Tag: Political Humor

The Tyrumposaurus stepped off the beaten path deep inside the Virgin-Yall Forest. He’d just finished lapping up most of a large mud puddle. Bladder full, he squatted beside a whispering willow and proceeded to relieve himself. His eyes momentarily crossed.

“Psst!”

The voice came from behind him. The T-Rump wheeled, peeing on his foot as he did. He groaned, wiggled his wet toes and returned to his original posture.

“Who is it? You just made me pee on my foot!”

“That’s okay, your base can relate to that. It’s me, the Rudygiuliani.”

Only it wasn’t. It was the Stutteringjohn, a funny dino who’d toured with the Howardstern comedy troupe during their heyday twenty years earlier. He was pranking the T-Rump.

“It doesn’t sound like you, Rudy. Where’s that stupid laugh of yours?”

“Ha-ha .. heh-heh … hah-hah-hah-hah!”

“That’s better. What is it? Go ahead, I can talk and pee at the same time.”

“I’m just thinking aloud here,” said the fake Rudygiuliani, “but I have some suggestions for legal dinos you could send to the two-storey brownstone on Supreme Court.”

“In the Highly-Esteemed neighborhood?”

“That’s the one.”

“Great,” said the T-Rump. “I was looking for some input. I’m tired of having to do everything around here.”

“Of course. I was thinking an obvious selection would be the Sessionsopossum.”

“The Sessionsopossum?! But I hate that giggling, long-tailed weasel.”

“And that’s exactly why you could ship him off to Supreme Court and have your pick at a new attorney general dino. Like me maybe.”

“I like your thinking.”

“Oh, I’m not done. Did I mention myself? Of course I did. At the Supreme Court brownstone, I could turn your legal world upside down. It’s not that I’m vain, mind you. But if the Sessionsopossum says no, for the record, I am available.”

“What record? … Never mind. Look, Rudy, I need you to baffle-gab the Mediacircustops. You are such a great baffle-gabber.”

“Why, thank you. Another possibility would be the Jeaninepirro.”

“Lock her up!” the T-Rump shouted with a violent lash of the tail. “I love that line!”

“I know, I know.”

“But,” cautioned the T-Rump. “Hasn’t she had some run-ins with the law?”

“Yes, but think about it, you could pardon her AND send her to Supreme Court. Won’t the Donkeykongrus poop the nest on that one?”

“These are all great ideas, Rudy, but I just don’t know …”

“But wait, there’s more. Remember the Jayeffkay with the Bobbykennedy as the attorney general  dino?”

“But I don’t have a brother.”

“I’m talking about the T-Rump Jr.!”

“Why?”

“As a Supreme Court dino!”

“What? He doesn’t know a hard case from a soft shell.”

“He doesn’t need to. You control the Capsized Hill. You can do this!”

“I don’t know. I’m his father. What if I want a new law and he says no? It’s gonna look bad disowning a Supreme Court dino.”

“Okay,” said the Stutteringjohn, “I’ve got it. You send the Sergeykysliak to Supreme Court.”

“Now you’re talking!”

“I – I am? I was just kidding around, just foolin’ with you.”

“Oh, the Putinodon would love it. And that’s all that matters, right?”

“Uh, sure?”

“I can then free the Russodinos from the Sanctionsaurus. The Mediacircustops will be so busy chasing their tails with the Sergeykysliak as one of the highest legal dinos in the land.”

“Well, now” said the Stutteringjohn, “those are five exciting options for a Supreme Court legal dino, aren’t they?”

“Tough decision,” said the T-Rump, scratching his rump. “Tough decision.”

Short arms flailing, the Tyrumposaurus scurried around the Oval Dwelling between a dejected Stephenmillerus and the T-Rump’s new chief of staff in charge of communications, the Billshineola. The T-Rump stopped in front of the Stephenmillerus.

“How do I look? Be honest now.”

“T-Rump, your meeting with the Putinodon is still, uh … two weeks away.”

“I know that! And stop calling it a meeting. It’s a par-TAY … P-A-R-T-A-Y. I want to look my best. I have to look my best. Are my scales too orange? What if they’re too orange? He may think I’m on fire. Do I look like I’m on fire?”

“In a good way. To antagonize and divide the masses.”

“Oh, T-Rump?”

It was the Billshineola, poking his head around the Stephenmillerus.

“The Seanhannity says hello.”

“Good. Very good. Uh, you do realize you’re only here because I couldn’t pay him one-tenth the moolah-moolah he’s getting from the Foxsquawkbox dinos.”

“Excuse me, T-Rump,” interrupted the Stephenmillerus. “I have a dozen dinos all ready to step into the small two-storey brownstone …”

“That small two-storey brownstone?”

“Yes, the one on Supreme Court in the esteemed Dino-Judge neighborhood. I’ve given the Anthonykennedy his notice to move out tout suite.”

“Good. Pick the most conservative dino that looks the best in front of the Mediacircustops and sign him up. Fast!”

“Of course. I promise you, we will get this done before the meeting — I mean party.”

“The Putinodon will be pleased, don’t you think?”

“Of course.”

The T-Rump turned to the Billshineola.

“Well?”

“Well, what? I don’t know a thing about the Putinodon.”

“You call yourself the Billshineola, and you can’t make up something to gratify me? The Seanhannity told me you were an outstanding director of falsehoods, misdirections and confounding conspiracies.”

