Tag: The T-Rump Dig

All was quiet on the Puhl-DePlugg front. Only because the Tyrumposaurus, the Stephenmillerus and the Mitchgetbacktowork busied themselves stuffing their gobs with the low-hanging, fruity blossoms of a large Sweet Patooty tree. This rare moment of peace, solace and nothing remotely circumspect couldn’t last long. An out-of-breath Paulryan stomped onto the scene.

“What are you doing here?” demanded the T-Rump. “You don’t even know how dinosaurs give birth. You call yourself a citizen. You don’t know anything!”

A chuckle escaped the Mitchgetbacktowork.

“What are you laughing at?” the T-Rump snapped. “Where were you when I went to visit the Synagoglodytes? And don’t get me started about those two maniac dinosaurs. My momentum gone. All gone! What a downer. … Well? Where were you?”

“I, uh … had a scheduling conflict.”

“Scheduling conflict? Who wants to see you?”

Big sigh from the Mitchgetbacktowork.

“Okay. I admit it. I lied.”

“Great.”

“I’m sorry, I …”

“Mitch, Mitch, Mitch. The more you lie, the better you’ll feel. Trust me. 5000 lies later, look where we are. Remember, when I can, I tell the truth. When I can’t, I lie.”

He tossed a Sweet Patooty in the air and caught it in his open mouth, the morose, muddled Mitchgetbacktowork looking on.

“You make it sound so easy. I — I once had morals.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

The T-Rump turned, noticing the Paulryan.

“You’re still here? Don’t you have something to say … somewhere else?”

“Actually, I bring news of the early returns in advance of the Midterm Mayhem.”

“They’re the best early returns in the history of early returns, aren’t they?”

“Uh, not exactly. There are many, many more dinosaurs coming out of the woods than the last Midterms.”

“That’s great. How much more?”

“50 percent more in the Zona Canyon and the Neverglades. Twice as many in the Georgia Orchard and Vegas Valley. Three times as many in the Land of Longhorns …”

“That’s outstanding.”

“Wait, I’m not done. Dino turnout is six times higher in the Memphis Honky-Tonk and there are ten times more dinos coming out in the Montana Savanna.”

“And this is a bad thing because?”

“Because you’re not running, T-Rump,” said the Mitchgetbacktowork. “You’re not in the fight.”

“I’m not?”

“Not for another, ahem … two years.”

“If you last that long,” muttered the Paulryan.

“What was that?”

“I said you’re fast and strong.”

“And the greatest. You forgot the greatest.”

“T-Rump,” said the Mitchgetbacktowork, “this is bad. Disaster bad.”

“Nonsense. Every dino loves me. I say migration and the lady dinos migrate to me.”

“That’s one gathering we can’t fudge the numbers on. This is a massive, large scale protest. I must warn you, you’re looking down the throat of the Bluewave Beast.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were on my team. Do I really have to grab another dino from the Foxsquawkbox? … I keep going out to all these one-platypus towns giving it my all. Because it’s still and always will be about me. I say I should visit the Zona Canyon and the Vegas Valley.”

“No!” the Mitchgetbacktowork and Paulryan blurted out together.

The T-Rump frowned, crossing his short arms in protest. He kicked his diabolical walnut into gear, tapping a claw against his chin. It helped him to focus.

“I have to do something to gin up the base, anger souls and divide the dinos. I know, this migrant caravan. I know it’s still 900 miles away and poses no imminent threat, but … get me some time with the Mediacircustops, that Jaketapper whipper-snapper. Have the Oval Dwelling tell him I’m going to have a new policy on granting asylum. Then I’ll just blather on about how the Latinonachos migration is killing the Milkanhoney Preservation. That should convince those undecided dinos how the wind really blows around here. Time for them to move over to this side of the reservoir.”

The Stephenmillerus had spent the past five minutes picking Sweet Patooty remnants from between his teeth. He finally spit it out and raised a claw.

“T-Rump, you just tell them you’re sending 10,000 — no, 15,000! — dinos down there to stop those murdering monsters and if anyone so much as kicks one rock in their face, they’re dead. Dead. Dead.”

“Wow,” marveled the T-Rump. “Three deads. See what I’m talking about, Mitch? Now that’s fear.” He turned back to the Stephenmillerus. “You’re sure you’ve never been with the Foxsquawkbox?”

Billyjoe and Billybob, a pair of Red Neck Nukkledraggerz from the very hilly Billy Blue Bayou, settled into their side-by-side squats for the upcoming Tyrumposaurus rally at the Carolinas’ Charred Flats. The two cousins were hard-core T-Rump followers, part of his rock solid base that would just as soon bite the head off a Donkeykongrus dino as look at them.

“Billybob?”

