Satire The Trump Dig

No Hope in Hell …


“You mean, family first,” the Kushneratops said haughtily to the Marinegunkelly as he and the Tyvankanatrix filed past the chief of staff.

The Marinegunkelly grimaced and turned to the remaining reptiles lined up outside the Oval Dwelling, all waiting patiently for an audience with the Tyrumposaurus.

It was an exceptionally long line today. The dinos crowded into the waiting cave, seeking refuge from the ominous looking clouds. It may yet be Bath Day.

The Marinegunkelly frowned as he gazed at the sour pusses and saliva-dripping mugs before him. Morale was at an all-time low in the Best Wing of the dank, damp Oval Dwelling.

Inside, the T-Rump looked up from his feast of Cheezebuggabuggas at the Kushneratops.

“You’re supposed to be in the Middle Eastlands.”

“I can’t go.”

“Whaddaya mean you can’t go? There’s business to be mixed with, uh …”

“Politics,” finished the Kushneratops. “But old fossil fart there,” he nodded toward the Marinegunkelly, “took away my top secret clearance.”

“Whine, whine, whine. What did I say about rules?”

“They’re for losers. Go ahead and break every one of them.”

“Exactly. Now get over there and keep things on the Q-T.”

“Which reminds me,” his son-in-law said, adopting once more his pouty, put-upon look. “The Muellersavus knows about the half-billion moolah-moolah leaf loan I received after the Oval Dwelling meetings.”


“So, the, um … optics?”

“Optics? I only see moolah-moolah. Do you only see moolah-moolah?”

“Of course, dad.”

“And stop saying that. I don’t even let the T-Rump Jr. call me that.”

The Kushneratops stepped back, coughed into his hand awkwardly and gave ground to the T-Vanka.

“Daddy, I was s-o-o-o-o embarrassed. The Mediacircustops cornered me in Seoulkorea. I was there to have a good time. And it didn’t happen, daddy. It’s not fair. They asked me about all those lady dinos who say you sexually assaulted them. E-e-e-e-e-e-e-w! I don’t like being asked about your sexual assaults, daddy. I don’t care if the Mediacircustops said I signed up for this. Stop it, daddy. Do something.”

“Wait, that’s my line, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

His daughter and son-in-law said their good-byes.


The Cybercommander stepped smartly before the Commander in Chief.


“Oh, it’s you again. The answer is still no. You’re supposed to be my intelligence and you don’t even listen. Hmph. Some intelligence.”

“They’ll do it again, T-Rump.”

He was referring of course to the Putinodon and the Russodinos meddling in the battle royale when the T-Rump came to power.

The T-Rump wrinkled his mug in exasperation.

“He said he didn’t. If I ask him again, he may get upset. I sure would. Look,” the T-Rump said, pointing to his noggin, “I’m making a mental note. Satisfied?”

The Cybercommander shook his head in frustration and left.


The Sessionsopussum furtively snuck into the Oval Dwelling. He stepped up to the T-Rump, took a deep breath and puffed out his scrawny chest.

“Excuse me, T-Rump, but I am the Attorney General of the Milkanhoney Preservation and it’s not becoming of you to call me disgraceful.”

The T-Rump waggled a claw at him.

“You. I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to get me to fire you because you think you’re the only one that can save me from myself.”

The Sessionsopussum blinked his eyes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not gonna work, my beleaguered A.G. There’s no saving me.”

“I guess not,” the Sessionsopussum replied. A couple of giggles escaped as he made his way out.


The Bencarson stepped before the T-Rump. The former walnut cracker chuckled apologetically. He’d been called before the T-Rump to explain the 31,000 moolah-moolah leaf extravagance in redecorating his work den.

“Heh-heh … It seems my wife and I spent more moolah-moolah than necessary. I brought it all back. Heh-heh. Most of it actually.”


“Yes, my, uh … wife … heh-heh … she discovered these things she calls shoes?”

“Shoes?! What the hell are shoes?”

“That’s what I said, heh-heh. Well, almost like that. We were dining on a juicy Guccileatherback the other day and she was backing away and she got her foot caught in some of the skin. She saw her foot and said she, uh … liked the look. Heh-heh. Her words, not mine. So, heh-heh, she kept two thousand moolah-moolah for more Guccileatherback shoes. While they’re in season, she says.” He shrugged. “I ask you, what are you going to do?”

“You’re going to take them off her feet and bring them to me.”

“Heh-heh.” Awkward. “Heh-heh.” More awkwardness as the Bencarson envisioned his enraged wife clawing at him. “Heh-heh. Okay, you’re the boss.”


The Ennarraykillinkidz plodded determinedly straight for the T-Rump.

“T-Rump, you know we need the Gunsandmoregunz inside every dino home.”

The Gunsandmoregunz was a highly volatile, explosive dino pet that was fun to play with. When left unattended however, they were prone to massacring the young and innocent.

“Are you with us, T-Rump?

“I’m not petrified of you. Scared maybe.”

