest stool pigeon caught in his gut-squeezing, mind-melding jaws of justice.

The Alexvanderzwaan, a Danishbritwit ex-legal dino from the meager Skadden Arps Slate Formation, squatted before him. He was the 19th dinosaur caught in the Moscovian Bluffs investigation. Beside him squatted the Rickyprisongates, nervously eyeing the Muellersavus. The veteran Langleytips dinosaur had already nailed him for washing millions of moolah-moolah leaves with his kingpin idol, the Manaforta, in all the wrong places. Law abiding dinos knew moolah-moolah leaves should always be washed at home.

“Alex,” said the Muellersavus, “you lied to me about your conversation with the Rickyprisiongates here. Now that you’re staring at the Solitary Sinkhole, you spent the past three days whining to one of my subordinate dinos about how you desperately need to be home to see the egg cracking of your first little dino.”

“Please, Muellersavus. I’m just a lonely Danishbritwit.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The Muellersavus waggled a boney claw at him. “I call it collusion entitlement. Did you ever stop to think how I feel? The Papadopoulus. The Flynnhasbeen. And now you. Lying to me. All of you. Do you think this is some dino game of Hang the Droopy Nose on the Dippy Diplodocus? Well?”

The ex-legal dino dropped his gaze to the ground in shame.

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No, it’s not some dino game of Hang the Droopy Nose on the Dippy Diplodocus.”

“I should say not. So, no, you can’t go home. Your poor wife is going to have to crack that damn egg all by herself. I hope you remember that.”

The Alexvanderzwaan was moved to tears.  An obvious ploy for pity thought the Muellersavus. Egg crackings, adopted dino babies, the Muellersavus had seen it all. It was time for the boulder play. Crack this one, Manaforta.

“Manaforta! Get in here!”

The Manaforta shuffled in, looking like a Martharaptor caught in the bright light of an incoming meteor. The Alexvanderzwaan’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, Manaforta! It’s been, what … 15 months since we’ve all been together?”

The Manaforta stole a quick glance at the Muellersavus, then turned to the two dinos.

“I don’t know any of you. Never seen you before in my life.”

“Paulie?” The Rickyprisongates looked crushed.

“Oh. Sorry, Ricky. Force of habit. Of course I know you. Only at work though. Remember, you work for me.”

The hairy eyeball from the Manaforta.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Paulie?”

“Ladies,” said the Muellersavus, “let’s cut to the chase.”

“Great,” said the Rickyprisongates. “I’m starved.”

“Figure of speech. Manaforta, you might be interested in knowing, the Alexvanderzwaan and your prodigy here, the Rickyprisongates were speaking with … I’ll call him a mystery dinosaur … the Moscowchickenkiev.”

The Manaforta turned to the Rickyprisongates.

“Did you tell him about the … the … Moscowchickenkiev? Huh? Did you? The Moscowchickenkiev, Ricky!”

“Paulie, stop it. You’re making me hungry!”

The Rickyprisongates coughed up a large, soft-shell rodent, then slowly regurgitated it.

“I’m sorry, Paulie,” he said between swallows. “I had to. I like you a lot but …”

“But what?”

“I don’t like you enough to spend 300 years with you in the Solitary Sinkhole. There. I said it.”

“But we can get pardons, Ricky. Pardons.” He said it through clenched teeth, squeezing his hands into pleading fists.

“Forget it, Paulie. The T-Rump has. The Stormydaniels, the Karenmcdougal, you know how short his attention span is.”

The Manaforta had to give him that one. The Muellersavus raised a claw.

“Manaforta, I think you know who the Moscowchickenkiev is. Oh, who am I kidding? No, I know you know who he is. The question is, do you know how many dinosaurs have already told me you know who he is. Well? … This was just my little way of reminding you that your washing moolah-moolah leaves all over the countryside is just the beginning of the troubled waters I now hold back, just waiting to wash over you. … It’s your turn, Manaforta. Are you a big fish or a little fish? Be the little fish and you may get to see your own little fishies outside visiting hours at the Solitary Sinkhole. What’ll it be, Manaforta? … I’m waiting.”

