David Belisle

The Marinegunkelly, the T-Rump’s right-hand dino, hurried into the oval dwelling. He found the Tyrumposaurus peeking around a corner at a nearby scrum of Mediacircustops. The Marinegunkelly wasn’t suprised. The T-Rump’s obsession with the Mediacircustops bordered on delusional.

“Ahem,” said the Marinegunkelly.

“Yes, what is it?”

“The impending doom of the Harveyhurricanus overrunning the Chrispycorps Coastlands is upon us. Your guidance is needed.”

“That’s nice. Which reminds me, the night we overran the Crookadillary, it seems like only yesterday.”

“The beautiful letter?” said the Marinegunkelly.

“You know me too well.”

The beautiful letter was a dino-hieroglyph of sorts. It was a single symbol that the Clapperaptor had left in the sand the day the T-Rump came to power.  The Clapperaptor was a genus of the Sobersecondnoggin dinosaur. His skull had mostly hollow bones, providing solid resonance chambers and improved hearing. Translation? The Clapperaptor didn’t miss much.

“I wanted that symbol,” said the T-Rump, “whatever it was, to mean something. So I had you put everything aside and make up a story about it.”

“You said poem.”

“Whatever. What did I tell you about details?”

“This week or last?”

“Never mind. The poem. Tell me the poem.”

“I’m paraphrasing now.”

“Go on.”

“Intelligence, a scary thing
When given flight with nary wing.
Motivate, T-Rump, thine ability,
Lest bury self on fossil knee.
Yet calm Comeyonus, not Psychonazisaur
Grants truth and justice to very oath you swore.
The Putinodon con, succinctly distinct,
Mock Kimjongadon to lock the extinct.
Intelligence gives truth to power.
Long stand this hope upon this hour.”

The T-Rump’s eyes glazed over.

“Beautiful. Just bee-you-tee-ful. I’m not sure what it means but it sounds very powerful. I especially like the part where I’m mentioned.”

“I had to put that in.”

“I know.”

The Tyrumposaurus was snoozing peacefully, dreaming of one day being as wise or just having as many teeth as the Putinodon. The Mediacircustops leaned in close, peering over him, listening to his every snore. The odd “covfefe” escaped. On the third one, the T-Rump snorted awake.

“T-Rump,” asked one Mediacircustops. “What do you have to say about the Kushneratops and Tyvankanatrix not speaking out against the attack of the Altrightraptors at the Charlottesville Divide?

“Fake news! Fake news!” cried the T-Rump. “Now, go. Take a note from Bright Bart.” He rose to his haunches and plodded off through the dubya bushes. He’d go stump in lands he was welcomed in, like the Rustbelt Reach. Stumping was a territorial trait of parking one’s butt in the shade.

The Mediacircustops soon tracked him down. They brought company. The T-Rump shook his head. The next time he was in the Fifth Estate Egg Fields, he was going to step on every one of them.

“T-Rump,” said another Mediacircustops. “Meet the Pennsylvaneus, the Michigannis and the Wisconsinax. They have something they would like to say.”

An eclectic trio of Bluecollaraptors stepped forward. The Pennsylvaneus spoke first.

“I am 63% embarrassed at your conduct.”

The Michigannis was next.

“I am 64% embarrassed at your conduct,” he said a little louder.

“Put me down for 64% too,” said the Wisconsinax. He smacked his lips for emphasis. The T-Rump frowned at their fickle, frothing mouths.

“What do you say to that, T-Rump?” asked the Mediacircustops.

“Fake news! Fake news!” The T-Rump harrumphed and left in a huff.

Half an hour later he strolled down the Bonnietyler-Eclipse Path. He noticed the sky was getting darker. He was about to look at the sun but remembered even he could not look at the sun. He frowned as he considered the injustice. He realized not having the sun could be worse. He would be just another dinosaur.

So, looking into the sun would probably hurt his eyes. It would definitely hurt the eyes of the dinosaur beside him. Wait a minute. Had he just shown a tiny, infinitesimal amount of empathy? This was news.

Where were the Mediacircustops when you needed them?

He scampered off frantically in search of them. They were not at 4 Waterships Down. Nor at the Phoenix Drop-Off. He finally found them at the Afghani-Bafflegab Dry Run.

“Look,” the T-Rump roared, “I have empathy! Empathy of which the world has never seen!”

But the Mediacircustops weren’t listening. They returned instead to watching the grass grow and the mud dry, humming along to the total eclipse of the sun.

All the dinosaurs were picnicking on a fresh kill of Obamacaris. The Kushneratops and Tyvankanatrix had finished their meal and were off by themselves, tails dipped together in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. The Kushneratops skimmed the surface for guccinectar, a dinosaur aphrodisiac. He knew the Tyvankanatrix loved to nibble on it during these quiet times following the afternoon Attack Hour.

“Thank you, Kushy,” she said. “Here, have a gobble. It will help take your mind off that nasty Bannonesia.”

The Kushneratops grumbled an aside. The Bannonesia had been a pain in the tail ever since his dismissal 3 months earlier from the lookout’s graveyard shift.  The Bannonesia had even called him a Cuckservatitan. What kind of dinosaur was that? He’d have to ask the Tyrumposaurus. The T-Rump knew everything.

