Tag: Political Humor

“Class.”

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

The Black Boardbarker gave her grade sevens the hairy eyeball.  

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

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

“20 percent?”

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

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

“Correct, Rebeccah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

47 short dino arms raised in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Black Boardbarker smiled sweetly.

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Henry, what’s your essay topic?”

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

The Black Boardbarker was clearly pleased.

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

48 little voices responded as one.

“Your teaching moment of the day!”

He’d once been the leader of the largest dino population in Manhattinhand. Now here he was, the Rudygiuliani, languishing in the loneliest of lagoons, reduced to accepting the soggy moolah-moolah leaves of Dino Danger Pay. That is, he was the last legal dino willing to wade into the swampiest of waters — a 5-Million Year Flood of Fools — to save the desperately drowning Tyrumposaurus.

Two days before, the Michaelcohen had released the secret that the T-Rump had suggested a moolah-moolah payment to the Playmatapus, the Karenmcdougal, for a shady 10-month bungle in the jungle while the Tymelania recovered from dino birth. Then yesterday, the T-Rump’s former legal dino shook the earth with news that the T-Rump had known about the Russodino meeting two years earlier before hand, a fact the T-Rump and the Rudygiuliani had always denied. The Michaelcohen was killing them. What would be next on his daily list of death blows to the Tyrumposaurean Empire? How long could he, the robust, the regaling Rudygiuliani keep the T-Rump’s orange head at swamp-level?

These were the thoughts running through the Rudygiuliani’s small noggin and those of most dinos in the Milkanhoney Preservation as he waited to meet the Chriscuomo, that damned justice-seeking dino for the Mediacircustops. He’d get his chance to clear the air of the grey, foreboding cloud that was the Michaelcohen. Damn them all. He could still put one thought in front of the other. On most days. This would be like taking herbs from a herbivore.

“Welcome, Rudy,” said the Chriscuomo. “Let’s get after your tail and see who it whacks!”

“Hi, Chris,” the Rudygiuliani said through teeth he’d long since broken. As a dino kid, the other dino kids always played tricks on him. They’d give him small stones, saying they were rock candy. What was he supposed to do? It was candy.

“We’re here for the truth, my friend, and the Michaelcohen says the T-Rump knew all about that Russodino meeting before it happened. Your thoughts.”

“He’s a liar, a pathological liar. He lied all last week. And the week before that. He’s been lying for months. Years. Decades. Lies, lies, lies. And more lies. Sheesh!”

“The T-Rump or the Michaelcohen?”

“Oh, the T-Rump? Well now, there’s nothing wrong with his credibility. He’s the leader. He’s done nothing to damage his case. Because there is no case. How can you damage a case when there is no case?”

“Rudy, a few days ago the T-Rump told the Milkanhoney Preservation that dinos shouldn’t believe what they see and hear. Come again? Is the T-Rump making fun of our small brains?”

“No, no. The T-Rump has the biggest brain. We all know that. You know that. I know that. Heck, I’ve seen it. He just wanted to remind the dinos of that. Sometimes you have to. We forget these things. At least I do. The T-Rump? He thinks big. Bigger than our small brains. That’s all. Big brains. Small brains. Next question.”

“Let’s go big picture. What is going on in that big brain? This week the T-Rump threatened to take away the security clearance from half a dozen top Langleyops dinos, he stopped making footprints in the sand for any foreign dino communications and he banned the Kaitlincollins from the next Mediacircustops’ briefing. Is the T-Rump’s big brain feeling the big squeeze of the Muellersavus investigation and the now daily Michaelcohen earthquakes? Do you see him running around looking for a place to hide?”

“Absolutely not! Deep state. That’s what this is. Deep state. Those Langleyops dinos are sticks in the mud stuck in the mud. Hah! Really stuck. Really deep. Deep state, like I said. The dinos now, they don’t need to know this foreign stuff. The T-Rump barely needs to know. Domestic is the way to go. Domestic. Tame them. We need to keep things tame, right?”

“But what about free speech? Dinos need to talk, don’t they?”

“Not about liars, they don’t. She was talking about that Michaelcohen. Such a liar. Path. Oh. Logical. It’s a shame. He was once such a good dino. A dino you could bring home to the cave. Share a Wobblypop with. Tasty rodent. When the T-Rump heard the Michaelcohen had told every dino the secret about the Karenmcdougal moolah-moolah payment that wasn’t a moolah-moolah payment? The Jaysekulow, the T-Rump and me? We all held hands and cried. Cried our eyes out. See here?”