“You should be. There’s no avoiding this. You need me. No age restrictions, no background checks, and definitely due process. Got that?”

“Anything else?”

“Just make sure there’s a bump in our stocks.”

The T-Rump nodded miserably as the Ennarraykillinkidz took leave.


The sweaty, clam-handed Joshraffel entered.

“Who are you,” the T-Rump asked.

“I’m the Joshraffel. I handle communications for the Kushneratops and the T-Vanka.”

“Is there something wrong? I’ll wrong that skinny Dino’s neck!”

“No, no. I said communications for them, not between them.”

“Oh. I see. And you’re here because …”

“I’m quitting.”

“Your point?”

“I – I was just wondering, could you say something good about me? I’ll take bad too, anything to give me some extra publicity as I try to find another job. You know, some solid street cred.”

“And what do I get in return?”

“Hmm. Well, you could tell the Mediacircustops that my exit — that’s thee Joshraffel — means that 34% of your ‘A’ team has left since you came to power. That’s a record. Triple the Obamarus.”

“Triple, huh? Okay, I like that.”

The Joshraffel left and the Marinegunkelly poked his head in.

“All clear.”

“Where the hell is Hope?”

“I’m sorry, are you being philosophical?”

“No. This is a disaster. Where’s the Hopehicksbagotrix?”

“She quit, T-Rump.”

“No. About the little white lies thing?”

“You called her every name in the book.”

“I was kidding!”

“Evidently she wasn’t.”

The T-Rump looked around in a panic.

“What are we gonna do?”

The Marinegunkelly turned to look outside where large raindrops began falling.

“Take a bath?”

“I’ve got to find her.”

The T-Rump rose from his squat and hurried outside just as the dark skies opened. Typhoon-like sheets of rain washed over the T-Rump’s face as he looked skyward, raising his hands high in the air.

“H-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-p-e! … Hopehicksbagotrix!”

Still, uh … still the rain came down, branding him as a marlin out of water, a prehistoric streetcar with no desire.

Satire The Trump Dig

At Home with the Michaelzeldin …

“Honey! Can you take out the garbage?”

The Michaelzeldin frowned. He didn’t have time for this. Granted, the recently implemented DUMP program (Dinosaur Un-Munched Parts) had indeed kept the stench down. But he was busy analyzing the legal intricacies of the Muellersavus investigation. 19 indictments and 5 guilty pleas had him positively giddy.

“Michael! The garbage!”

With a sigh, he rose from his squat. A moment later he stood beside his wife of 43 years, the Amyrudnick. They’d been high school sweethearts, she mauling any dinosaur that picked on him and his schoolboy charm. She pointed down at the gutted, rotting corpse of a full-grown Iguanadon at their feet.

“Honestly, Michael. It stinks to high heaven. The neighbors are beginning to complain.”

The Michaelzeldin tapped his chin.

“I believe that indictment portends phase one.”

“Alright already with your indictments. I want it out of here!”

“You’ve obviously worked through a logical progression to get to this mandate.”

“If you mean that I’ve been constantly tripping over it …”

He nudged it with his foot.

“There are a lot of pressure points here.”

“Don’t start with the jeopardy he was in, Michael. We ate him four days ago! I want this out of my sight. Now!”

“Well, when you take into consideration the multiple work streams …”

“Good grief! It’s just one Iguanadon.”

“It’s actually sort of a narrative.”

Your narrative. Every single day. Irrespective of this. Irrespective of that. My mother told me about legal dinos like you.”

His eyes brightened and he smiled politely.

“What did she say?”

His wife wasn’t falling for his charm card.

“I’m not telling.”

“Sweetheart, there’s no executive privilege here. You’re showing obstructionist behaviour.”

“Oh, that’s rich. You’re the one refusing to move this mess!”

“Amy, please don’t be like that.”

“Whaddaya gonna do, hold me in contempt? Huh?”

“There’s a lot of activity implicated in that kind of indictment.”

“Meanwhile, this Iguanadon continues to rot in my living room. How’m I gonna get that iguana smell out of the floor? So help me, Michael … Sometimes I could just …”

“Hurt me?” He gulped. “With all due respect, dear, you wouldn’t find yourself free of criminal liability and conviction.”

She threw her hands in the air.

“That does it, Michael. I’m leaving.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you appear to be disingenuous.”

She stepped up to him, firmly planting her nose against his.

“Oh, this is a very genuine good-bye. I’ll be at my mother’s.”

With that, she turned and stomped out of the cave. He looked after her, licking his dry lips nervously. An idea struck.

“Amy! You do realize that that would be a predicate to a collusive arrangement between you and your mother. Don’t you, Amy? … Amy?”

Satire The Trump Dig

That Flippin’ Rickyprisongates …

The Manaforta stared at the hairy grama and sighed. The small patch of wildgrass was all he had to look at since the Muellersavus had placed the moolah-moolah washing, ex-campaign manager under cave arrest four months earlier. The hairy grama bent over, quivering in the slight breeze. The big, clumsy foot of a dinosaur flattened the wildgrass in one stomp, giving the Manaforta pause. It was the Rickyprisongates.