“What is it, Billyjoe?”

“Do yuh think the T-Rump is gonna come out and roar like a wounded Wartyhogdog?”

“Do we get our feet wet when we pee? Of course he will.”

“But these ten Pipebombasaurae an’ all.  They’re kinda like our cousins, ain’t they?”

“We got lotsa cousins, Billyjoe. What the hell are ya gittin’ at?”

“Well, we came hey-uh fo’ some hootin’ and hollerin’.”

“Ain’t no lie, Billyjoe. With any luck, we gonna crack some ol’ walnut-heads tonight.”

“So then, what if the T-Rump turns tail … and he goes soft-belly up?”

Billybob smacked Billyjoe with his long, thick tail upside the head.

“O-o-o-w-w-w!”

“That hurt me more than you, Billyjoe.”

“I don’t think so, Billybob.”

“You be wise to hush yo’ mouth about the T-Rump goin’ soft-belly up. That’s traitor talk, it is.”

There was a commotion before them as the T-Rump rally team stomped across the flat rock stage area, raising lots of dust and more fanfare as the kingpin of the Trumpassic Period approached.

“There he is,” said Billybob. “Our mighty, esteemed leader. Pipebombasaurae, my slime-leaking eye!”

The T-Rump took the stage, grinned his cheesy grin and waved his short right arm.

“Charred Flats! Great to be here!”

The T-Rump base roared their approval.

“First off, I just wanted to say we’re here because we’re winning … and that’s all that matters. The Pipebombasaurae? Please. … Okay, so there were ten of them. But they have no bite. You wanna see bite? Look at these chompers.”

He opened his mouth wide, his slobbery tongue flew out and the crowd recoiled for a second with the sporadic “E-e-e-w” … before finally applauding, albeit nervously.

“Alright then. I have it on good authority — my authority — that the Mediacircustops brought this behavior upon themselves and some — I shouldn’t say it but I know you want me to — not-so-innocent dinos because, well, what goes around comes around. Am I right? The truth hurts. Or it could hurt. I don’t know. But it’s the Mediacircustops’ fault. Their fake … negative … made-up news and views have finally crossed the line.”

Billybob nudged Billyjoe.

“See? Ain’t no holdin’ back the T-Rump. He’s the dino!”

“Lock her up!” shouted Billyjoe, bouncing in his squat.

“Or,” suggested the T-Rump, “maybe it’s all a coincidence. A koh-inky-dink. Times ten. Ten koh-inky-dinks.”

He held up both hands. The base laughed. Billyjoe turned to Billybob.

“What’s an inky dink?”

“He’s just talkin’ dirty again, Billyjoe.”

The T-Rump glared at his dino faithful.

“I’m playing nice now. … A-a-a-n-n-n-d now I’m not. I would love to bring every dino together, I really would. But then we’d have that nasty caravan of mean, rotten Latinonachos and all their mean, rotten babies. I hate babies!”

Billyjoe looked at his cousin.

“Do we hate babies, Billybob?”

“We do now, Billyjoe.”

“Need I remind you,” the T-Rump continued, “there are 11 days until Midterm Mayhem and we need every dino — every body-slammin’ dino — with us. That means you. The Mediacircustops have brought us here. You heard the Foxsquawkbox. The  Pipebombasaurae is a conspiracy theory set up by the Donkeykongrus. It’s all a false alarm, folks!”

“False alarm!” shouted Billyjoe.

“Amen,” said Billybob.

Trump raised a claw to the sky.

“Someone’s gotta say it and that someone’s gotta be …”

“YOU!” shouted the audience.

“Fake news begets violence. We need a defensive weapon, don’t we? What’s it gonna be?”

“Body slam!” shouted Billyjoe.

“I like it,” the T-Rump said with a triumphant nod. “Let’s give each other a good ol’ body slam. Practice makes perfect.”

The T-Rump acted out his signaure body slam maneuver and the crowd followed suit. Dinos of all shapes and sizes were thrown to the ground with resounding thuds all around.

“Me first,” said an excited Billyjoe.

Unfortunately, he outweighed Billybob by 450 pounds. Billyjoe threw his cousin down to the ground with such force and enthusiasm that Billybob was knocked out cold. Billyjoe looked down over his fallen cousin flat on his back.

“Your turn, Billybob. … Billybob?”

 

“Perfect,” said the T-Rump.

“I think it’s a winner,” said the Stephenmillerus with an extra devilish grin.

The two dinos were very pleased with their latest, greatest rallying cry for November’s Midterm Mayhem.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir, the Cryingchuck shook his head and smirked.

“Jobs, Not Mobs? “That’s the best they can do?”

He was joined by his cousin’s daughter, the ever jovial Amyschumer.

“They left out angry and unhinged,” she said.