The Rudygiuliani tapped under his eyes with his claws.

“My tear ducts are empty. Can you believe it? Empty. Have to be careful. My eyes might fall out.”

“Well, splash some swamp water in there because we have the T-Rump lying. Again. On this very important obstruction of justice issue. Because we’re after the truth. Right, Rudy?”

“That depends …”

“You’re the T-Rump’s legal dino. We dinos need to know. Is he obstructing the Muellersavus from completing his investigation?

“Never in a million years. Make that two million.”

“Not so fast. I heard his Trollertweety message earlier this week. It went like this: No collusion, no obstruction — but that doesn’t matter because the 13 angry Donkeykongrus dinos, who are only after Grandoldparty dinos and totally protecting Donkeykongrus dinos, want this Witch Hunt to drag out to the mid-term battle. Grandoldparty dinos better get smart fast and expose what they are doing!”

The Chriscuomo stared down the Rudygiuliani.

“Sounds like obstruction to me, Rudy.”

“I don’t know that. I don’t know that.”

“I can’t do it. I just can’t,” said the Rudygiuliani, scratching the many scabs on his head. They were from having too often fallen asleep in the sun. “Since you got back from Smellstinki, you’re backtracking every day now. I can’t keep things straight and even the Grandoldparty dinos are giving me a wide berth. And not just because I’m pretty wide myself,” he said, looking down at his pudgy, sagging, mud-caked haunches.

The Huckabeecyclops, her mercurial eye twitching away, wrinkled her nose at the sight.

“Backtracking,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Constant backtracking. That’s exactly what we’re going for. It’ll drive the Mediacircustops crazy. Our base is eating it up. Would, wouldn’t. ‘No’ means get out of the Oval Dwelling. This opens up everything. I love it.”

“Except we just had a vote of 98 dinos to nothing in the Sin Hut Chamber,” the Rudygiuliani told the T-Rump, “on your suggestion that we send our dinos over to the Putinodon for interrogation.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked the T-Rump. “The Putinodon was so strong and sincere. That’s exactly what he told me to say when we discussed this on our own in Smellstinki.”

“Well, I dare say. It’s a good thing we changed your story out there a few seconds before the Sin Hut vote came in.”

The Stephenmillerus paced in a circle, dragging his scraggly, serrated tail against the floor, grating the nerves of the others, a secret joy he loved playing out.

“This one,” he said, “THIS one, we should’ve doubled down. Let the Putinodon throw our dinos out in the cold in the Gulag Hark-of-the-Yellow-Nosed. He knows how to control his dinos. He’s a maverick.”

“He’s a killer,” said the Huckabeecyclops, shuddering.

“You could be too,” the Stephenmillerus urged the T-Rump.

“A killer? You mean, for more than just meat to eat?”

“Sure, why not?

“I don’t know if you want to go there, T-Rump,” said the Rudygiuliani.

“You can’t walk back a dead dino,” offered the Huckabeecyclops.

“Who said just one?”

The Stephenmillerus frowned at her weakness. Hands on hips, his best pout on his lips, he turned to the T-Rump.

“Look, do you want to be the next Putinodon or not? I mean, what DID you two talk about when you were off on your own at Smellstinki?”

The three senior walnut brains leaned in close to the T-Rump. Dinosaurs get a lot of mud in their ears.

“Well, you know I have a tough time remembering things …”

“And he was making footprints in his sand while you weren’t,” said the Rudygiuliani.

“That’s right. I don’t read footprints in the sand. I hate it. So, uh … we talked about … uh, you know … the natural things …”

“Right, right,” said the Rudygiuliani, “where you like to pee.”

“Yes, there was that. For some reason he referred to me as the Smalldinki of Smellstinki.”

“Hmm,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Must be a Finnish thing.”

“I’m finished?!”

“No, they are. Never mind.”

“Oh, yes,” the T-Rump continued, “I made sure NOT to ask him if he meddled in our big victory.”

“Well, of course you didn’t!” an exasperated Rudygiuliani said, eyes bulging.

“You wouldn’t have gotten out of there alive,” said the Huckabeecyclops, wringing her hands nervously.

“What else?” asked the Stephenmillerus.

“Um, well … you sure don’t want to know what he’s gonna do to the Manaforta if he catches him. I pity that poor dino. I really do. No wonder he wants to stay in the Solitary Sinkhole.”

The Stephenmillerus brightened.

