Tag: Political Satire

“Quick, quick. Come inside. Hurry!”

The Mickmulvaney ushered the Seanhannity, the Rushlimbaugh, the Lauraingraham and the Anncoulter inside the Oval Dwelling.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Seanhannity.

“It’s the T-Rump.”

“I know,” the Anncoulter said with a smirk.

“You called us all here so the T-Rump could apologize to me in front of everyone for how terrible he’s treated me.”

“No, no. The T-Rump, he’s gone whacko!”  

“Oh, sure, Mick,” said the Rushlimbaugh. “Now you’re just sounding like the radical, far-left, socialists.”

“No, I mean.” The Mickmulvaney shook his head. He was at a loss to explain this level of insanity. “Come with me.”

He led them up a rocky staircase to the T-Rump’s Time-Out Tower where they found him lying back, staring at the sky, droning on to himself, emphasizing the end of every sentence in a sing-song voice.

“We have all the records, we have every RECORD. But we’re getting close to that point again where we’ll create NEW RECORDS.”

The T-Rump was oblivious to his visitors.

“He’s a babbling buffoon,” the Seanhannity whispered to the Mickmulvaney. “How long has this been going on?”

“Ever since his national emergency speech. All this chaos piled upon chaos. An emergency that’s not an emergency. I think he just finally snapped.”

The T-Rump droned on.

“They say walls don’t work, everyone knows WALLS WORK. It’s all a big lie, it’s all a big CON GAME.”

“What do you want us to do?” asked the Rushlimbaugh. “If you listen closely, I’m catching a lump of coal conservatism. I think he’s making some sense.”

“Are you kidding?” snapped the Mickmulvaney. “This is embarrassing. Listen to him.”

“We’ve removed thousands of Emmessthirteen gang monsters. THOUSANDS. We take’em out by the thousands. And they’re monsters. Okay, I’ll take QUESTIONS.”

“I know,” said the Lauraingraham. “First, If you tell any dino what I’m about to say, I’ll scratch your eyes out, but I used to babble just like that when I was a little dino tot. My mother would … here, let me show you.”

She went over to the T-Rump and clamped her hands over his nose and mouth. The words stopped, his cheeks turned red, his eyes widened.

“That should do it,” the Lauraingraham said, letting go.

“I spoke with a couple of generals. They think this is FAR MORE IMPORTANT. I won’t go into details, but it didn’t sound too IMPORTANT TO ME.”

The Foxsquawkbox dinos shrugged.

“It was worth a shot,” said the Lauraingraham.

On went the T-Rump.

“But any deal I make with China, the Cryingchuck’s going to STAND UP AND SAY … Oh, it should’ve been better. Y’know what? That’s not ACCEPTABLE TO ME.”

“He’s all over the place,” said the Anncoulter. “He can’t hold onto one simple thought. Maybe one word might work. Hmm. Let’s go back to his first word. Wall. P-s-s-s-t, T-Rump! The wall.”

“We have chain migration where a bad person comes in, brings 22 or 23 OR THIRTY-FIVE of his family members because he has his mother, his grandmother, his sister, his cousin, his uncle, THEY’RE ALL IN.”

“Close,” said the Seanhannity, “but still not close enough to say that I even know the guy.”

The T-Rump continued.

“The Seanhannity has been a terrific, terrific supporter OF WHAT I DO. The Rushlimbaugh, the Lauraingraham. I like the Anncoulter but she’s off the reservation, but any dino that knows her UNDERSTANDS THAT.

“Let me at him!”

The Anncoulter rushed the T-Rump. The Mickmulvaney grabbed her as she went by, hauling her to the ground.

“You can’t hit him. He’s defenseless.”

“He will be when I’m through with him.”

“Sit! Sit down! You’re fake news. You HAVE AN AGENDA. The numbers that you gave are wrong. Your statistics are far worse THAN THE ONES I USE.

“Can’t you guys do something?” the Mickmulvaney pleaded from his knees. “I’m going to go bonkers if I have to listen to this much longer. I didn’t take this job for – for … this.”

“If the Main Stream Mediacircustops sees this,” said the Rushlimbaugh,  “we’re doomed.”

They squatted helplessly beside the T-Rump.

