Tag: Political Humor

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Satire The Trump Dig

T-Rump Jr. on the Lam! …

TrumpJrInBCMy new Vegan-Vegetative Analysis equipment arrived today. I put it to use immediately and made a startling discovery. In a Tyrumposaurus Jr. bone, I found small irritations — tell-tale markers of a variant sphagnum moss found only in the remote northeastern Britishcolumbiana.

That’s right. The T-Rump Jr. is on the run. I’m writing in paleo-present tense — to give the reader that up-close, nostril-flaring feel of a tour through Trumpassic Park. You can almost sense the T-Rump Jr.’s fear.

What is the T-Rump Jr. doing in northeastern Britishcolumbiana? Hunting the slow-moving Stoned Sheep? Grazing on the plentiful Magicallus Mushroomae? Perhaps. It’s much more likely the T-Rump Jr. is looking to distance himself from the Kushneratops and the Manaforta. His green bill and facial stubble are perfect camouflage for these dangerous wilds.

The Langleytips, a nose-to-the-ground sauropod, is looking to offer up the T-Rump Jr. to the Muellersavus. This would indeed be justice served in the Trumpassic neighborhood.

Being in foreign territory however, the Langleytips will give way to the Canuckmountiecops, a Puckluckean dinosaur that, like the Langleytips, possesses outstanding tracking skills.

This brings to mind the famous Canuckmountiecops chase and capture of the Madtrapperaptor of the Rat River Reserve. I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that the Canuckmountiecops always gets their dino.

You’re probably wondering where the papa T-Rump is in all this. The short answer is that the T-Rump Jr. has simply strayed too far. The T-Rump won’t save the day this time. There will be no last-minute, 11th hour bait-and-switch with the Muellersavus.

Perhaps the Stoned Sheep and Magicallus Mushroomae hold the answer for the T-Rump Jr.’s survival. Back to my Vegan-Vegetative Analysis.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Trumpassic Apocalypse? …

The Trumpassic Period we know was very much a dino-eat-dino world. Some of the grander bone-munching battles had an almost cataclysmic feel to them. One such event I unearthed today was the much anticipated bout between the T-Rump and the Kimjongadon, the Crocodilian crackpot. The Kimjongadon had been on a collision course with the T-Rump for some time. The T-Rump made it a point not to venture into Ping Pong Valley because of the low number of reflecting pools.

But push came to shove as the Kimjongadon was within striking distance. The battle would be in the Kimjongadon’s back yard. The dinosaurs gathered. What would the T-Rump do? The Blumenthaleon, a Nonvietnamesean prosauropod said, “guessing what’s in the T-Rump’s head is a dangerous occupation.”

From atop the Bullee-Tar Pit, the T-Rump declared, “you realize of course, this means war.” There would be sumo wrestling.

The Bufferator, a rooster-sized Squawkbellow theropod with small teeth, stepped between the two, took a deep breath and held one wing in the air.

“ARE YOU READY TO R-U-M-B-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-E!”

The Kimjongadon stepped forward, glaring at the T-Rump.

“I am taking physical action.”

The T-Rump smirked.

“What is that, the prevent offense? I will show you a real preventative war.”

The Kimjongadon bristled.

“I will teach you severe lesson!”

“You’re going to teach me? That is intolerable, Kimjong-a-ding-dong. Intolerable with a capital I!”

“You crazy capitalist carnivore, you will pay 1000-fold!”

The T-Rump shook his head.

“Kimjongadon, you obviously don’t know me. When you reach a million, let’s talk. Until then, if you think you can play with the big dinos, you will see fire and fury like the world has never seen!”

That was the straw that stuck in the Kimjongadon’s nose. He charged at the T-Rump, bowling over the Tyrumposaurus. The T-Rump bounced to his feet and slugged the Kimjongadon with a short, quick right to the stomach.

“How’s that for a gut punch? Huh? That was a great gut punch! Wait.”

He walked to the edge of the Bullee-Tar Pit. The dinosaurs below looked like ants.

“Do you want to see my right upper-cut?!” he shouted to the masses. “You should see my–”

He never finished. The Kimjongadon lashed out with his long tail, knocking the T-Rump over the edge of the cliff.

The Kimjongadon slithered triumphantly to the edge.