“Perhaps we should take another run at sending dinos, in this case, the Manaforta, to the Putinodon. You could score some major points with the Putinodon.”

“I don’t know,” said the Rudygiuliani. “98 to nothing is a tough nut to crack.”

The T-Rump whirled on them, orange tail lashing out.

“WHO said they’re gonna crack my nut?!”

“I wasn’t referring to your … nut.”

“No, no he wasn’t,” the Stephenmillerus chimed in. “He was talking about … other …”

“Nuts,” finished the Huckabeecyclops. “You have a fine nut, T-Rump.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” the T-Rump raised a claw. “A stable nut.”

“Yes, T-Rump,” they said together, bowing in unison.

“Anything else from the Putinodon?” asked the Rudygiuliani. “Anything he wants or needs? You can tell us. We won’t blab to the Langleyops dinos. They don’t need to know.”

“Hmm … He also said he will continue meddling in our affairs this fall to help us win the November battle.”

“Thank you, thank you, evil shrouded god of darkness,” the Stephenmillerus hugged himself and bowed his head, his eyes burning two fresh holes in the ground.

“Oh, oh.” said the T-Rump. “I almost forgot. Speaking of this fall, the Putinodon wants me to invite him here to the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. Can you stand it?”

The Rudygiuliani shivered, ravaged by an attack of giddy goosebumps.

“This – this just keeps getting better. Doesn’t it?”

The Tyrumposaurus’ chief of staff stood in sullen silence at his accustomed position inside the doorway to the Oval Dwelling. The Marinegunkelly had fallen long and hard from his heady military days as a key dino warfare strategist. He was now little more than a doorstop. For a cave without a door. Only the Stephenmillerus spent more time looking at his feet these days. Like a divorce that was in its final stages, the Marinegunkelly was simply taking up space. He was a voice in a vacuum. The only dino on the T-Rump’s team the leader despised more was the Sessionsopossum.

The Rudygiuliani breezed past the Marinegunkelly into the Oval Dwelling where the T-Rump squatted, counting his moolah-moolah. The T-Rump laid out the small, medium and large leaves in their respective piles. A fourth stack was his Foundation pile, for amounts he “found” he needed to move between the other piles. The T-Rump Foundation was a simple scam whereby unsuspecting, lowminded dinos paid a fee to tour the underpinnings … that is, foundation of the T-Rump cave with the understanding that upon exiting, they would become savvy, in-the-know dinos. It was a blatant moolah-moolah grab. Savvy, in-the-know dinos were still 22 million years away.

“I bring good news, T-Rump,” said the Rudygiuliani. “The Muellersavus had speculated about perhaps interviewing the Marinegunkelly but I told him under NO circumstances — Not. Gonna. Happen. What is he, crazy? He can’t just run around acting like he owns the joint.”

The Marinegunkelly’s ears perked up.

“He wanted to talk to me?”

“Was I talking to you?”

The screwed-up expression on Rudygiuliani’s face was devoid of veteran respect.

“That’s great, Rudy,” said the T-Rump. “Just great. Say, that deadline coming up on the Refugeeraptors. We’ll have to push that back.”

“Of course.”

“We can’t have the Refugeeraptors — or more importantly, our base — actually believing we care about this whole separation process. That would be a disaster.”

The Marinegunkelly frowned. His long tail twitched.

“Should we give them a timeline?” asked the Rudygiuliani.

“Details?” T-Rump scoffed. “In the sand for all to see? Of course not!”

Enough was enough. The Marinegunkelly’s tail lashed out, carving his own mark in the Oval Dwelling’s tail-scarred wall, an ever-changing mosaic of T-Rump’s daily frustration.

“The corpse has the floor!” the chief of staff snarled.

A couple of pebbles fell from the wall, pinpointing the silence. The Marinegunkelly glared at the T-Rump.

“I told you what moving here would mean — the decision-making — but you were the one who said you’d consider it. Not the actual decision-making, just the considering.  The decision-making part was left to me. Why?”

“Because you didn’t know what to do. You were confused, new to this. You didn’t know what was the right thing. But you were sure as hell sick and tired of living a life outside the swollen walnutheads of Manhattinhand.”

“So don’t hand me that “Make the Milkanhoney Preservation Great Again” garbage! You don’t care about the average dino, and you don’t want any help reuniting the baby Refugeeraptors … because you want all the attention focused on yourself. And you hated visiting the Great Tex-Mex Divide because you had the T-Melania tell everyone she didn’t care!”