“Get in here, Joey! Now!”

The Joeydigenova poked his long neck inside the Oval Dwelling.

“My wife too? We’re a team you know.”

Moments later the Joeydigenova and his legal lover, the Victoriatoensing, squatted across from the Tyrumposaurus.

“I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” said the T-Rump. “While you had me at the two-for-one package deal, I’m afraid this just isn’t going to work out.”

“Why not?” asked the Victoriatoensing.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind six ways to Sunday on this one … and when your gut feeling turns to major indigestion, I just can’t always chalk it up to something I ate. No hard feelings?”

“Uh, no, of course not,” said the Joeydigenova. “You mentioned good news?”

“Yes, I didn’t want you two to leave without having done something for me. That’s how the Oval Dwelling rolls.”

The legal duo chuckled at the T-Rump’s joke … but the T-Rump didn’t get it. Awkward.

“We’re listening.”

“The Stormydaniels thing is blowing up again. Damn that Mediacircustops Andersoncooper. It’s all the Tymelania’s fault. If she wouldn’t have had all those head-aches, none of this would’ve ever happened. You do see I need something — anything — to blow this Stormy mess out of the water.”

“Of course.” The legal dino duo leaned toward each other, spoke in muffled terms for a minute, nodded and turned back to the T-Rump.

“You need to ratchet things up big-time,” said the Joeydigenova. “I mean big big. Hugely big. So, what’s the craziest thing you could do?”

“That’s easy. Expel some Russodino diplomats.”

“Exactly.”

“But what will the Putinodon say?”

“Look, do you want the Stormydaniels forgotten for one day, maybe two?”

“Go on,” said the T-Rump.

“Okay, so the question is how many Russodino diplomats are we going to expel.”

“Not too many I hope. The Putinodon’s really a good guy dino.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve come up with a method of giving you plausible deniability. And you can always say this is the reason you fired us.”

“I like it already.”

“Great. To help keep you focused and reduce your Putinodon stress, we’re going to make a game of it.”

“I like games.”

“We know. … We’re going to arrive at the number of expulsions randomly.”

“You lost me.”

“Plausible deniability.”

“Gotcha.”

“Now then,” the Victoriatoensing jumped in, “for every conspiracy theory that led to dead dinos at the hands of the Putinodon, you’re going to expel 10 Russodino diplomats. Okay?”

“Dead dinos? Hah! The Putinodon would never do that. Sounds like fake news to me. Looks like I won’t have to diss him after all.”

“Let’s begin, shall we? There was the Litvinenko going down with some bad swamp water.”

“Even I remember that one. Okay. That’s ten.”

“Oh, we’re not done with the Litvinenko conspiracy. There’s the Ponomarev who also had some bad water two days before, the Matthewpuncher who invesitgated the poison and the Danielmcgrory, the Mediacircustops who reported it. All gone.

“You made your point. Ten. Next.”

“There’s the Sergeimagnitsky and the Perepilichny, both Sub Family of the Whistleblower dinosaur. Beaten, heart attack. That type of thing.”

“The Sergeimagnitsky … that lead to the …”

“Sanctionsaurus, that’s right.”

“Oh. Well,” said the T-Rump. “The Putinodon wasn’t too upset about that. I guess that’s twenty.”

The Joeydigenova leaned forward.

“For the next conspiracy, we’ll combine the Mediacircustops with the Oligarchus because one dino was relative to both. The Mikhaillesin — right here on the Milkanhoney Preservation. Then there was the Politkovskaya, a Mediacircustops covering the Second Chechen Frontier and the Yurigolubev, an Oligarchus from the Yukosoil Fields.”

The T-Rump tapped his chin with a claw.

“Dead, dead …?”