“I don’t want to speak for the Obamarus, but I believe he would’ve gone to war WITH THE KIMJONGADON. In fact he told me he was so close to starting a big war WITH PING PONG NORTH.”

“That’s it,” said the Seanhannity. “Somebody has to do something.” He stepped forward. “What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. Or improve ratings.”

He stood over the T-Rump, staring down at the verbally challenged leader.

“We have to fight fire with fire.”

The Rushlimbaugh sighed.

“It’s a shame we know what fire is but we’re too dumb to make it.”

The Seanhannity leaned down close to the T-Rump’s face, took a deep breath and shouted.

“National emergency!”

The T-Rump’s face twitched. Except the non sequiturs didn’t stop. They sped up.

“And we will have a national emergency … and we will then be SUED … and they will sue us in the 9th CIRCUIT … even though it shouldn’t BE THERE …”

“Ohmigod!” said the Mickmulvaney, turning to the Seanhannity. “What have you done?”

“We’ve created a monster!” said the Anncoulter.

“And we will possibly get a bad RULING … and then we’ll get another bad RULING … and then we’ll end up in the Supreme COURT … and hopefully we’ll get a fair SHAKE … and we’ll win in the Supreme COURT … just like the BAN …

They could only watch as the Grandoldparty grand poo-bah verbally pooped the bed.

“They sued us in the 9th CIRCUIT … and we LOST … and then we lost in the appellate DIVISION … and then we went to the Supreme COURT … and we WON … and it was very interesting because yesterday they were talking about the ban.”

The T-Rump blinked his eyes and stopped talking. His handlers gasped. The sing-song agony was over.

The T-Rump propped himself up on his elbows.

“Wow. The whole gang’s here. Uh, why? … Oh, I know. You’re here to tell me what I need to do next, right?”

No answer came from the shocked dino’s gaping mouths. The T-Rump studied them carefully.

“Well, c’mon. Out with it. … Uh, you guys are beginning to make me nervous.”

His large, spongy feet had barely stamped the government spending bill — avoiding his record fourth shutdown of the government — when the Tyrumposaurus turned to the Mediacircustops and said, “and now I’m calling for a national emergency. That’s right. You left me no choice. I had to do it. You knew I would. And now you’re going to sue me. You always do. So that’s on you. But when I win, you don’t report that. You never do. So sue me. Go ahead, report that.”

The Mitchgetbacktowork had mixed feelings. This was the same Mitchgetbacktowork who had once greedily licked his chops, dragging his feet for a year on the Obamarus’ Merrickgarland Supreme Dino Court nomination before the T-Rump took over. Except there was no smug satisfaction now for the Mitchgetbacktowork. No, the T-Rump had just declared a national emergency at the Great Tex-Mex Divide and 200 million dinosaurs knew it was pure poppycock. It set a dangerous precedent.

But the weekend loomed and the Mitchgetbacktowork turned on his heel to leave. The Kentucky Gobbler would need to keep out of the public eye so he took the less-traveled Dead Dino Pass through a sketchy neighborhood to get home. He thought that after staring into his backyard reflecting pool for 48 hours, telling himself a national emergency was the only way the T-Rump would okay the spending bill, perhaps then he could show his face again. He hoped. There was simply no negotiating with the Donkeykongrus, he told himself. There was no negotiating the next corner of the steep trail either. He slipped, fell, rolled tail over torso 50 feet down into a ravine, conking his head on several trees — Bonk! Bonk! Bonk! — in the process. He finally came to a stop and fell asleep.

For twelve years.

It was a wandering dino, nuzzling wild Mary Jane plants, who came to the sleeping dino’s aid. The good samaritan splashed water on the Mitchgetbacktowork’s face.

“Wha — … Who are you?”

“I’m the Cheechmarin, geezer dude. Sub family of the Refugeeraptor.”

“Ack! Unhand me! You shouldn’t even be here. You’re an illegal dino, I know it. You took the wrong migration route, didn’t you?”

“Hey, you old fart. Heh-heh. Where you been? I’m legal now. Like you.”

“What do you mean where have I been? I just fell asleep, that’s all. I’ve got to check on the T-Rump. Remind the staff about his hourly patronizing and cajoling. Can’t forget the cajoling.”