“Sorry, first day on the job jitters. Just trying to fit in, you know.”

“Well, there’s only one fit. The reason you’re here, aside from your daily licking of my shins, is to craft my message for the Putinodon. That is your only concern.

“Gotcha.”

The Billshineola breathed a sigh of relief … then genuflected for good measure.

“Uh, T-Rump?”

“Yes? What is it Stephen?”

“I realize it’s never a good time for anything around here, but I was wondering …”

“Spit it out, dino.”

The Stephenmillerus coughed up several semi-digested rodents.

“There. No wonder I’ve been feeling crappy. I was just going to say … now that you’ve given the Huckabeecyclops secret service dino protection. Can I have that too? She’s not the only one hated by a lot of dinos.”

“Sorry. Not gonna happen. I need you to stay sharp. I want you heckled. I want you angry. The Trollertweety messages you create for me wouldn’t be the same without fire and brimstone in your belly.”

“Of course.”

Meanwhile, a short distance away, the Huckabeecyclops addressed the Mediacircustops.

“I would answer that question but again, for the 49th time, I must refer you to the T-Rump’s legal dino, whichever one is still available.”

The Jimacosta raised his arm. The Huckabeecyclops saw him. Her eyes settled upon him as if to say, “I will never field a question from you again” before moving on. The Jimacosta rose from his haunches anyway. He was about to speak when a chant arose from behind him.

“Go home, Jim! Go home, Jim!”

He turned around. It was a one-dino chant in the form of a female Blue Hair dino with distinct shell markings that gave her away as being from the Plodding Church of Immaculate Mercy. His jaw dropped in surprise.

“What are you doing here?”

“Go home, Jim! Go home, Jim!”

“But I work here. You go home.”

“Aha! You’re threatening me. The T-Rump said you’re an enemy of the state. Fake news!”

The Jimacosta ignored her and turned back to the Huckabeecyclops.

“Where are the 1500 little dinos separated from their mothers? And what about the Puerto Rikiricardo dinos? Did 4500 die?”

A big, beefy secret service dino stepped in front of the Jimacosta.

“That will be enough of that!”

“What?!”

“That question is harassment, bub. You cannot, will not, pepper her with questions. Can’t you see she’s helpless. Is that clear?”

“But this is a free country!”

“Correction. Free-running country. Now be a good dino and run along. Move along, Mediacircustops. Change the narrative.”

Back in the Oval Dwelling, the Stephenmillerus stood in the doorway, in conference with the Marinegunkelly. The T-Rump had returned to running around, his short arms flailing.

“The Fake News! I have to show the Putinodon I’m in control of the Mediacircustops. Yes, my great footprints in the sand does include the Art of the Deal. But the Putinodon, he did the Acts of a Tryant. I have to show him I’m capable of that big first act. Controlling the Mediacircustops.”

The T-Rump turned to the Billshineola.

“We need to ratchet up the Fake News Trollertweety messages. Fake. Fake. Fake. Got it?

Before the Billshineola could respond however, the Stephenmillerus interrupted them.

“I’m sorry, T-Rump, that may not be a good idea. I’ve just received word that a rogue Annapolisaurus has massacred five Mediacircustops.”

The T-Rump paused. 

“Well, that’s not good.”  He frowned at the Stephenmillerus. “You are such a … a …”

The Billshineola held up a claw.

“Party pooper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I present you the Stephencolbert.”

The T-Rump gave him the once over.

“Do I know you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Stephencolbert brightened.

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

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

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

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

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

“The best? Of course I’m the best.”

“Next!”

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

“Do I know you?”

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

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

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

“Sure. I can pardon family.”

“Oh, thank you, bless you, T-Rump.”

“Not your family. Mine.”

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

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

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

“Those were … those were my practice pardons.”

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

The Stephencolbert turned to the Michaelcohen.

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

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

“You – you’re replacing me. Already?”

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

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

The T-Rump eyed him strangely.

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

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

The Michaelcohen trudged dejectedly for the door.

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

A defeated Michaelcohen staggered out the door.

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

The Stephencolbert skipped around the room.

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

The Rudygiuliani frowned.

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

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

The Rudygiuliani rose from his haunches.

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

The Stephencolbert headed for the door as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mediacircustops host was somewhat puzzled.

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

The Peternavarro threw his short arms up in the air.

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

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

The lizard shook him off.

“That Justintrudeau!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re winning my argument for me.”

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

“The shortest,” added the Larrykudlow.

The Peternavarro waggled a claw at the Jaketapper.

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

“He was supposed to be there.”

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

The Larrykudlow jumped in.

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

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

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

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

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

The Peternavarro jumped up from his haunches.

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

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

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

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

His long, forked tongue flicked out and reeled in.

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

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

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

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

The T-Rump moved over to the Scottpruitt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

“I, I … it’s the Mediacircustops.”

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

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

“Chickfillay?”

“No.”

“Cheekyphilly?”

She shook her head.

“Chock-fullah … ?”

Another shake of her head.

“Chicken! They’re calling me chicken!”

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

“Keep misinforming them?”

“Away you go. Back to work.”

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

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

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

“I will. Eventually.”

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

“I don’t beg.”

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

“What!? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

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

The T-Rump’s gaze found the Scottpruitt.

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

“Sure thing, boss.”