“Ricky? What are you doing out and about?”

“I flipped on you.”

“I, uh … understand your devotion for me is head over heels but — wait a minute. You … flipped?

“That’s what the Muellersavus called it.”

“But, how could you?”

“The Muellersavus reminded me — you know I have trouble remembering things, Paulie — because we’ve been making things up for so long. Darned if he doesn’t know we were over in Ukrainia pumping up the Yanukovych for so long. The Muellersavus said if I filled in some of the blanks on this thing called an investigation timeline? … Well, he’d let me see my wife and four little dinos. You want me to see my wife and little ones, Paulie. Don’t you?”

The Manaforta was apoplectic.

“You chose family over moolah-moolah? You really have flipped, Ricky. What kind of lying, fraudster dino are you?”

“The kind that doesn’t get home much? You never met the Rickyprisongatesmissus. She told me I owed her the next 11 years. You should’ve seen the scary look on her mug. But she did say something nice about me. Do you know what she said, Paulie?”

“Spare me.”

The Rickyprisongates took this as his cue.

“She said she was happy I spent some of the moolah-moolah on our dino tots’ education tuition, so they could be smarter than me. Speaking of smart, the Muellersavus showed me some new math.”


“He had 38 charges against me yesterday. Today I only have two. That’s a lot less. Can we celebrate?”

“Celebrate?! You’re throwing me under the Priebusunderbus!”

“Don’t be mad. The Muellersavus said I just needed to talk about you. Don’t you want me talking about you, Paulie?”


“Oh.” The Rickyprisongates paused to consider why his long-time mentor was visibly upset.

“Maybe I should go back and tell him …”


“The Muellersavus, he said this is all a game. He said I flip and then you flip. I like games, Paulie.”

The Rickyprisongates stared with wondering eyes at the simmering Manaforta. Several seconds passed. Finally the Manaforta snapped.

Why are you looking at me like that?!”

“Aren’t you gonna flip, Paulie? It’s your turn.”

“It is not!”

“Well, whose turn is it then? The Muellersavus said all roads lead to us. I like being popular. Don’t you, Paulie?”

More hot steam from flaring nostrils.

“I want you to think very carefully now, Ricky. What exactly did you tell the Muellersavus?”

“Well I told him about your swell pal, the Danarohrabacher … and that legal dino, the Alexvanderzwaan. Didn’t he help us out on the hokey story you wrote up for that Mr. Nice Guy dino, the one that Yanukovych was trying to keep in jail. I told him they paid you four million moolah-moolah for that one.”

“I’m so glad you could help him out.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“The meeting. Tell me you didn’t tell him about the meeting, Ricky.”

“The meeting? For some reason, I was able to remember that. You should’ve seen his face when I told him how at the end, when you shook all the Russodino hands, you told them you would personally deliver the Crookadillary dirt … I mean, the Sanctionsaurus dirt … to the T-Rump.”

The Manforta clutched his chest and keeled over in a dead faint.

His plodding prodigy hovered over him.


The big, dumb dino didn’t realize his mentor had passed out.

“Paulie? Are we big fish or little fish? You know me, I forget. Paulie?”

Satire The Trump Dig

13 Russodinos …

It was almost noon. The Hopehicksbagotrix paused at the doorway to the Tyrumposaurus nest beside the Oval Dwelling. She knew the T-Rump would be alone. The Tymelania had moved her nest away, again, since more sordid, steamy details of the T-Rump’s romp with a Pornodactyl had surfaced. His dino dalliances had grown to include the Playbunny Karenmcdougal. Same time, same flogging grounds. While the Tybarron was still suckling.

Taking a deep breath, the Hopehicksbagotrix entered and found the T-Rump sitting up in his nest. The gruesome remains of several Cheezbuggabuggas lay strewn about the place. The Hopehicksbagotrix could tell he hadn’t slept well. The T-Rump had spent the past two hours barking out orders to his Trollertweety fleet for a scorched earth policy against the Donkeykongrus. He was now accusing them of killing the hopes of the Dacadreamers when it was he who had initially ambushed the popular migration route.

The T-Rump looked up from his dripping Cheezbuggabugga.

“You’re late. Where’s my morning report?”

“It’s … well, it …”

“C’mon, spit it out.” As he did with a small bone. It landed at her feet. Normally she’d partake but her appetite had disappeared.

“It doesn’t look good, boss.”

The T-Rump stopped chewing. He gave her the look. That look. Her long tongue was in a knot. She and every other dino in the Oval Dwelling were not allowed to say the “R” word, Russo, in his presence. Or the “K” word, Kayjeebeeops. Or the “M-B” words, Moscovian Bluffs. How could they do their job, clearance or no clearance? Who could blame her for seeking solace in the grabby claws of the Lewandowski, the Robporter and any new Tyrumposaurean dino on the block. She pined for the recently departed Reedcordish.