“Say, geezer dude. You look familiar. Do I know you?”

“No, uh … just another Kentucky Gobbler. You seen one, you seen’em all.”

The Mitchgetbacktowork started down the trail.

“Hey, geezer dude, you’re goin’ the wrong way.”

“But I need to see the T-Rump …:”

“Okay, well … he’s in the T-Rump Wing.”

“They named a wing after him?”

“They had to. All his family’s with him. Sons, his daughter. Keep’em all together, y’know?”

“But where?”

“Where? The Solitary Sinkhole of course.”

“The T-Rump’s in jail? Already?”

“He’s in jail for life, geezer dude. You don’t remember all the illegal stuff he did? Lyin’, lyin’ and more lyin’? Did I say lyin’? An’ conspiracy? His mytaxes returnus. His moolah-moolah laundering with the Putinodon? Don’t forget the treason, geezer dude. He’s a national embarrassment. Didn’t you read the Muellersavus Report? ”

“Uh, I’m afraid not.”

“Well, you have to. It’s required reading, geezer dude. C’mon, we need to show you those footprints in the sand.”

Half an hour later, the two dinos were back on the beaten path. They passed by dinos, young and old. Gay, cheerful dinos, smile at the ready. A gleam in their eye. The Mitchgetbacktowork sniffed the air. It smelt different.

“The air smells fresh. Clean even.”

“Of course. It’s all part of the Green New Deal, geezer dude.”

“The Ocasiocortez?”

“Tha’s right. The new leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

“Leader? How the …”

“You’ve been asleep too long, geezer dude. After the T-Rump was impeached, he resigned. The Mincepencenow finished the term. He wouldn’t pardon the T-Rump because he lied to him too much. And especially not after the staged mistress incident.”

“Which one?”

“Does it matter? We have a new lifestyle now, geezer dude.”

“Ahem. I’m too old for that.”

“Not that. No dino is too old for happy thoughts.”

“Happy thoughts?”

“You heard me, geezer dude. Look around.”

They paused to take in the happy, smiling dino faces around them.

“You’re right. Why on earth is every dino smiling?”

“We have free health care. The single dino-payer system. Free education. Every dino goes to Stegasaurus State. Go, Stegs, Go!”

“But – but … that’s socialism! Left-wing, radical, extreme socialism! The Grandoldparty would never allow it!”

“The Grandoldparty? Don’t look now, but they’re extinct, geezer dude.”

“Extinct?”

“Tha’s right. Heh-heh. I know. You was here before me, nose deep in the Mary Jane. You must think you’re dreamin.’”

“I’m not?”

“No, geezer dude. You’re right here with me.”

“Uh … tell me more?”

“So after the T-Rump’s bogus national emergency, the dino nation swore no more crazy dinos. No loco dinos. The Donkeykongrus came to power, the migration routes opened up …”

“The southern border is a trap!”

“Heh-heh. Tha’s right. A real tourist trap. The Great Tex-Mex Divide was torn down and the Milkanhoney Preservation has never been a better place to live. The Middleclassaurus has returned and they’re thriving. And safe. Remember that dangerous dino pet in every home?”

“The Gunsandmoregunz?”

“Gone, geezer dude. Outlawed. All thanks to the Grandoldparty using that precedent, the national emergency … when there never was one.”

The Mitchgetbacktowork stared dumbfounded at the ground. The Cheechmarin put a hand on his shoulder.

“Why so glum, geezer dude?”

“I can’t … why, I can’t believe it. I killed the Grandoldparty.”

“That was you?! Geezer dude, you’re my hero! You killed the Grandoldparty so dino democracy could live, geezer dude! You da Geezer Dude!

There came a royal knock and the Oval Dwelling occupants quickly rose from their collective squats. The Crown Dino of the Saudisaurae, the Muhammedbensalman, or MBS as the Mediacircustops called him, was visiting the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir on very important business. He entered the cave, his tail rolling regally.

“Welcome, your excellency,” said the T-Rump. “Please, take my seat.”

The Crown Dino sniffed at it before squatting with a frown.

“Hmph. Next time I will need a bigger rock.”

“Of course you will. Call me the Little Rock. It’s all the Crookadillary’s fault.”