“That would be too many words for his deplorables to remember.”

“Well, you and the Nancypelosi did agree the Donkeykongrus would educate them.”

“Educate? All we need to do is wave shiny objects.”

“S-o-o-o-o,” she said. “You asked me here to help you with your own battle cry for the November trenches.”

“Yes, I was thinking we should try and build up the Langleyops reputation after the T-Rump has essentially destroyed it.”

“Sure. How about “Comey’s Our Homey.”

“Then there’s the Sessionsopossum, the Muellersavus and his Russodino investigation.”

“Obstruction is NOT a Virtue?”

“Or … who can forget the T-Rump ripping dino tots from the arms of their mamas at the Great Tex-Mex Divide?

“Um … Would You Let the T-Rump Baby-Sit Your Kids?”

“What about all the money the T-Rump has made from foreign dinos with his luxury caves?”

“The Oval Dwelling’s NOT for Sale!”

The Cryingchuck paused.

“We’re only just scratching the surface here, aren’t we? There’s the Rickyprisongates, the Manaforta and the Michaelcohen.”

The Amyschumer brightened.

“Support A T-Rump Flipper Today!”

“What about that Nooyorktimesian dinos and their 18-month investigative story on the T-Rump’s rise to fame and fortune?”

“Hmm … Daddy’s 400-Million Moolah-Moolah Bogus Bonus Baby?”

“Oh, he’s a baby, alright. I think I hear him crying right now. What about the Jamalkhashoggi incident?”

“B.M.S. – Mediacircustops = B.S.”

“We’re getting there. And the T-Rump’s not shedding his green skin, not sharing his mytaxes returnus?”

“Let’s see … We Showed Ours. Your Turn, T-Rump!”

“Uh, you realize he will take that the wrong way.”

The Amyschumer winked.

“Have we bottomed out on the T-Rump’s debauchery?

“Good point. Speaking of which … ”

“Way ahead of you, Uncle Chuckie. How’s this? Are You a Lady Dino, a Playmatapus or a Pornodactyl Who the T-Rump Has Paid to Shut Up? Me Too.”

“That line’s a little long.”

“Because that line is very long.”

“What about all his fake news rhetoric? There must be something.”

“All Conspiracy Theories Lead to the T-Rump.”

“You’re so quick, Amy.”

“Last dino standing, y’know.”

“Something that includes the Putinodon maybe?”

“I Left My Heart In Smelstinki.”

“And the T-Rump’s penchant for conveniently, uh … forgetting the truth?”

“5000 Lies. And He’s DOUBLING Down.”

“You’ve been a great help, Amy. It’s been a jaw-dropping 20 months.”

“But I’ve only just begun.”

“I see that. What I’m getting at here is that we need a well-thought out, serious, to-the-point slogan that will resonate with every decent dino with a lick of sense. Something every Donkeykongrus dino will want to be shouting from the mountaintops.”

“O-o-o-o-o-h. Well, why didn’t you say so?”

The Amyschumer and the Cryingchuck cocked their heads and sang out long and hard three words that would echo throughout the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir …

“DUMP THE T-RUMP!”

“Kelly! Get in here!”

The gnarled, downtrodden, hollow-eyed Chief of Dino Staff entered the Oval Dwelling where the Tyrumposaurus and security bigwig, the Johnbolton, squatted together. Squatting a little too close together, the Marinegunkelly noted. Something was up.

“Did you see my Trollertweety message?” asked the T-Rump.

“The one you fired back at the Stormydaniels following her comment about the size of your–”

“No! Not that one. I’m talking about this crazy caravan of … how many dinos, Bolton?”

“Four thousand.”

“Four thousand Latinonachos! Who do they think they are? The nerve. Poor, persecuted — Hey, let me tell you about having a bad day. They can’t come to the Milkanhoney Preservation. Not while my Great Tex-Mex Divide is still a pipe dream. Bolton here says it’s all your fault, Kelly. What do you have say to that?”

The Marinegunkelly frowned. Not again. This always happened when mother nature called. You step away from the Oval Dwelling for five seconds and some dino dufus was diving in to make you look bad.

He growled at the Johnbolton. But the T-Rump mistook the growl for him and fell over himself getting behind the Johnbolton. The T-Rump peeked out from behind his security dino.

“Ahem, I detect some animosity. I have my great face and not-so-great bone spurs to look out for. Deal with it, Bolton.

The Johnbolton scratched his whiskers.

“I don’t know, boss. I was making some good moolah-moolah with the Foxsquawkbox — over half a billion last year. I took a pay cut coming here because you promised — which I’ll take as a maybe — that I would someday be Secretary of State. Even if you hate the hair on my face.”