“Calling Hope back from Dino-Boy Dreamland.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry, T-Rump. Oh, I’ll just come right out and say it.” She flashed her nervous grin with shiny, sharp incisors she knew he appreciated. “The Muellersavus has busted 13 dinosaurs from the Area That Shall Not Be Named. They all meddled in your battle with the Crookadillary.”

“Only 13, huh?”

“What should we have the Huckabeecyclops tell the Mediacircustops? Or, as usual, do we just let her wing it?”

“There was no mention of collusion?”

She shook her head.

“No mention of me?”

Another shake.

“Well, then. It’s a great day. For me.”

“But the Mediacircustops are already asking what you plan to do … how you plan to retaliate against … them.”

“Retaliate? That would be the last thing I’d do. It would be admitting that the Putinodon and his ‘bad actor’ dinos had something to do with me whipping the Crookadillary.”

The Hopehicksbagotrix frowned.

“Even though it’s been more than a year, sorry to rain on your parade. So we just sit here?”

“It’s what we’ve been doing so far.”

She tilted her head matter-of-factly.

“Um, one other thing. The Rickyprisongates.”

“Have you been smuggling in his care packages? You know, the small salamanders he likes? The extra juicy ones?”

“Yes, of course. It’s not that.” She steeled herself. “The Rickyprisongates is going to throw the Manaforta under the Priebusunderbus.”

Unfortunately she spoke just as the T-Rump swallowed a huge bite of Cheezbuggabugga. The meat stuck in his throat. His mother had always told him to chew 27 times before swallowing. But he was his father’s son. He quickly turned blue and collapsed on his back.

Here we go again, thought the Hopehixbagotrix.

She leaped on top of him, jumping up and down on his stomach, his face, then his tail.

“Breathe, damn you. I need this job!”

Through glassy eyes, the T-Rump gazed up at her. Such rage, such frenzy. She was a great hire. For a brief moment, he forgot he was choking.

The Hopehicksbagotrix’ walnut brain finally kicked in. She turned the T-Rump over on his stomach and threw herself on his back. The half-chewed piece of Cheezbuggabugga flew out. The T-Rump slowly dragged himself to a squatting position.

“I thought I was going to die, but then remembered I’m immortal. … I can’t believe the Rickyprisongates would do this. I mean, the Manaforta is such a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“I almost forgot,” she said. “The Muellersavus has nailed the Manaforta with another fraud charge.”


“Fraud is okay?” Now she knew why the Huckabeecyclops was in private rocks-to-the-head therapy.

“Hope, look at me. Not like that. Like you believe me. We’re all frauds here. That’s the winning formula. The secret of our success. Why else do you think we have a hundred dinos plodding around without security clearance? But the Manaforta. Now he came highly recommended.”

“And he’s in the most trouble.”

“C’mon. The Langleytips bust into his place at the crack of dawn. He deserves a break. Look what he did in the Ukrainia. He had them idolizing that idiot Yanukovych.”

“Then came the Orange Revolution.”

“Nice of you to remember when I changed my hair colour. You are earning your keep. Smart girl. Just one more thing. These briefing notes you bring me every morning. Way too much info. Briefer. Briefer’s better. How else are we going to cut out the bad news? Just think P.D.”

“Police Department?”

“Ha-ha. Smart and funny. No, honey. Plausible Deniability. Do I really need another disaster?”

Satire The Trump Dig

Yankeewhite Security …

The Yankeewhite nibbled nervously on a Caviaraptor leg. He shouldn’t be here. He was the top Trumpassic security dinosaur, in charge of determining which dinos should be holding court with the Tyrumposaurus. Surrounded by over 100 dinosaurs at the T-Rump’s latest Meet and Cheat in the Oval Dwelling, the Yankeewhite knew 99% of these plodding putzes did not have proper clearance.

There were three levels of rigid security the Yankeewhite enforced. The highest was level one, official designation as a T-Rump Whisperer. Virtual all-day access to the T-Rump’s highly impressionable ear. The next level was Pain in the Ass, for which the holder was allowed and or required to stand five feet from the T-Rump to receive his verbal abuse. Strangely, the Sessionsopossum appeared to relish this clearance level. Level three was Hanger On. At this level, a dino could only be seen and heard if they spoke highly of T-Rump. Or carried his bloodline.

The Yankeewhite despised the new normal. It seemed all you had to do to get in the Oval Dwelling and have a seat at the T-Rump table was commit a crime. The Yankeewhite had had enough. He was going to expose them all. Just as soon as he finished this juicy Caviaraptor leg. Slurp. Crunch. Slurp.


Damn. Not fast enough. He licked his claws and turned to see the T-Rump coming his way with the Tyvanka, the Kushneratops, the Stephenmillerus, the Marinegunkelly and the recently disgraced Robporter in tow.

“Join the party,” said T-Rump. “Who are you, the Comenyonus? … Way over her trying to blend in with a sagebush.”