“But this isn’t her fault. No, as I look around your den of thieves I see you all have one thing in common.”

The T-Rump grinned smugly. The MBS’s tone changed.

“I’m surrounded by idiots!”

His tail lashed out and around the room. Every dinosaur ducked except for the T-Rump, still grinning, He’d never had to duck before. He took the blow to the back of the head.

“Ow!”

He rubbed his noggin gingerly. MBS tail from left field. Duly noted. His eyes watered but he didn’t cry. He was a big dino now.

The Hogangidley raised his short arm.

“Excuse me, your excellency. You mentioned idiots. Does that include me? I really don’t know anything. That’s right. Nobody tells me anything, except for me to just say, “I’m not sure, uh … we’re not involved and, uh … I’m not aware. There, I remembered all three. Whew.”

The MBS eyed the T-Rump.

“This is the best Oval Dwelling mouthpiece you have?”

“Well, no actually. The Huckabeecyclops and the Kellyanneconvixway both called in sick today. They know what you do to well-meaning Mediacircustops.”

“They’re well-meaning?”

“Of course not. They didn’t want to take a chance.”

“Oh. Well then, what is this I’m hearing about blackmail? And extortion? What kind of amateur hour are you running here?” The MBS glare bore down on the T-Rump.

“It’s a disaster. That’s what it is. I squat, waiting in the Oval Dwelling and nothing happens. Nothing! I have it on good authority from the Foxsquawkbox dinos that it’s all the Donkeykongrus’ fault. The Seanhannity and the Rushlimbaugh complain about those radical, far-left, liberal, socialists all day long. I know. I watch them. Every single mistake — the Donkeykongrus.”

“No, T-Rump. You are the leader. Your mistakes are squatting in front of me.”

“Whatever you say, MBS.”

The Crown Dino turned to the Davidpecker.

“I thought I told you to take care of the Jeffbezos.”

“You did, your excellency. We had him right where we wanted him. We’ve done this dozens of times. Never a slip. We told him he’d have to say our intentions were not politically motivated or we’d reveal those racy footprints in the sand of him and the Laurensanchez.”

“And?”

“MBS, this has never happened before. I promise you. Call it the curse of capitalism — a dino with too many moolah-moolah leaves. That’s it. We, uh … forgot he’s the richest dino in these parts.”

“Shut. Up,” said the T-Rump.

“No, you shut up!” said the MBS. His tail looped around again. The T-Rump ducked this time but forgot the MBS was making a second swipe. Whomp! Once more to the back of the head.

“Ow!”

“Internalize, take it like a dino.”

The T-Rump’s lip zipped. He knew his place.

“Something else, MBS,” the Davidpecker continued. “That damn moral fibre. You’ll have to excuse us. We thought it no longer existed around here but evidently the Jeffbezos still has plenty. Who knew?”

“There is NO excuse for this! Give me one reason why I do not go Khashoggi on you this very minute!”

“Uh, because we’re not in the Middle Eastlands … nor one of your Saudisaurae By-The-Seas?”

“Okay, we will forget about the death penalty for now. Where is your legal dino on this matter?”

The Davidpecker nodded to his representative who stepped forward.

“The Elkanabramowitz, your excellency. I want you to know I appeared before the Mediacircustops today.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them it was a simple Pecker negotiation.”

The MBS eyed him warily.

“Do you know what we do with pecker jokers in the Middle Eastlands?”

The Davidpecker slapped himself in the head, not going unnoticed by MBS.

“You should hit yourself. Harder.”

“No. I just remembered. I had immunity! I was in the clear. Now my sleazy footprints in the sand business is going to go belly-up.”

“Not just yet,” said the MBS. “Not until the authorities go through all your dino catch-and-kill stories.”

“It’s not like that here.”

“That’s the problem. Not enough killing.”

“Your excellency,” begged the Davidpecker. “Let us get back on groveling terms.” He quickly dropped to his knees, nodding to the T-Rump, who joined him on the ground.

“Yes, let’s grovel.”

The Davidpecker looked up at the MBS.

Perhaps I can do another flashy 97 footprints in the sand for you? ”

“No, I cannot be associated with you right now. You have a big mouth and you, Elkanabramowitz, are from the Rudygiuliani mold. Ahem, not a good look.”

