Tag: Political Satire

“She has what?!”

The Tyrumposaurus stared in shock at the Kellyanneconvixway, who repeated the breaking news.

“The Omarosa has 200 tapeworms.”

“But how? How did she get them?”

“Right here in the Oval Dwelling, I suppose. She was always in here.”

“You mean, she got them from right here?”

A sheepish nod.

“How could she do this to me?”

“To, uh … you?”

“This is a disaster! Those are my 200 tapeworms!”

The Kellyanneconvixway blinked. Twice. It was going to be another one of those days. Just smile, keep her eyes forward and her tail between her legs.

“Okay,” said the T-Rump, “she has the tapeworms, but can she hurt us?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s contagious …”

“I don’t care about her health, dammit! I know her sort. I taught her everything she knows. Everything. She’s just trying to make me look bad.”

“With 200 tapeworms?”

“Oh, she can handle 200 tapeworms. You think she’s sick now, wait til next week. It’ll be something else. It always is. She’s one sick dino alright. She’s trying to gain sympathy from the Milkanhoney Preservation, that’s what she’s doing. At my expense of course. Well, two can play that game!”

“What are you going to do?”

“Punch back. Bigly.”

“You’re going to, um … double down?”

“Of course.”

“But, T-Rump … that’s four hundred tapeworms. Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Of course I can. Don’t you see how far she’ll go with this? I can’t have her making a fool of me. This is better than deflection. Consumption.” He waggled a finger. “This will be total consumption like the world has never seen.”

“But 400 tapeworms. That takes time.”

“Hah! Look around, I’ve got plenty of leftover, rotting Caviaraptor legs and Cheezbuggabuggas lying around. Under foot, in cracks and crevices, they’ve been here for weeks, months even! The Omarosa doesn’t know who she’s messing with. I’ll be up to 400 tapeworms in no time. They multiply, don’t they? Tell me they multiply.”

“You’re making me sick, T-Rump.”

“You’re not sick, Kellyanne. You just have a nutjob for a husband. But we need to get on this tapeworm thing right away. I want you to call the Maggiehaberman. This will impress the hell out of her. Me and 400 tapeworms.”

He grinned his smug, evil grin.

“And the failing Nooyorktimesian says there’s no method to my madness. Hah!”

With that he reached behind a rock, scraped up an ossified Cheezbuggabugga and held it over his open mouth. He caught the Kellyanneconvixway watching him nervously.

“Don’t worry. It’s organic.”

He dropped it down the hatch and licked his claws clean. She winced.

“Do I look any bigger?” he asked.

“But you just …”

“I know. I feel bigger though. Like I’ve already added five tapeworms. Maybe ten.”

He burped.

“I think I just felt one move.” He looked down at his gut. “Here, touch my belly.”

“E-e-e-w-w-w-w.” She recoiled, taking a step back.

“I said, touch my belly.”

She put a wavering hand forward … and quickly withdrew it.

“There! I saw it move. I mean, them … they … all of them,” she lied. “Ten. You’re right. Ten squiggling … squirreling … scurrying … A-a-a-a-c-k! …” she coughed up something into her hand, “tapeworms.”

She slapped her ashen face with the other hand to bring some color back to her cheeks. Her faux emotion cycle kicked back into high gear and within ten seconds her gag reflex was replaced by a beaming smile for her boss.

“You’re an incredible dino leader, T-Rump. It’s truly an honor to serve you. I’ll let the Huckabeecyclops know she can tell the masses that you’re striking back at the Omarosa as only you can.”

She turned to exit. He called after her.

“And somebody bring me a Dietcoker. The tapeworms have spoken!”

“Are they gonna bring us food? They better bring us food,” said Juror 1.

Several other jurors nodded, smacking their lips expectantly. Juror 2 smacked his head.

“Damn. I forgot my lactate leaves.”

It was the first day of jury deliberations following closing arguments of the Manaforta trial. Dinosaur court was similar to kangaroo court, except for the jumping to conclusions.

The Manaforta was charged with 18 counts of failing to pay the tax dino on millions of moolah-moolah leaves, lying about which river banks he’d left them on and for being a fake dino to the fake-fake, fakiest, fake-fake degree. This was serious stuff. So serious that the Tyrumposaurus had begun floating a Kissin’ Cousins conspiracy theory that the Putinodon and the Crookadillary were actually long lost relatives.