“Which one, Fortyone or Fortythree?”

“You security dinos. I have no idea what you’re talking about. So, you must have something good to say about the Robporter here.”

The Robporter stood with his jaw firmly set, his brown eyes staring smartly, resolutely ahead, projecting his nine-to-five professional mindset. Outside that time period he’d tossed around two ex-wives and a girlfriend.

“I’m sorry,” said the Yankeewhite. “Didn’t you just resign?”

“Sure,” said the T-Rump, “but that doesn’t make him a bad dino.”

“That one ex-wife looked pretty banged up.”

The T-Rump frowned.

“Look, I just told the Mediacircustops I abhor domestic violence. If you think I’m going to say that line again in the next six months … Never.”

“I’d go to war with this guy,” the Marinegunkelly said, nodding toward the Robporter.

“Actually,” said the Yankeewhite, “you needed to come to the ex-wive’s defense.”.

T-Rump harrumphed at this impasse, blaming the Donkeykongrus.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get to what’s really important here.”

A rare raised eyebrow from the Robporter at his sudden demotion from dino-of-the-hour.

“The T-Vanka and Jared here,” said the T-Rump. “It’s been delay, delay, delay like the world has never seen. They’re already whispering top secret stuff in my ear, so let’s just make it official.”

The T-Vanka and the Kushneratops smiled their respective sexy and schoolboy grins. the T-Vanka felt compelled to say something to the Yankeewhite.

“Were you named after a racist?”

He ignored her.

“I’m sorry, T-Rump. Your relatives have, ahem … issues. Let’s not forget the hundred dinos here without proper security clearance. One hundred.”

“I know. It’s great isn’t it? Who wants a government that always toes the line? These are my friends. They know me, I don’t know them. And that’s just fine. Less collateral damage. But hey, if you can approve this guy …”

The T-Rump nodded toward the Stephenmillerus, whose smirk accidentally escaped. Awkward. The leader of the dino world turned back to the Yankeewhite.

“Well, are you going to be loyal or what?”

“T-Rump.” The Marinegunkelly winced. “Stop saying that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He eyed the Yankeewhite with a wry grin. “So, who did you vote for?”

The T-Rump looked at the Marinegunkelly.

“I’m kidding. You know I love it when you hold your head in your hands. It means I’m winning.”

The T-Rump turned back to the Yankeewhite … but the security dino was gone. Stealth was part of his job description.

There was a disturbance at the entrance to the Oval Dwelling.

“Yes,” said the T-Rump. “My adoring deplorables await.”

He stepped to the fore … and discovered they were not his loyal subjects. There squatting before him were all 16 of his sexual assault dino victims. The memories flooded back, splashing against a brick wall that dwarfed the Great Tex-Mex Divide.

“There you are, you domestic abuse bullhorn!” shouted one of the lady dinos. “What about us? We’re victims too! You abused us!”

“No, I didn’t. Lies, all lies. Fake news!”

He whistled and a six-pack security of gruff, Gryposaurus — minus security clearance — instantly appeared.  They herded the assault victims away, leaving the T-Rump, claws on hips, fuming, nostrils flaring, drool dripping.

“I knew this was going to happen! As soon as I say one liberal word, just one! Get the Michaelcohen in here. Now! And tell him to bring lotsa moolah-moolah leaves!  

Satire The Trump Dig

Ethics with the Richardpainter …

“Trump?! I know you’re in there. Come on out!”

A groggy-eyed Tyrumposaurus rose from his mid-morning nap. He’d sent out his fleet of Trollertweeties on a tweeting foray against those damned Donkeykongrus who kept him from ruling the Trumpassic World carte blanche. Fire and fury was a tough road to hoe. He was exhausted. The T-Rump turned to the T-Rump Jr., squatting at the foot of his king-sized, moolah-moolah-lined nest.

“Who is it?”

“That crazy nut the Richardpainter, from DREGS.”

DREGS was the committee Dinos for Responsibilities and Ethics in Grandoldparty Shenanigans of which the Richardpainter was a veteran member.

“Ethics,” snorted the T-Rump. “At this time of day.”

He rose from his nest and trudged down to the entrance of his sprawling dinosaur tenement, the T-Rump Dumps, where the Richardpainter stood.

“The jig is up, T-Rump!”

“What jig? Your committee has no standing. I dissolved it six weeks ago.”

“That’s why I’m standing here. I’ve begun a new committee.”

“Oh, yeah? Knock yourself out.”

“It’s called the Investigative Motion Promoting Ethics And Clearing House. IMPEACH for short.”

“News flash on the fake news front. I don’t know any Kayjeebeeops.” The T-Rump turned on his fake bone spur heel.

“What about the Davidbogatin?” snapped the Richardpainter. “Do you know that knuckle-dragging dinosaur?”

The T-Rump stopped in his tracks, causing the Richardpainter to sneer.