“You can’t think a coherent thought and you’re miserable because you know the Obamarus can. And here we are, up to our ears in the Muellersavus investigation. With me, the decision-maker. Making no decisions.”

“What difference does that make now?” said the Rudygiuliani. “You’ll be looking for a job next week.”

“Rudy.”

“What?”

“Is it possible for you to shut the hell up for ten seconds?”

“What? … Uh … You can’t talk to me like that in the Oval Dwelling. Can he boss?”

The T-Rump looked on nonplussed.

“You two work it out. I love a good fight.”

The Marinegunkelly spoke first.

“You know what, Rudy? You know what I’m going to get you for your birthday? A great big dinosaur egg. So every time you feel shocked at all these supposed injustices, you can climb on top with your gas lighting dinosaur farts. Good luck, because you couldn’t hatch an idea!”

“Hah!” laughed the T-Rump. “Oops. Did I say that?”

The Tyrumposaurus looked down and smiled at the pleasant kissing sounds coming from his feet.

(Smack.) “Blessed.” (Smack. Smack.) “Blessed.” (Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”

It had been going on for several minutes. The Enviromenace, the Scottpruitt, was on his stomach, slowly making his way around the T-Rump’s unwashed, swamp-stained feet, kissing them repeatedly. First clockwise … then counter-clockwise.

“Missed a spot,” said the T-Rump.

(Smack. Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”

The Scottpruitt finally rose to his feet, spit out some sand, several ants and a wayward earthworm. He blushed and brightened.

“I have been so blessed to serve you in any capacity, T-Rump.”

“Alac and alas, all good things must come to an end.”

“Unfortunately the Mediacircustops haven’t seen it that way. Their attacks have been unrelenting, never mind my family, but especially on me. So, I do understand your blessed exit interview that I must resign so you don’t have to fire my scaly butt out of here.”

“You’ve done so many good things for me.”

“Haven’t I? My footprints in the sand may well stand the test of time. John Q. Dino needed me. I knew the public wouldn’t mind me spending 60,000 of their hard-earned moolah-moolah to travel to my native Boomer-Sooner Lands. And 14,000 more moolah-moolah for my legal dinos.”

“Fantastic.”

“And another 68,000 moolah-moolah, including that 4-day trip to No-Barack-Oh-Morocco.”

“Fantastic. That must have been so nice for you and your wife.”

“Thank you for mentioning her. Your memory is so blessed. Yes, she has enjoyed the perks of my supposed leadership of the Envirodino movement. My staff chased down her favorite scaly-skin Ritz-Lagoon oils, tried finding her a job paying 200,000 moolah-moolah and even a fresh Chickfillay. No tough task.”

“Fantastic.”

“Of course, my wife and I would still like to have some of the blessed moolah-moolah leaves you and the T-Melania have slept on. Anything with your scent, if you know what I mean.”

Awkward moment. The T-Rump coughed.

“And how did that little bachelor pad work out on Capitalist Hill?”

“Oh, it was a sweet deal from another Lobbysaurus — just 50 moolah-moolah a night. Market rate. Definitely market rate. They must’ve forgotten who I am because they — believe it or not — evicted me after six months. Can you imagine that? Something about me not paying the bill. But that’s what staffer dinos are for, right?”

“Fantastic.”

“You allowed my popularity to flourish, T-Rump. Still, you never know when the public may lash out, so I had no problem spending another 30,000 of the public’s moolah-moolah on extra dino security for that trip last year to Mafia Meadows. The Lasagnasaucean was delicious.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yes, the memories have been many. There was my 43,000 moolah-moolah sound-proof cave, not that I don’t love to hear your blessed roar. And was I being selfish? Heck no. I gave substantial raises to two of my staffers. Unfortunately I had to demote several others who had the audacity to question my decisions.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, now that I’m a free dino, are you sure you won’t reconsider my request to replace the top legal dino in the land, the Sessionsopossum? I think his freckles are affecting his thinking. You know I’d never recuse myself. Just look how many investigations I just had against me? Fourteen?”

“You make a good point,” said the T-Rump, extending his short arms. “But you can see my hands are tied. I’ll be replacing you with the Wheelerdealer.”

The Wheelerdealer was a Lobbysaurus from the Notso-Kleencoal Deposits.

“He will do a blessed job for you, T-Rump. A blessed, blessed job. Bless you.”

The Scottpruitt dropped to his knees to kiss the T-Rump’s feet good-bye.

(Smack. Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”