Juror 3 looked around the jury den.

“Alright then. Where do we start? I move we go down the list of charges one by one, flip a beaver — heads or tails — Bob’s your Unclesaurus and we’re all home for supper.”

The female dinos looked at him aghast.

“I’m kidding!” He chuckled at having gotten a rise out of them. Juror 3 was on the prowl.

“I have four questions,” said Juror 4.

Juror 5 leaped up from his squat.

“Four questions! We just got here. How can you have four questions?”

“Unlike you, I didn’t sleep through the whole damn trial.”

“Well, excuse me for being a Narcalepsus.”

“What are your four questions?” asked a bored Juror 6.

“Well, if the Manaforta is splitting the foreign moolah-moolah leaves 50-50 with his wife and they have over 10,000 of them … and they used them to buy the Ostrichpython and his wife has it four days a week, does that let him off the hook?”

“Of course. Possession is four-sevenths of the Ostrichpython. Next question.”

“Okay. Shell company and shelf company. What the heck is the difference between them?”

“You don’t get out much, do you?” said Juror 7. “Shell company, those are your typical turtle friends. Shelf company however, now those are your best friends, the ones you put up on a pedestal.”

“I see. Thanks for clearing that up. My third question … I’m kind of embarrassed, because well, you might think it’s a stupid question.”

“Now, now, we’re talking about the Manaforta. There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

“Okay. Here goes. Can you, um … redefine ‘reasonable doubt’?”

“You’re right. That’s a stupid question. And you call yourself a dinosaur.”

“Now hold on there,” said Juror 8. “The Manaforta never. Said. A. Word. Based on that, how can we trust him? Not even a simple hello. I’m sorry, I have every reason to doubt him. He’s hiding something, just sitting there with his mouth shut.”

“Excuse me,” said Juror 4. “Was that the definition?”

“Reasonable doubt,” said Juror 9, “is when you lie awake nights wondering if the T-Rump is selling out the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

“No, that’s treasonable doubt,” said Juror 10.

“Oh. Pardon me. Swamp water in the ears, y’know.”

“You dino dum-dums,” said Juror 11. “It’s beyond a reasonable doubt. You’re going to have to concentrate here. Close your eyes and think about where you were the last time you had doubt. … Got it?”

Eleven nods followed.

“Okay. It’s just beyond that.”

“How far?” asked Juror 4.

“I’m gonna bop you in the nose!”

“It’s beyond me,” sighed Juror 12. “I guess that makes me a doubter. I think. Ohmigod.”

“What is it?” asked Juror 11.

“If I’m thinking, am I doubting?”

“Dinos, be reasonable!” said Juror 1.

He looked at the dinos around him. There was snarling in the air. They didn’t like doubt. It kicked in their survival instincts.

“Oops.”

Juror 12 attacked Juror 1 for showing weakness. Juror 11 attacked Juror 4 for asking too many questions. The other jurors squared off, looking at each other, jowls dripping. Puddles forming.

Suddenly the T-Rump burst into the room.

“Hey,” said Juror 5. “You can’t be in here.”

The T-Rump glared at him.

“I can do anything.”

The fighting dinos stopped in mid-bite.

“Okay, everybody,” said the leader of the free-running dino world. “I just want you to know that if you don’t let the Manaforta off, I’m going to take away your security clearances.”

“But we don’t have security clearance,” said Juror 3.

The Rudygiuliani hopped out from behind the T-Rump.

“And you never will. Let’s think about that. How can you live your lives when you’re under the constant stress and pressure knowing you will never — ever — have a security clearance? Why, it’s a ton of rocks to the noggin, isn’t it? A ton of rocks.”

He blinked his eyes crazily, expunging what he’d just said from from his own walnut, lest he get a ringing migraine.

Juror 4 raised his hand.

“Ahem, my fourth question, I just wanted to know. What’s on the Herbivore Menu?”

“Well? Well? How’d it go?”

An anxious Rogerstone asked the Manhatinhandmadam as he welcomed her into his small, sparsely decorated cave. He liked it that way, for quick exits to chase down any Mediacircustops looking to fill a slow news day.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?”