“Of course you do. 34 years ago he bought five of your run-down rockpiles here for six million moolah-moolah leaves. Do you remember that?”

“No. Why should I?”

“Because you were there when he moved in, grinning like a juiced-up jackal. Because that’s when the Russomafia moved in.”

The Russomafia was a large, bellicose, ruthless raptor from the other side of the fault line, a shady, dangerous haunt known as The Underground.

“He was Russomafia?” said the T-Rump. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

The Richardpainter saw through the false bravado in the T-Rump’s voice unconsciously spewing lie number 2,178.

“You don’t know a lot of things but you know damn well who the Davidbogatin was. He pleaded guilty to working with the Russomafia. His no-good brother was in cahoots with the Semionmogilevich, another nice dino you’d like to bring home to meet mama.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Oh, but you have. You know him better than that prancing pornodactyl, the Stormydaniels. The Semionmogilevich is the head honcho. The big cheese. The dino with the vino. And he can think a coherent thought, which is more than I can say for your numbskull noggin.”

“Your point?”

“The Russomafia used you and your failing T-Rump Dumps to wash millions of their moolah-moolah leaves on the banks of the Shell-Kompaneez.”

“I’ve never put a toe in that river. So it must not exist.”

“Exist? It runs right through your decrepit, downgraded soul!”

“Hah! I don’t have that either,” said the T-Rump.

“Why is it the T-Rump Dumps are one of only two dino accommodations — and I use that word lightly — that allow anonymous purchases?”

“My dinos enjoy their privacy.”

“Privacy, my battle-scarred butt. It’s so your Russomafia bunkmates can wash their moolah-moolah here and hide!”

“Where’s your proof?” scoffed the T-Rump.

“Proof? Thirty years ago you couldn’t rub two rocks together. Where’d you get the moolah-moolah for the T-Rump Dumps? … Thirteen! No less than thirteen dinos with links to the Russomafia have owned, lived in or run criminal activities out of your properties. They saved your bacon, buddy boy.”

“I’m waiting,” the T-Rump said, throwing in a yawn.

“Two years ago your T-Rump Taco Mall was fined ten million because you were washing so much Moscovian Bluffs moolah-moolah. It’s thanks to your gawd-awful performance as the perfect patsy that allowed their biggest reptiles — the Vyacheslavivankov, the Felixsater, the Tokhtakhounov — to slither on over here and call the T-Rump Dumps home.”

“Are you done yet?”

“I’ll be done when you’re sittin’ in the Solitary Sinkhole sipping on week-old skunk water.”

“Okay, then. Well, good luck with that. I’ve got to go now. I have a Great Tex-Mex Divide to build so I can put an end to this migration mess.”

“And you can tell your buddy the Putinodon to keep his Russomafia.”

Satire The Trump Dig

The Huckabeecyclops with Hope …

The muddied waters of Vanity Pond before them, the Huckabeecyclops and the Hopehicksbagotrix reclined luxuriously in the dinosaur spa. Alas, this was a working spa day. The two dinosaurs were entrusted with coming up with a letter of support from the Marinegunkelly for the disgraced Robporter, the Marinegunkelly’s right-hand dinosaur. The Robporter had been accused by two ex-wives and his current girlfriend of throwing them around their jungle home.

“Honestly,” said the Huckabeecyclops, “it seems like we’re cleaning up an Oval Dwelling mess every day.”

“We are,” replied the Hopehicksbagotrix, examining a cracked claw. “But we need to protect the T-Rump. He’s the only dinosaur that matters.” She gnawed on another claw. “I can’t believe the Robporter was two-timing me.”

“Well, she was living with him.”

“Whose side are you on? Wait til I get a hold of that waddling wench.”

“You’ve been through so much, Hope. First the Michaelwolff had to go and tell the world about your affair with the Lewandowski. That wasn’t fair at all. The Lewandowski’s wife and four kids … that Michaelwolff wrecked their home. … Um, did you ever, you know, see the Scaramoochkin?”

The Hopehicksbagotrix frowned.

“He was only here for ten days.”

“You poor dear. How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be okay. Somebody has to point the T-Rump in the right direction.”

“I think you’re wonderful, Hope. You could have it all, y’know.”

“I’m working on it. Now, about the Robporter. We need to come up with a story that puts this all in a positive light.”

“Have you seen the ex-wife number one?” asked the Huckabeecyclops. “That was some shiner.”

“That was no shiner. Dizzy dino stuck her head in some poison ivy. The Robporter said so and I believe him because the T-Rump only surrounds himself with the best dinos. I mean, look at us.”

“Oh, I wish I could be like you, Hope. You came in here with no political experience whatsoever and I, well …”

“Now, now. Never underestimate the power of nepotism.”

“How do you do it, Hope?”

“Listen, if you want to walk the walk and rock the block, you’ve come to the right place. Did you have any particular dino in mind?”

“Hope, I’m married.”

“And so are they. How do you expect to rise in this place?

“Well, I am tired of lying all the time.”