The Crown Dino rose to leave.

“T-Rump, when the Davidpecker was granted immunity, he went from being your close friend to a sworn enemy. But you both had the Jeffbezos as an enemy. We now see however, your enemy’s enemy can never be your friend. Still, though you are but a tiny tyrant, a con among cons, keep your Sanctionsaurus away from me and one day, maybe soon, you will feel the press of sweet flesh in a high-five with the Putinodon and me.”

“Yes!” the T-Rump hissed into the dirt.

The Mattwhitaker looked up, surprised at the sight of his mock hearing dino coach, the Rudygiuliani.

“I thought the Jaysekulow was going to prep me.”

“Change of plans. Since the only hope we have of winning this thing is in the court of public opinion, we need to break out our best P.R. weapons. And since the Huckabeecyclops and the Kellyanneconvixway don’t want to be within dripping distance of you, that leaves me.”

He laughed giddily.

“I – I don’t know what to say” said the awed Mattwhitaker, his sweat glands already in fine, free-flowing form.

“That’s not what I wanted to hear. But don’t worry, relax that tail. We’ll be here all night if we have to.”

The Rudygiuliani would be grilling the Mattwhitaker on potential questions the Jerrynadler and his Donkeykongrus tail-waggers might ask the following day of the acting attorney general dino regarding conversations he had with the Oval Dwelling about the Muellersavus investigation.

The Rudygiuliani wrung his hands like he was clutching a small gila monster by the neck.

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning. So you sit down in the Oval Dwelling, the T-Rump has absolutely no idea what you’re going to say and you tell him …”

“I’m glad to be there because I want to protect him from the Muellersavus.”

“No!”

“I tell him about all the bad things the Muellersavus can do to him and then how I plan to save him.”

“No!”

“I don’t understand. The T-Rump fired the Sessionsoppossum because he recused himself so I’m not doing that. … I know. Remember when the Brettkavanaugh asked the same question back of the Amyklovachar, if she ever blacked out? I’ll do that. Did you blackout?”

“No, Good god, no.”

“But it worked for him. He’s a supreme court dino now.”

The Jaysekulow poked his head in.

“How’s it going?”

“Dead in the water. He’ll never be ready.”

“But he has to be. The Jerrynadler has a Subpoenasaurus ready to drag him into the hearing.

The Rudygiuliani snapped.

“A Subpoenasaurus! But we haven’t even declined yet! They’re just turning this into a public spectacle!”

“I really don’t mind the face time,” said the Mattwhitaker. “That’s how I got here. I think.”

“Quiet,” said the Jaysekelow. “Can’t you see real minds at work? The Jerrynadler said that sending a Subpoenasaurus for you was necessary because you failed to tell the committee whether we would invoke privilege with respect to the questions they intend to ask about your conversations with the T-Rump about the Muellersavus probe and your decision not to recuse himself from the matter.”

The Mattwhitaker marveled at how a legal dino could speak that long without stumbling.

“Invoking privilege, huh?” said the Rudygiuliani. He turned to the Mattwhitaker. “You feel privileged, kid?”

“In Iowa?”

Rudy brightened.

“Wait a minute, that’s it! We can’t put him out there so, maybe he won’t testify if they’re going to release the Subpoenasaurus on us.”

“Hey!” said the Mattwhitaker. “I spent all this time preparing for nothing?”

“Okay,” said the Rudygiuliani, “so you now know what a Subpoenasaurus is. Whoopee.”

The Jaysekulow shook his head.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Rudy. We cannot do this. If he’s not going to recuse himself, he has to appear. Every dino will know he’s hiding something as soon as he dodges the first question. If he fights the Subpoenasaurus, he’ll be torn to shreds. Face it, the Subpoenasaurus isn’t even necessary if he simply answers the questions.”

“Jay, Jay, Jay. This has always been about delay, delay, delay. We just have to drag this out for another week. Then the Williambarr is confirmed and we can dirt this dino down the Dust Belt.”

“I heard that!”

“Good,” the two legal dinos said together, turning slowly to eyeball him. The acting A.G. grew nervous.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s all part of the master plan,” said the Jaysekulow.