“And dead,” said the Victoriatoensing. “We’re at thirty. Let’s not forget the Garethwillliams. He was found inside the Duffelbag Barrier. He was a Londonbritwit tracking down where the Russodino moolah-moolah leaves were being washed.”

“Oh, you mean like the Manaforta and Rickyprisongates.”

“Yep. That makes forty.”

“Surely that’s gotta be it,” said the T-Rump. “I mean, if you can’t trust the Putinodon …”

“His competition, the Borisnemtsov, turned up dead in the Moscovian Bluffs. Every Russodino security guard on duty that night was looking the other way.”

“Big coincidence. But I’ll give you that one. Fifty. Let’s wrap this up before I can say fake news.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” said the Joeydigenova. “Remember the Stormydaniels. We need shock value. This final conspiracy we call the Project Moscovian Bluffs. We have the Stevenmoss, the Stevencurtis, the Robbiecurtis — no relation — the Paulcastle, the Johnnyelichaoff, the Scotyoung, the Patarkatsishvili and the mastermind, the Borisberezovsky. A pack of Londonbritwits, legal dinos and Russodinos just looking to make some moolah-moolah before they all started jumping off cliffs and suffering heart attacks in the prime of their lives.”

“C’mon. Eight dinos?” said the T-Rump.

The legal dino duo nodded.

“Well, if it’s eight, it only cost me 10 expulsions. Alright then.”

“That’s sixty total, T-Rump.”

“And you’re sure I won’t get into trouble?”

“Heck no. We coordinated this with sixteen other dinosaur-member states. You’ve got your Stormydaniels deflection and Putinodon cover. You’re good to go.”

“That’s great, you two. Just great. It’s too bad that I have to let you go. But other legal dinos are just dying to get in here, y’know. … Uh, you wouldn’t know any, would you?”

There was the rank and vile smell of guilt in the air. The Tyrumposaurus was meeting with his legal dinos. All six of them. There was the Dowderpuff, who had grudgingly become the main contact with the Muellersavus’ Moscovian Bluffs investigation; the Tycorncobb, who was really the Oval Dwelling’s counsel but liked to dine every other day with the Dowderpuff; the Joeydigenova, the latest hire, who was Sub Family to the Mediacircustops and packed a lot of bite; the Marckasowitz, who had left months before but stayed involved because he was a sucker for accident scenes; the Jaysekulow, whose long nose was second only to the T-Rump’s in forced fibs and fudging facts with the Mediacircustops; and the Michaelcohen, the T-Rump’s official fixer.

“T-Rump,” said the Dowderpuff. “I just got back from meeting with the Muellersavus. He tells me there are four main areas of the investigation he wants to ask you about in the interview.”

“Only four? That’s great! We’ve got this thing won already. I can’t wait to tell him myself I never did the dirty dino deed with the Stormydaniels.”

“The Russodino investigation, T-Rump.”

“Oh. Well, that goes for the Karenmcdougall as well. I was going to pay her but she wouldn’t take it. What, my moolah-moolah is not good enough for her?”

“I said Russodino.”

“And as for that sexual assault dino …”

“Which one?” asked the Joeydigenova, who obviously wasn’t up to speed yet.

The Dowderpuff was tired of trying to keep the T-Rump on point. He’d just raise his rates like the rest. It helped fight the stress. Being a T-Rump legal dino was akin to closing the cracks of an earthquake or putting lava back in the volcano.

“It’s the Kushneratops, isn’t it?” railed the T-Rump. That kid’s gonna kill me!”

“You’re getting warmer,” said the Dowderpuff. There were rumors amongst legal dinos that he was looking to leave the T-Rump team. He secretly believed the Muellersavus investigation had all the nuances of molten lava flowing through and obliterating the Oval Dwelling.

“Okay, then. You were wrong, I mean I was wrong. You were momentarily, er … off-base. Thankfully, I won’t have to die on the cross for you again. Your stable genius within surely guessed that the four main areas the Muellersavus is pointing us to are: one, your role in the statement provided following the kerfuffle about why the T-Rump Jr. met with all those Russodinos.”