“Don’t say that. I didn’t hear it.”

“I’m sorry, Hope. It’s just that, I’ve been having problems with …”

“I know, I know. Your self confidence, isn’t it? Look, you just have to start small. Okay?”

“Well, if you say so. You are closest to the president. So you do know what’s best.”

‘Exactly. Now, take the Stephenmillerus. Do you know why he’s always looking at the ground?”

“He doesn’t know where he’s going?”

“Some times. But mostly because he’s lonely.”


“Yes, he’s playing the woe-is-me-take-me-home-so-I-can-yell-at-you card. But you can do better.”

“I can?”

“Sure. There’s you know who.”

The Huckabeecyclops gasped.

“You mean …”

“Sure, girl. That debonair dino. The Reedcordish.” The Hopehicksbagotrix deliciously drew out the Trump assistant dino’s name. He was an absolute hex. That is, handsome with extra smarts.

“The Reedcordish doesn’t know I exist,” said the Huckabeecyclops, a claw burrowed up her nose.

“You just have to be picky and play hard to get.”

The Huckabeecylcops extended her claw further.

“Don’t worry,” said the Hopehicksbagotrix. “I’ll put in a good word for you. They don’t call me the gossip girl for nothing. Now that we’ve worked ourselves into a Reedcordish frenzy, let’s knock off that letter for the old rattletrap. Give me the dirt.”

“Okay. Well, the Robporter’s accused of beating up an ex-wife.”

“He’s a strong man for the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

“Don’t forget the second ex-wife. He was beating up two lady dinos.”

“He’s an extra strong man …”

“And the ex-girlfriend. She had issues with him too.”

“He’s an extra strong man who does not know what three-strikes-you’re-out means. He always comes back for more. And that’s why I back him 100%. Close and insert name here, Marinegunkelly.”

“You do this so well, Hope.”

“It comes with the territory. Stick with me, Huckabee. This is just the beginning. Pass the mud … and how about that Reedcordish? You better grab him or I will. Whatta dino dish.”

The two lady dinos blissfully curled their toes, sinking deeper into the mud.

Satire The Trump Dig

The Perjury Trap …

The Tyrumposaurus squatted at the edge of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. He lowered his cagey mug close to the water, pursed his lips like a baby dino and, using his short arms, flicked the water repeatedly toward his mouth. Much of it missed. He coughed and sputtered as water went up his nose. Eventually he swallowed a meager gulp, wheezed loudly and sat back exhausted on his haunches. Drinking was so tiresome. The T-Rump turned to his legal dino, the Dowderpuff.

“Let me get this right, you’re telling me that if I lie, there are consequences? Since when?”

“Since the Muellersavus is acting as special counsel. You are walking straight into a perjury trap.”

“Perjury trap? What the hell is that?”

“Remember how we agreed you would simply deny, deny, deny everything about the 14 lady dinos who accused you of sexual assault … and the Stormydaniels Pornodactyl whom you did. Er, consensually.”

“You’re losing me. One word at a time. You know I don’t read.”

“The ‘D’ word, T-Rump.”


“No. Deny. Unfortunately this time that’s not going to work. To quote the Puerto Rikiricardo, you’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

“Since when has that been a problem? You know I can get away with … with … eating my young.”

“Of course. But one small slip-up with the Moscovian Bluffs and you could wind up in the Solitary Sink Hole.”

“Ha-ha. You’re funny.”

The smug grin fell from the T-Rump’s face as he realized the Dowderpuff was serious.

“But we’ve got the questions, right? Tell me we’ve got the questions. We haven’t been playing this Devilnunesmemo game for the time-wasting, evidence-gathering farce it is, right? Bless his courageous, patriotic, only-once-besmirched heart.”

“No questions, but we do have the topics.”

“Great. I’ll just deny the topics.”

“You can’t deny a topic.”

“Watch me.”

The Dowderpuff shook his head.

“My rate just went up another caveful of moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Whatever. I just borrowed a trillion, remember? One Trillion,” he said, putting a claw to his lower lip.

“Wonderful. As your legal dino however, I’m making the call on this one.”

“Fine. Just tell the Mediacircustops that I made the decision. You know how fragile my ego is.”

“On the bright side,” said the Dowderpuff, “you may not even have to meet with the Muellersavus. To justify your being there, we can say his evidence hasn’t met a high-enough threshold.”

“Ha!” said the T-Rump. “I knew a low-level Oval Dwelling was the way to go.”

“One last consideration. He can still send the Subpoenaraptor after you.”

The T-Rump harrumphed.

“If the Bannoncanon can get away with it, so can I.”

“On the other claw, all the Oval Dwelling dinos agree that the Muellersavus won’t have the guts to do it.”

“So, no Subpoenaraptor?”

“Probably not.”