“Ahem, the new master plan,” corrected the Rudygiuliani. “We want you as nervous, as anxious as possible when you speak. We figure with your copious sweat glands in overdrive, no one will remember a word!”

The Super Bowl had arrived in the Mylanta Gorge, a deep, bowl-shaped Georgian valley. It was a yearly celebration, a time when dinos young and old came to behold this spectacle where pigskins filled the air. Pigskins that returned to earth into the waiting jaws of hungry dino combatants. To the victor went the spoils. Literally. Each year an additional pigskin was added to keep sore losers coming back. 53 pigskins would be up for back-biting, face-scratching grabs this year. What a treat.

As part of the pre-game festivities, the Margaretbrennan was set to interview the leader of the free-running dino nation, the Tyrumposaurus.

“Welcome, T-Rump. First off, the news of the day seems to be the decades-old, black mud-faced shenanigans by the Ralphnortham in the Virgin-Yall Commons. Any comments?”

“I ralphed when I swallowed black mud once. Big ralph.” Awkward moment. “Sorry. Is he Grandoldparty or Donkeycongrus?”

“Ahem … Donkeykongrus.”

“Whew. Small miracles. Yes, he should be run out of the Commons … chased right out. I hope some dino catches him and beats him to a pulp. If I can provide a spare legal dino, I will.”

“T-Rump …”

“Excuse me!”

The Huckabeecyclops interrupted her, crashing the interview.

“What the …?” said the T-Rump. “This had better be good. Can’t you see the Mediacircustops before you, catering to my every whim?!”

“I’m sorry, T-Rump. It couldn’t wait. You simply have to hear this.”

“Hear what?”

“I was speaking with the Blue Hair dinos of the Plodding Church of Immaculate Mercy and, well …”

“Go on.”

“I told them that the Dino Gods have us filling different roles at different times and — apart from your many, shady past roles — the Dino Gods wanted you to be our leader. That’s why you’re here. Isn’t that great? I just thought that up. We can run with that, can’t we?”

“Uh, excuse me, Huckabee.” The Margaretbrennan gave her a huffy look then jerked her head sideways, signaling Huckabee should leave. Immediately.

“You mean I can’t stay and glare at you?”

“No.”

With a snort and a roll of her angry eye, the Huckabeecyclops exited but not before pointing to T-Rump while leering at her and saying, “the chosen one. Right there, sister.”

The Margaretbrennan suppressed a scream.

“T-Rump, the Donkeykongrus are hungry for your mytaxes returnus. Are you going to give it to them.”

“Now look, that’s the skin I shed every spring. The skin off my back. I can’t just give it to them. It’s personal. Didn’t you just hear her? The Dino Gods, Margaret. In T-Rump we trust. Get used to it.”

“What about the banks of the River Deutsche where you were seeking more moolah-moolah leaves for one of your flogging grounds during the Crookadillary Campaign? Three sources say you were turned down?”

“Doesn’t matter. The Dino Supreme Court Justice, the Anthonykennedy? His son Justin works there and he got me the moolah-moolah. After the Anthonykennedy stepped down. Sweet deal. Oops. Did I say that? Next question.”

“You just had a partial shut-down of the government for 35 days and you’re staring down the Nancypelosi again, ready to call a national emergency. Why exactly?”

“Plenty of national emergencies have been called. Every day around here is an emergency. I don’t take anything off the table unless it lines my nest. Besides, the Nancypelosi? She is very bad for our nation.”

“Sweet, 78-year-old Nancypelosi?”

“Don’t let her fool you like she’s fooled the dinos who didn’t know what was happening before but now they know exactly what is happening.”

“And what is that?”

The T-Rump yawned.

“Go ask the dinos. She’s costing us billions and dinos are dying all over the place.”

“Anything else?”

“What, billions and death not enough for you?”

“T-Rump, you’re surrounding yourself with ‘acting’ dinos instead of making them permanent. Why is that?”

“I like ‘acting’ because I can move quickly. It gives me more flexibility. And, as the Huckabeecyclops pointed out, I get to play god.”

“With that in mind, have you given any thought to pardoning the Rogerstone?”

“Roger’s quite the character. A real dirty trickster, he and I go way back. But he only worked with the campaign for a few minutes, so there really shouldn’t be anything to pardon him for, if I was thinking of it, that is.”