He leaned in for a quick peck, leery of her lips that were too full, too rubbery. Thankfully it was okay for him to close his eyes. (Smack.) Ugh. Mission accomplished.

“Okay, okay. How’d it go?”

“I – I think it went okay. I just told him the truth.”

“You what?!”

The other two dinos in attendance, the Andrewmiller and the Randycredico leaned forward, all ears.

“But you said I should, that’s what you told the Mediacircustops.”

“That was for the Mediacircustops! For the Muellersavus, I needed you to lie your face off.”

“Roger, you know I hate it when you say that.”

The Manhatinhandmadam had a facial skin condition made worse by years of bogus beauty muds and lagoon oils recommended by the neighborhood snake.

“Sorry,” he said.

“If I lied … I – I don’t want to go to the Solitary Sinkhole.”

“That would never happen. The T-Rump is passing out pardons like Happy Hour swamp water. You know I would put in a good word for you. … But what exactly did you tell him?!”

“I’m sorry, Roger. He told me not to tell you.”

“Kristy! We’ve known each other ten years. We even had a dino tot together!”

“Who you refer to as ‘The Accident.’”

She had him there. He needed time to think.

“Say something funny, Randy.”

“Ahem. Believe it or not, last week, the Betsydevos had an idea. Yes, I know. Amazing, isn’t it?”

“Okay, okay. I got it.”

“That’s great, Roger, because most of my jokes, you usually don’t.”

“No, dummy, I have an idea. Listen up, everybody. Andrew, you’re dodging the Subpoenasaurus even though you know nothing …”

“Hey!”

“About the Wikileakibeak.”

“Oh.”

“And you, Randy, are the back channel to everything and you have agreed to speak with the Muellersavus.”

The Andrewmiller and the Randycredico nodded slowly, unsure where this was leading.

“Can’t you see the problem?” said the Rogerstone. “We’ve got this ass-backwards!”

The two dinos instinctively looked at each other’s rear ends.

“It’s just an expression!”

The Rogerstone groaned, frustrated at the cat and mouse game he was playing with a couple of cheeseheads. Corrupt but intelligent help was s-o-o-o-o hard to find in the Trumpassic Period. But he knew how best to keep his name on the Mediacircustops tongues and his own butt out of jail. He hoped.

“Okay, so it seems the Muellersavus wants to talk to everybody here but me. That makes yours truly the target.”

“Oh, Roger,” said the Manhatinhandmadam, “you’re so smart. Your dream is coming true. Did you want me to make footprints in the sand for this? ”

“Not just yet. Now then, my good friend who I rarely have dinner with, the Julianassange, is still holed up at the Ecuadorian By-the-Sea. Andrew, I want you to seek refuge at the Peruvian By-the-Sea and you, Randy, the Chilean By-the-Sea.”

“Excuse me, boss,” said the Andrewmiller. “Um, why don’t we just join Julian?”

“One word. Branding.”

The Randycredico scratched his noggin.

“Branding Julian? O-k-a-a-a-y … but we don’t know how to make fire.”

“I’m talking about marketing! Exposure!

The two dinos looked at him like he was speaking Swahili.

“The more dino nation’s by-the-sea locations we hole up at, the United Dino Nations might even step in. They take forever and nothing gets done. It’s perfect! Think of the pandemonium — and I’ll be in the middle of it!”

The two dinos looked at each other, wondering if the Rogerstone actually was thick as a stone. Even the Manhatinhandmadam pretended she hadn’t heard. Their boss frowned.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“I know,” said Randy. “The Muellersavus is waiting for the one dino that is going to roll on the Tyrumposaurus. That could be you, Roger. You could go down in history as the dino that sank the T-Rump.”

A chuckle escaped the Rogerstone.

“Very funny, Randy.”

“Uh, that’s no joke.”

The Tyrumposaurus fumbled in the dim light of his night chamber. A grope here. A grope there. He grunted in dismay. No luck. He knew he’d left it here somewhere.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

“A-a-a-a-g-h!” the T-Rump recoiled in fright. “The Stevenseagalus? What are you doing here?”