“But I want the Subpoenaraptor. If it’s good enough for the Bannoncanon …”

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Hey. I’m the counter-puncher. And I watch my Foxsquawkbox friends religiously. I’ll show that Littleadamschiff, the Cryingchuck and the Nancypelosionyx for sitting on their claws for my Great List of Excuses Address. The Dacadreamers can wait, the whole damn lot of Dowjonestickers, every one of’em can wait … and this gawd-awful government-thing can just shut right down, because I’m tired of being number two in any Mediacircustops news cycle. Bring on the Muellersavus. Bring on the Subpoenaraptor. Bring on the sun to shine … on … me.”

He clapped his legal dino on the back.

“I’ve got this, Dowderfluff.”

“Ahem. That’s puff.”

Satire The Trump Dig

Total Vindication …

“Total vindication! That’s right,” said the Seanhannity, “You heard it here.”

The Sour Palooka was joined by fellow Foxsquawkbox, the Jeaninepirro and the Bradwenstrup, a Grandoldparty dino from Cincy-Pattycake Stakes. The Seanhannity had just received privileged, advance knowledge of the release of the dreaded Devilnunesmemo details. The Foxsquawkbox were bipedaling, er … running with it in front of a large dinosaur audience.

The Devilnunesmemo had shared top secret dino info with the Mediacircustops in the past and was at it again. This time, it was about the Langleytips having the audacity to listen in on the Carterpagealpha converations with the Kayjeebeeops. Their dialogue had only been going on for four years.

The Jeaninepirro leaned forward with her hairy eyeball stare.

“The pillars of our institutions are cracking, crumbling even. Knock’em down and … LOCK’EM UP!”

“That’s all well and good,” said the Seanhannity. “But let’s unpack the meat from the Devilnunesmemo — in all its tasty glory. Our mandate is to show the dinosaurs across the land — and the despicable liberal left Mediacircustops — that this skeleton of information fully exonerates our faithful — most of the time — leader, the Tyrumposaurus. He shouldn’t have to sit through any meeting with the Muellersavus. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves, because that isn’t what this is about.”

The Seanhannity smiled broadly at the Bradwenstrup.

“The average dinosaur wants transparency, doesn’t he, Brad?”

“He sure does. We need to see what we’re eating. I’ll use the food analogy here to keep things simple. What we’ve done is cherry pick the information. Oh, sure, the Donkeykongrus may say the Devilnunesmemo is devoid of substance, that there’s no meat on the bones and it’s a two-bite snack causing massive indigestion …”


“Please, Jeanine, let the Bradwenstrup finish.”

“As I was saying, even though we can’t see all the intestines, the innards, you know, the real guts behind this thing, I’m confident that the devil is in the details. So, logically speaking, that makes the Devilnunesmemo the devil before us.”

“That makes perfect sense,” said the Seanhannity. He turned to the Jeaninepirro who was hyperventilating and hopping on both feet. “Go ahead, Jeanine. Let’er rip.“

She glared at her audience anew.

“I too was a legal dino once upon a time. Then I saw it for the corrupt and unjust system it was. So now I’m just a celebrity judge. I like to mix my serious with pretend. You don’t need all the facts. The Donkeykongrus say they can’t tell you all the details because they’re top secret. Oh, boo-hoo. Do you hear that? They’re keeping secrets,” she hissed. “What are they hiding?”

“Exactly,” said the Bradwenstrup. “We just need to keep up this inquiry. The longer we string this out, the more evidence we allow the T-Rump to see, evidence the Muellersavus is lining up against him in the Russia investigation.”

No collusion,” said the Seanhannity and the Jeaninepirro on cue.

“Yes,” continued the Bradwenstrup, “just because the T-Rump told some friends that he was releasing the Devilnunesmemo to interfere with the Mueller investigation, that’s no admission of obstruction of justice. He did not say obstruction.”

“Anybody,” said the Jeaninepirro, “and I mean anybody, who dares telling me that interference is the same as obstruction … LOCK’IM UP.

“Of course,” continued the Seanhannity. “Yes, they could have held the hearings in broad daylight like Water-Floodgate and everybody would know exactly what is going on. But where’s the conspiracy in that? Better to keep this all behind doors in private where you, the audience, allow us to piece it together for you.”

“You heard the Mincepencenow,” said the Bradwenstrup. “He says this raises serious concerns about decisions made at the highest levels of the Deeohjayfolks and the Langleytips.”

“Serious,” echoed the Jeaninepirro, “I love it when the Mincepencenow says ‘serious.’ I lied to him once … just to see him serious. Okay, twice.

“That’s great, Jeanine,” said the Seanhannity. “Remember, it’s just obstruction wrapped in opposition research hidden inside a rabbit hole. That means no one’s talking about the T-Rump and a day without the T-Rump and the Putinodon in the same sentence is a sunny day for all dinosaurs. We’ll leave you now with our humble chorus because, propaganda science being what it is, we need to say it every hour …”

“The Devilnunesmemo is not an attempt to discredit the Mueller investigation,” the good ol’ Sour Palooka, the Jeaninepirro and the Bradwenstrup sang together in perfect harmony, smiling smugly at the audience.