“There are seven criminal charges against him.”

“It’s a good thing god can do anything. Like me.”

The walls were closing in. Huge granite walls engrained with grit and guilt, suffocating his soul.

The Mattwhitaker had been doing just fine, thank you very much, sailing along, announcing criminal charges against some large Telecommunicus dinos from Chopstickchowmein. Then a young, brash Mediacircustops with a Jaketapperean gleam in his eye had asked about the Muellersavus investigation.

The Mattwhitaker simply couldn’t contain himself. Or his sweat glands. The words poured out like the perspiration streaming down his face.

“I’ve been fully briefed on the investigation and uh, y’know … I look forward to uh, the Muellersavus, um … delivering the final report and I, uh … really am not going to talk, uh … about an open and ongoing investigation otherwise but, y’know, sort of … the statements that I have made were as a puh-puh … um, private dino and only with publicly available information, like public, like where any dino can get it, right? Um … and y’know … I am comfortable that, um … the decisions that were made by, um, whoever, I guess … are going to be, um, reviewed … uh, y’know … looked at anyway, uh … either through the various means we have, which are several, I believe … but right now you know the investigation is, uh, I think, uh … close to being completed, uh, kind of close … and I hope that we can get the report from the Molar, I mean, Muellersavus, as soon as we … as possible.”

He sputtered finally, thankfully, to a stop. His bald head and face were bathed in sweat.

“Are you okay?” asked one Mediacircustops. “You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“Uh, no. Not at all. While we’re talking …” Oh no, he was going to spill the beans again!

The Wilburross and Christopherwray flanked him on either side. The Tyrumposaurus had told him the two high-ranking dinos were only there to give his announcement some much-needed integrity and respect. Hah! He’d show them. The acting attorney general dino had no idea where he was going. The wise, old Wilburross saw his chance, stepped forward and wheezed into his ear.

“You’ve said enough, sonny. You’re not tryin’ to get us all fired, are ya?”

But the Mattwhitaker was in full, flopsweat mode. He struggled onward. This face time was s-o-o-o-o addictive. Like the leaves from the Krazyglue tree.

“Hey, ha-ha … did you hear about the T-Rump telling all his Langleyops dinos that they should go back to school?”

The Christopherwray stepped behind him and gave him a swift kick in the rear. The Mattwhitaker didn’t even feel it, he was so lost in the moment.

“School! Yeah, can you believe it? Geez, I was only with the Sessionsopossum for what, a year? Maybe, uh … maybe I should be the dino going back to school. A show of hands maybe?”

The Mediacircusstops squatting before him were stunned. Not one short arm budged. The Mattwhitaker’s shame-faced honesty had consumed him. It was torture and bliss at the same time. Incredibly, to add to the sweat glistening upon his face, he began crying. Crazy tears for Crazytown.

“And what about the T-Rump Jr. calling out before and after the meeting with those damn Russodinos? Business associates? No. No way.” There came a hitching sob. “Why didn’t he just say so months ago? He’s hiding something, isn’t he? Why all the mystery? Will somebody please talk to me?” More sobbing.

The Wilburross smacked the quaking lunatic upside the head.

“Stop it, sonny! Just stop it! There’s no crying in politics!”

“I’m sorry. I forgot I’m the boss.” He calmed somewhat, drawing himself together. “Okay, maybe, maybe I’ll look into that next.”

He blew his nose into his armpit and promptly forgot. His attention span was markedly shorter than the T-Rump’s. The Mattwhitaker looked out at the Mediacircustops and quickly returned to a world where sweet demons flew around inside his head, demons flashing wide smiles of teeth yellowed from gnawing on ears of Iowan corn cobs.

“Then there’s the Donbeyer and the Tedlieu trying to revoke the Kushneratops security clearance. Where, I ask you, do they get off doing that? I mean, so what if the Carlkline over-rode recommendations against security clearances for 30 other dinos. Only 30? Who cares? Not me!”

The Christopherwray pounced, wrapping both hands around the Mattwhitaker’s neck, trying in vain to put an end to oxygen reaching the dino’s brain. It was no use. The thick-necked dino blinked his wild eyes.