“And now … I will now crush you with my famous Atomic Bomb cliff dive.”

“Ooh. Aah,” came the dinosaur cries from below.

The Kimjongadon took a step forward … and stopped. He looked down at the beaten T-Rump. There was a large crater from the T-Rump’s great fall. Small streams of water were slowly filling the deep depression.

“Leaks!” the T-Rump cried. “All these leaks!”

The T-Rump slowly dragged himself out of the water. The Kimjongadon admired himself in his brand new pond. So this is a reflecting pond. It had to be bigger than anything the T-Rump had. He smiled. It would be a monument to his crocodilian brethren. The dinosaurs below put their short arms together. Again and again.

Gradually realizing the applause was not for him, the T-Rump began the journey home to his oval dwelling.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I’m playing flog with the Putinodon tomorrow. It’s my turn to carry the Maralago palm.* Again.”

 

*See previous Day 199 report.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Putinodon Flogs with T-Rump! …

Today’s bone hints at the sporting life of dinosaurs. I came across a skull bone from the Tyrumposaurus with many dents in it. Thanks to nanometric calcium dating, I found the dents were in groupings of nine and inflicted over a 17-day period. This is irrefutable proof of the little-known dinosaur game of “Flog” that the T-Rump played with the Putinodon. I will let the bone tell the story …

The Putinodon pointed to the lone Maralago palm tree. The T-Rump promptly pulled it out of  the ground and, with a grunt, hoisted it onto his back. They were off.

At the first sinkhole, the T-Rump handed the Putinodon the Maralago palm.

“You have to guess what I’m thinking of,” the Putinodon reminded him.

“Or I get flogged,” the T-Rump said wincing. “Okay. Here goes the greatest guess. Adoptions?”

WHOMP!

“Nyet. Sanctions.”

They traveled to the second sinkhole. They could have played the game at the same sinkhole but the T-Rump insisted on showing the Putinodon around the Bedminster Sand Dunes. This also allowed the bump on the T-Rump’s head to ease its swelling as he dragged the Maralago palm behind him.

At the second sinkhole, the T-Rump sized up the Putinodon.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking. Flynn.”

WHOMP!

“Nyet. Manafort.”

“Very impressive,” said the T-Rump, rubbing his noggin. “You’re always one step ahead of me.”

The game continued to the third sinkhole.

“Ukraine.”

WHOMP!

“Nyet. Crimea. You are so close, comrade.”

And close is how the T-Rump would remain, getting whomped four times over the next four sinkholes for incorrect guesses of Syria, oil, hacking and the KGB when the Putinodon’s correct answers were Asaad, real estate, RussianBrides.com and the CIA.

They arrived at the eighth hole, the T-Rump understandably woozy. He handed the Putinodon the Maralago palm. The T-Rump blinked his eyes twice and steadied himself.

“Crookadillary!”

WHOMP!

“Nyet. Monicalewinsky.”

“What’s a Monicalewinsky?”

“That would be the Jezebelian dinosaur with a breakaway girdle bone.”

The two dinosaurs tromped to the last sinkhole. The T-Rump decided that for the final sinkhole he would keep things simple. His ringing headache demanded it.

“How smart I am.”

WHOMP!

“Nyet. How smart I am.”

The Putinodon handed the Maralago palm to the T-Rump, who slung it back over his shoulder. As they turned to leave, the T-Rump patted the Putinodon on the back with his tail.

“Same time next week?”

“Instead … why don’t we go fishing for Barechested Barracuda.”

“I’d like that.”

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Cracks Where The T-Rump Lies! …

There continue to be big cracks in the T-Rump dig. Cracks from which I’m pulling bones — with more cracks — telling quite a different story from previous analyses. Cracks beget cracks. It’s the Trumpassic news cycle. I have new evidence of previous interaction between the Tyrumposaurus and the Mexicodino, the Aussiesaurus and the Scoutzhonoraptor.

I will analyze these individually of course, but we must first place this information in its proper context. The T-Rump may well be suffering from gonzofibberlips, a rare stand-alone disorder whereby it is impossible for him to remember past events. Each day is a new Paleolithic slate, where he simply rewrites the past. It’s like 50 First Dates, only this is now closing in on 200 for poor ol’ T-Rump.