The visitor handed him a half-eaten Cheezbuggabugga. The T-Rump munched away on the marsupial morsel, continuing his conversation with the Stevenseagalus.

“Good to see you, Steven. I know why you’re here.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I get to rub shoulders with you, you tell me how great I am and then you give me a dinosaur you’d like to pardon so the Manaforta believes he has a gasp of hope. So, who’s the lucky dino?”

“Uh, no. I came to tell you that the Putinodon has made me a Diplodino. That is, an ambassador for the Milkanhoney Preservation and Moscovian Bluffs on dino rights issues.”

“After all the dinos you beat to a pulp? They had to put some of those dinosaurs down.”

“That’s why the Putinodon gave me the job. But between you and me, I’m a Buddhist dino now.”

“Oh, yeah? I just looked at a Catholic footprint in the sand six months ago.”

“That’s good, T-Rump. Real good. But the real reason I’m here?”

“You’re going to beat the crap out of the Sessionsopossum for me.”

“No.”

“The Rodrosenstein?”

“No. T-Rump, I’m a Buddhist, remember?”

“That’s your problem. When you lie like me, you never have to remember.”

“Which brings me to why I’m here.”

“Oh, you’ll never catch me, Steven. I’m 4,286 lies ahead of you. The Mediacircustops says I’ve actually increased my pace lately. What can I say? I’m the greatest.”

“No, it’s not that. The Mediacircustops believe I’m dino-sitting the Yabshi Pan Rinzinwangmo, the only dino tot of the 10th Panchenlama of the Tibetlands.”

“Bully for you. … Say, when you return to the Moscovian Bluffs, would you mind keeping an eye on the Randpaul? You know how he gets into trouble when he starts talking about the grass being greener on the other …”

“No problem. But T-Rump, the real reason I’m here …”

The Stevenseagalus looked around the room and back to the T-Rump.

“This whole dino rights ambassador gig is a ruse.”

“That’s what I said. I’ve seen you throw dinos off cliffs.”

“No, no. It’s a ruse I’m using as a cover. I’m a spy.”

“A spy? You mean like the Christophersteele? Have you left any footprints in the sand?”

The Stevenseagalus nodded solemnly. The T-Rump was worried.

“Any, um … dino pee?”

“Aikido.”

“Excuse me?”

“Aikido is a way of unifying life energy, the way of harmonious spirit. Now then, when you peed, was it harmonious?”

“I am not saying another word.”

“Okay.” The Stevenseagalus looked at him seriously. “Would you like to come hum with me?”

“Maybe another time. … So, um, what side are you spying for?”

“Why, the Milkanhoney Preservation of course.”

“I don’t know about that. Right now I’m having a lot of problems with spies. I hate the Langleyops. They’re all against me. … But, a dino celebrity spy on the other hand …”

“I could be a double agent.”

“I’m not paying you double. Everybody here works for free.”

“Okay, okay.” The Stevenseagalus lapsed into deep meditation. It was a reflexive condition, one that was quickly interrupted by the T-Rump.

“That’s it. I don’t want you to be a spy. If anybody thinks you’re a Russodino spy, that will obviously delegitimize my victory. Major talking point.”

“T-Rump, it was almost two years ago.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re going to add that to your footprints in the sand.”

“I’m sorry I came. I saw this as an opportunity to serve my dino brothers and sisters. I really did.”

The T-Rump put his claws to his chin.

“Are you still doing those therapeutic oil products and energy drinks? You know, at the cleaner end of the pool?”

“Sure, did you want to see my six-pack?”

“Keep your belly to the ground, big boy. The Putinodon may get jealous. … Why don’t you go see the Tyvankanatrix. She can slap her name on your stuff and we’ll be rolling in moolah-moolah leaves. No offense, Steven. Goodbye.”

The T-Rump waved him off.

The Stevenseagalus squeezed his fists and briefly considered taking out the leader of the free-running dino world, one cracked vertebrae at a time. He took a deep breath however … and focused on a peaceful hillside in the Tibetlands. He hummed a tribute to an endangered daisy and pranced in slow motion out the doorway.

The T-Rump’s stomach gurgled. He began looking anew for one more Cheezbuggabugga. There had to be one here somewhere.

“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.”