“Speaking of the Kushnerstops, don’t you find it kind of interesting that the T-Rump and the Rudygiuliani threatened the Michaelcohen’s father-in-law … then the Chrischristie reminds us all of the disgusting crime the Kushneratops’ own pop committed? Give me a minute to catch my breath on that. I might call that criminal.”

“WHITAKER!”

Uh-oh. It was the T-Rump. The leader of the dino nation rumbled into the gathering.

The Mattwhitaker’s mouth had finally stopped moving. The once-glistening sweat froze to his face. But the Mediacircustops scarcely took notice. They had the T-Rump before them. A rare site indeed.

“T-Rump,” a Mediacircustops bellowed from the back. “Are you on the same page as him too?”

“Of course not,” the Mattwhitaker blurted out. “He doesn’t even read.”

The Rogerstone spotted a pair of slow-moving salamanders and scooped them up. He offered one to the Jeromecorsi  and they squatted there beside a walk-up, enter-at-your-own-risk Brooklyn Brownstone cave. They were in the Bedrock-Stuyvesant neighbourhood, known to the locals as Corleone Country.

The Rogerstone spit out a salamander leg. Too much protein.

“Everything is going to be okay, Jerome, don’t worry.”

“Did my brother go back?”

The Rogerstone, a trickster dirtier than the Trickydickosaurus, had brought the Jeromecorsi’s brother all the way from his Italiaroma homeland as a bargaining chip.

“Yeah, but don’t worry.”

“He’s ten times more psychic than me, my brother. He thinks the case against us is thicker than poop on a rock.”

“Now I am worried about your brother. He wouldn’t even go out for Caviarraptor legs. Just wanted to go home.”

“That’s my brother. Nothing could get him away from that two-dino town. He coulda been big over here — he could of had his own Subfamily.”

“That’s a lot of poop on a rock.”

“Roger, what do I do now?”

As if on cue, a cloud passed in front of the sun. Chagrin has a shadow. It is the Rogerstone.

“Jerome, you were always interested in politics, in history. I remember you talking about Trickydick back in the day. We were young then.”

“Yeah, I still check out the footprints in the sand. You got four legal dino now. You sure that’s enough?”

“Shut up. I’m telling a story. Ahem … you were around the old dinos who dreamed up how the Subfamilies should be organized, … no rats, no flippers, no weak dinos that would ever break  — and it worked.

“Yeah,” said the Jeromecorsi. “It worked. Those were the great old days. We was like the Italiaroman Empire. But this T-Rump Family? I mean, he’s afraid of the Nancypelosi! A Nancy! Fuhgettaboutit.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

The two dinos sucked on their slippery salamanders, thinking of better days before the Muellersavus had hunted them down. The Rogerstone spoke very gently, his dirty trick art of finesse.

“The Italiaroman Empire … when a plot against the dino leader failed, the plotters — you, me, but specifically you — were always given a chance to let their families keep their huge nests of moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Yeah, but only the filthy rich dinos. The little dinos got knocked off. If they got arrested and executed, all their moolah-moolah went to the dino leader. If they just went home, ate some bad salamander …

The Jeromecorsi stopped in mid-chew.

“Roger?”

“Hey! My words are poison, not my food. Please, finish your salamander. You were saying?”

“Well, the little guy. If they just went home and killed themselves, up front, nothing happened.”

“Yeah, that was a good break. No fuss, a little muss. A nice deal.”

The two dinos looked at each other. The Jeromecorsi gulped. It was a gulp of understanding. He went on.

“And sometimes they went and sat in a hot springs pool and boiled like a frog, kind of like how this whole Muellersavus investigation has been going.”

“Tell me about it.”

“The Boiled Frog Syndrome.” The Jeromecorsi let out a long sigh. “Alright already. Not for nothing, I’m tired of the T-Rump. Maybe I can have a little Boiled Frog Syndrome party.”

The Rogerstone spit out the rest of his salamander. The Jeromecorsi was still chewing on his.

“Don’t worry about anything, Jerome.”

“Thanks, Roger. Thanks.”

There was a loud noise. It sounded like some big, thousand-ton Argentinosaurus banging his tail against the side of the cave. The Rogerstone blinked his eyes open. He’d been dreaming.

More tail banging.

“Come on out, Roger! We’ve got you surrounded!”