Let’s go to the bones …

The T-Rump met with the Mexicodino, wanting him to look over the Great Tex-Mex Divide, an area the T-Rump viewed as being key to his survival. I’m paraphrasing here but the unhappy Mexicodino went straight to the Mediacircustops which had the T-Rump soon intervening, telling the Mediacircustops that the Great Tex-Mex Divide was safe and that the Mexicodino should put his energy to better use by cleaning up the nearby Newhampshire-Drugg Den.

The T-Rump then bumped into the Aussiesaurus, who nodded favorably to the Obamarus migration, a multi-species mass exodus. This infuriated the T-Rump, who felt it would surely kill him, the greatest dinosaur, to let so many others — about 1250 — into the Milcanhoney Preservation. The enraged T-Rump called the meeting “dino dung” preferring a previous Putinodon meeting that went “peachy keen.” Hmm …

A final note, clinching my gonzofibberlips prognosis. Thanks to a new fossil study technique called psycho-osteo brainstem-stammering, I learned that the T-Rump claimed the Scoutzhonoraptors met him to say his presence at their meeting was the greatest thing since Sliced Ted, a wise-cracking pterodactyl. In truth however, when the young Scoutzhonoraptors heard the loud, bombastic roars of the T-Rump, they dashed pell-mell over the Head-Smashed-In Dinosaur Jump to their final, fossil resting place.

We owe a great debt to the Mediacircustops and psycho-osteo brainstem-stammering for shedding light on these incredible goings-on deep in the dark depths of the Trumpassic Period.

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Scaramunchkin Munched! …

Today’s dig was right out of a monster movie. Scaramunchkin vs. Marinegunkelly, a battle royale between the small, yappy Minnymeesaurid and the Super Salamander. A classic David and Goliath struggle gone horribly wrong. Marinegunkelly is the newcomer to the oval dwelling. The tale of the tape — he’s a six-foot-long primitive amphibian with hundreds of sharp teeth in his big, flat, toilet-seat-like head.

GiantSalamander_02From day one, this dig has seen one power struggle after another. This is the nature of the Tyrumposaurus neighborhood. This latest skirmish however was one for the Mesozoic Era — the Scaramunchkin’s bones were that munched. I’ve retraced the bones to the accident scene and it apparently went down like this …

Nanometric carbon dating shows it was Marinegunkelly’s first day in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. He was holding court in the morning, telling old marshland security stories to the other dinosaurs, amphibious and non-swimmers alike.

“There’s a new super salamander in this oval dwelling and if you want to spend any time with the T-Rump, you have to go through me.”

The Scaramunchkin stepped forward from the crowd, waving his small arms.

“Just what we need, another freaking paranoid schizophrenic.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you’re not going to stop-block me from seeing the T-Rump. The Munchkin — that’s me — I showed up a week-and-a-half ago. I’m getting the T-Rump back on track so we can clean up this reservoir.”

The Marinegunkelly eyed him with steely reserve.

“Come closer, my little munchkin.”

“Why?” The Scaramunchkin eyed the Marinegunkelly warily.

“I think you have a leak in your ear,” said the car-sized salamander.

“Leak!? Where?” He turned to look around.

It was a trick. The toilet-seat head clamped down on the Scaramunchkin’s scrawny tail.

“A-a-a-a-g-g-g-h! Let go! What are you doing?!”

“If you want to eat an eritherium* you have to eat it one bite at a time.”

“Get off me, you stupid #$?!% salamander! You freaking frog! You #$?!% numbskull newt!”

The late-arriving Priebusunderbus stepped forward for a better view. The Scaramunchkin saw him and went Diplodocus dippy.

“Get out of here, you #$?!% Cain and Abel Cheesehead! … Before I leak your #$?!% blood!”

The Priebusunderbus kept his cool, turning to the Marinegunkelly.

Make him say, “tweet, tweet, twitter, tweet, tweet.”

This of course was the height of dinosaur insults, referring to one as a Trollertweety, or flying chicken.

The front-stabbing shot hit its mark. The Scaramunchkin’s small brain spasmed and his body went limp. He was alive but just barely, feebly mouthing the words “stop-block” over and over.

Sensing there must be something wrong with his food, the Marinegunkelly stopped chewing and released the Minnymeesaurid onto the mud. Plop.