“Three words. Father knows best.”

“I don’t think we can use Family Privilege on this one.”

“Are you saying my family isn’t privileged?”

“Moving on, the second area was the circumstances surrounding the meeting with the Russodinos.”

“Baby dinos,” said the T-Rump. “Stick with the orphaned baby dinos. Unless the Dacadreamers go tobacco loco on us. Then just call it fake news.”

“You can’t call your testimony to the Muellersavus fake news. You’re under oath.”

“What if … the orphaned baby dinos were fake?”

Even in the T-Rump’s most turbulent moments, brains froze and walnuts cracked with the hand wringing cry of “why-not-give-that-a-shot?” The lawyers nodded at the potential loopholes they could waltz through.

“Number three,” continued the Dowderpuff, “would be your firing of the Comeyonus.”

“He wasn’t loyal. AND he doesn’t like Russia.”

“You can’t say that.”

“Which one?”

“Both,” all six lawyers answered in unison.

“Finally, number four, your firing of the Flynnhasbeen.”

“That poor guy, I heard the Rushlimbaugh, bless his heart, mention three times in five minutes that the Flynnhasbeen lost his home. That’s sad. Really sad. I think I could put him up in the guest cave.”

“No, you can’t, T-Rump. You need to distance yourself from him.”

“Oh, I see. This is all about the Russodinos, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah,” said the Tycorncobb.

The T-Rump had fire in his belly. Burning bright.

“So what if I congratulated the Putinodon? We need him. I need him. He won another six-year term as the Russodino leader by defeating the opposition.”

“What opposition?” asked the Tycorncobb. The Alexeinavalny, the Putinodon’s main opponent was trapped in the Solitary Sinkhole on trumped up charges.

“He is not a crooked-necked dinosaur,” said the T-Rump. “73 percent of the Russodinos were squarely behind him.”

“What about the other 27 percent?” said the Tycorncobb. “I worry we may never see them again.”.

The Dowderpuff frowned at the Tycorncobb.

“Are you done yet?”

The T-Rump jumped five feet in the air.

“Don’t you EVER interrupt one of my lackies, I mean … lawyers when they’re talking about the Putinodon.”

“But … he’s not here.”

“He’s always here.”

The Dowderpuff waited for the T-Rump’s solemn, prayer-like vigil to pass.

“Don’t you guys worry,” said the T-Rump. So what if there’s not a legal dino in this neighborhood who wants to work for me, damn that Tedolson. Imagine, a former solicitor general turning me down. Who needs a solicitor general anyway?”

The half dozen legal dinos looked at each other nervously. Several coughed up phlegm from the sudden shock. The Joeydigenova wondered what he’d signed up for.

The T-Rump snapped his tail.

“I’ll just have to do it my way. Again. That’s right. My way or the other my way. I’m going to tell the Muellersavus that I plan on working with the Russodinos in the future. But let’s be clear on one thing. Just because I’ll be working with them doesn’t mean I’ll be drinking from the same pond. You got that?”

Serious nods from the legal dinos.

“Too many Russodinos have been turning up dead. It must be the water. I like the Putinodon but I like living too. Michael, you’ll have to be my new water taster.”

“But T-Rump, you still owe me 130-thousand from the, uh … non-Stormydaniels thing.”

“Okay, fair enough. 130-thousand moolah-moolah so you don’t have to drink my water first. Consider your slate clean.”

The Michaelcohen paused to mull over if his life was worth 130-thousand moolah-moolah. The T-Rump gave a snort.

That leaves you, Dowderpuff.”

The 77-year-old Dowderpuff quickly transformed into a puddle of flop sweat. This was too much. He was so close to retiring with his mate to the white, sandy shores of Why Kinky Beach. No. This wouldn’t do. He rose from his haunches.

“I quit!”

He stomped out. With that, it was officially just another day in the Oval Dwelling.