Taking the guccinectar in his claws like some prehistoric raccoon, the Kushneratops daintily ate the sweet, mud-soaked weed. It had the effect of popeye spinach, except he already was a dinosaur.

Meanwhile, the Bannonesia pushed himself away from the nearby Obamacaris carcass. Too much Obamacaris gave him gas. He remembered a group of Altrightraptors he needed to go and work into a frenzy. His path would take him past those idiots Kushneratops and Tyvankanatrix, a choice that would change his life in the Trumpassic Period.

“Well, well,” said the Kushneratops. “If it isn’t the big, bad Bannonesia.”

The Bannonesia, a smaller, bird-like theropod, was unaware the Kushneratops was high on guccinectar but did notice a change in his behaviour. It almost looked like confidence.

“What do you want?” asked the Bannonesia.

“You’re fired.”

“I love a good fight. Wait a minute. Fired? You can’t fire me.”

“Ahem. You’re forgetting something,” said the Kushneratops, casting a smug nod at the Tyvankanatrix that made the Bannonesia want to peck his horned face to death. “The T-Rump keeps his friends close …”

“But his family closer,” finished the Bannonesia. “Yeah, yeah.” He looked at the Tyvankanatrix and wished he were 30 years younger. He’d make her bedrock.

“The security issue, okay. But it was natural evolution that led me to advising the T-Rump.

“Natural evolution?!” shouted the Tyvankanatrix. “Is that some coded message about my age? I’m sick of these coded messages! Sick! It brings out the bitch in me. Doesn’t anybody speak dinosaur anymore? Kushy?”

“Tell her you’re sorry,” said the Kushneratops. Only he sounded whiney. The effects of the guccinectar were already wearing off. The little bird before him seemed to grow in size. “Okay. Just go. Please?”

The Bannonesia didn’t budge. He was the puppet master. The Kushneratops was trembling.

“I’ll – I’ll release the Pterodactyls.”

The Bannonesia knew it was a bluff. The Kushneratops didn’t like having to clean up the mess the Pterodactyls left after sitting on his horned face.

“With me gone,” said the Bannonesia, “the T-Rump’s reign in these lands will be over. He’ll have to be something else.”

“But I like being a Tyvankanatrix.” Dinosaur tears loomed.

The Kushneratops snatched up more guccinectar, wolfing it down. It was like dinosaur crack. He burped, ready to take on all dinos.

“You can save your silly slogans for when you need to scratch something in the mud over there with Bright Bart.”

Bright Bart was a bowl-legged, loud-mouthed Brontosaurus who the Bannonesia had shared war stories with for years.

“Thanks for reminding me,” said the Bannonesia, admiring his claws. “I have my weapons back.”

“Wait,” said the Kushneratops. “You’re not going to tell Bright Bart about me, I mean, us. Are you?”

The smiling Bannonesia turned and trudged away. The Kushneratops called after him.

“So help me, I will. … I’m telling on you!”

The Bannonesia stepped out from behind the safety and security of the Pershing-Bunker Beds to give a rare meeting with the Mediacircustops. This took place with the Tyrumposaurus from the same Bullee-Tar Pit — a stunning development in Trumpassic Period annals.

The Mediacircustops were in a feeding frenzy. They couldn’t believe their good fortune at having the T-Rump and his right-hand dino at the same time in the same place.

“T-Rump,” asked one Mediacircustops, “are you going to kick the Bannonesia out of Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir after this meeting?”

“It depends on how many nice things he says about me,” said the T-Rump.

“What’s the over-under?” shouted another Mediacircustops from the back.

The Bannonesia wagged his tail and licked his lips.

“I want you all now to take one eye off the T-Rump and look at me.”

The T-Rump shrugged, then nodded that would be acceptable. The Mediacircustops all adjusted their necks accordingly.

“Regarding the Kimjongadon,” began the Bannonesia.

“Excuse me, that’s my cue for fire and fury.”

“No, T-Rump. We can’t do anything about the Kimjongadon.”

“But I like fire and fury.”

The Bannonesia raised his short arm to the T-Rump and pointed to a low-flying pterodactyl on the horizon, momentarily distracting him.

“Mediacircustops,” said the Bannonesia, “I am changing the narrative. This is an explicit, transparent strategy on my part to draw your attention away from the T-Rump.”

“Can we still ask him about the incident at the Charlottesville Divide?” asked a Mediacircustops.

“By all means.”

“T-Rump, can you give us another word on the altrightraptors? Do you know who they are?”

“They’re just like the altleftraptors. Same Sub Family. Same bad news. Most of them.”

But the Bannonesia was shaking his head.

“The altrightraptors are a bunch of clowns, fringe and losers.”

“Don’t forget fine people,” said the T-Rump. “And another thing for all you fake Mediacircustops, the Roberteeleesaurus and the Washingtonsaurus are one and the same.”

The Bannonesia folded his arms, smiling smugly.

“As long as you dinosaurs are talking about the altrightraptors and the gayblackinus, I can go after the Chungkingosaurus on the Economonic Plateau.”

One Mediacircustops turned to another and sniffed.

“Nothing ever happens on the Economonic Plateau. The T-Rump is the meteor threatening our dinosaur lives!”