A pair of burly Tyrumposaurae stepped forward and escorted the Scaramunchkin away from the oval dwelling to the nearby Neverland of Birthingexmates.

Game, set, oval dwelling, Marinegunkelly.

* prehistoric ancestor to the African bush elephant
Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Bye-Bye, Priebusunderbus …

Today I ventured into the west side of the oval dwelling and was able to trace more of the Priebusunderbus, you guessed it, from the Trump Dump. The technology is so good these days, we can go back 70 million years to a particular day. Which enables me to recreate the last meeting between the Tyrumposaurus and the Priebusunderbus. It went something like this …

“You’re always at the door,” said the T-Rump. “I wanted to talk to you. Come on in.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. That Scaramunchkin got the drop on me yesterday, but I’m okay. I still have my family.”

The T-Rump ignored him. He nodded to the water trickling down the dwelling’s walls. I still see leaks around here. Leaks!

“A dinosaur can only do so much.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I want to make this oval dwelling great again.”

“Of course. That’s great. Right on.”

The T-Rump yawned.

“Without you.”

The Priebusunerbus was visibly shaken, quaking the earth.

“Oh. You want me to leave? But I just got here. The family’s still at Cheesehead Formation.”

The T-Rump nodded to the leaks. The Priebusunderbus bowed his parrot-like beak.

“Okay. Right. I, I just wanted to thank you for everything. I’m still your number one dino. I’ll be off now. Any particular direction you want me to go?

“That’s a good idea.”

“Glad I could help. Er, … whatever it was I said.”

“Different direction. What do you think about the Marinegunkelly?”

“Marinegunkelly? He’ll be extinct before me. You don’t want to hit that reset button. Believe me.

“Answer the question!”

The Priebusunderbus was dying inside but he wouldn’t let the T-Rump see it.

“He’s great. Just great. Any reset button is fine. Any time. Any place. Any dinosaur.

“Are you done?”

“Yeah, sure. But before I go though, I just wanted to share my favorite moment. It was right here on the west side of the oval dwelling. The majesty of this place. The smell of your first kill, that single-billed Orderexecutivus. You did it all on your own, no help needed from the other Tyrumposaurae or Donkeycongrus. That, that was special.

The T-Rump flashed his toothy grin.

“That was a big one. A great one!”

The only one, thought the Priebusunderbus as he slowly turned and slogged away to greener flatlands.

Categories
Satire

King Crushing Republican Congress …

Seven years ago, the Republican Party promised a new health care package to replace Obamacare the minute they were elected.

During that time, Stephen King has written 9 novels totaling 4,823 pages. All by himself.

 

Categories
Satire The Trump Dig

Will Scaramunchkin Throw Priebusunderbus?

You recall in my last report there were leaks in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir attributed to the Crookadillary. With today’s discovery of two new dinosaurs — that’s 40 if you’re keeping score at home* — there are new talons pointing to the cause of these leaks.

The most vocal tail-wagger is the Scaramunchkin, a small Minnymeesaurid from Lower Mongolia. He has a stout body with a short, thick neck, short forelimbs and tall hind legs. The dome of his head has a row of small bony spikes and bumps. Absent from all other species, the Scaramunchkin has a posterior parietal (rear skull bone) that restricts his frontal dome.

Again, this is after careful paleo-political analysis, but the Scaramunchkin was basically calling out all senior members of the Tyrumposaurae, particularly a member of the Sub Family Underbus.

I’m referring to the Priebusunderbus, a lactosian dinosaur originally found in the Cheesehead Formation of present-day Wisconsin. This species has a parrot-like beak and is a fierce gate-keeper of his oval dwelling.

The Priebusunderbus has thus far remained silent but make no mistake, the Scaramunchkin is making direct communication and moving in with a vengeance.

* We have now uncovered more skeletons at Puhl-DePlugg than the infamous dig at Trickydick-Milhouse Mud Flats.
Categories
Satire

Revised Yardbirds Lineup Now Available!

They’re all here. The front page faces, the hard-to-spell names and the incredible Russian-American comradery on the day most say “it all came together.” Relive all the drama from June 9, 2016.

Soon to be available in a 24” x 36” authentic regulation welcome mat. You’ll be the envy of your neighborhood as you arrive home every day to wipe your feet on your favorite Yardbirds!