Incredibly, the Johnbolton was the first dino in 50 million years to sport a moustache.

The Marinegunkelly sensed the fight had already left his opponent, if this weekend warrior ever had any in him in the first place.

“You’re in charge of security for the Milkanhoney Preservation,” barked the Marinegunkelly. “What are you gonna do with 4,000 Latinonachos rolling up on your doorstep?”

“Did someone order out?” asked the T-Rump.

“Oh, yeah,” countered the Johnbolton. “Well, you’re the Chief of Staff.”

“Alright already with the chain of command,” said the T-Rump. It only confused him. “I already said you don’t answer to Kelly.”

The Johnbolton nodded and turned to the Chief of Staff. “Listen, swamp chief, the Latinonachos caravan is your problem.”

“Don’t forget the Kirstjennielsen,” hissed the T-Rump, grinning at his latest, callous salvo.

“Right.”

“What about the Kirstjennielsen?” the Marinegunkelly said through clenched teeth.

“For starters, she might just try to do her job. But o-o-o-o-h, no. We have a conspiracy theory that you’ve been leaving lovey-dovey footprints in the sand for her. You know, the ones that make her eyes water.”

“Why, you little …”

The Marinegunkelly charged the Johnbolton and held the dino’s head in a semi-headlock. Semi, because that’s as far as his short arms would go.

“Let me go, you old warhorse-face.”

I like it, mused the T-Rump.

“Why are you even here?” snapped the Marinegunkelly. “You’re a hawk without feathers. And c’mon, tell the world. That’s a fake moustache. Isn’t it?

The Johnbolton quickly simmered to a boil. No dino made fun of his pride and joy. Or penance, since every meal tasted the same.

“Fu-… -oo!”

The words came muffled inside the semi-headlock. The Marinegunkelly feigned surprise.

“Did you just drop the F-bomb? At me? Inside the Oval Dwelling?”

The head in the semi-headlock nodded.

All bets were off. Dropping the F-bomb at another dino spelt extinction for one. But first they would curse. And how. The Marinegunkelly released his grip and the ensuing swear words between them covered everything from ancestry to appendages. It was a spectacular spat. The spittle flew, drenching both dinos.

Even the T-Rump was impressed. He wanted to stay for the body slam but violence was in the air and an angry dino just may turn on their master. Time to clear out. Tail between his legs, he scurried out of the Oval Dwelling, bumping smack-dab into the blushing Huckabeecyclops.

“T-Rump, what do I tell the Mediacircustops? For a normal bad day, this is bad.”

“Relax. Blame it on the Donkeykongrus.”

“Uh, the argument?”

“Everything. It doesn’t matter what you tell the Mediacircustops. We’re gonna win. Because that’s all that matters. Damn the migration! Zero tolerance is zero tolerance. And quit giving me those damn lost baby dino updates. As if I care.”

Grade three was in session at the little red rock school in the Sandy Harmonica Stratified District. The Missusfiske held court with a dozen little 8-year-old dinos, all eagerly attacking their latest lesson, making footprints of different shapes in the sand. All except the young Stephenmillerus. He squatted nearby, off to the side in the cozy shade of the Krazyglue tree. He scoffed at today’s activity. When he was sure the Missusfiske wasn’t looking, he carefully wiped his arm against the tree, coming away with a healthy smear of the gooey, gluey, hallucinogenic sap.

He looked down at his arm and reveled in the sticky mess he’d made. The rest of the class didn’t know what they were missing. Would he tell them? Never. This was his tree. His  Krazyglue. He patiently waited for the gooey gunk to dry. It tasted better that way. Easier to get down. He blew on it.

As the other young dinos excitedly stamped out their cute little footprints, the Stephenmillerus anxiously awaited his next high. He hummed a few bars of his “Waiting for You, Krazyglue” song, then tapped the smear with a claw. It was dry. Perfect. He stole a look at the Missusfiske. Her back was turned. He licked at the Krazyglue. His lips puckered and he stuck out his tongue. Sour. Repugnant. Just the way he liked it. He peeled the dried Krazyglue off his arm and nibbled at it. Who was he kidding. He loved the stuff. Down the hatch. The effect was immediate. It cracked his walnut in half. Euphoric, he rose from his squat. The Stephenmillerus was taking charge of grade three.  

He put on his best sneer and trudged over to the young Cindylulu. He hated the Cindylulu. She was always asking for extra food for her neighbour, some migrant dino. The Stephenmillerus stopped beside her. He pointed a claw at her footprint in the sand.

“I am shocked at your footprint. It reveals your dino culture bias to a shocking degree.”

“But–”

The Missusfiske arrived on the scene. It only excited the Stephenmillerus.

“No, this is an amazing moment. An amazing moment, Cindy. This is one of the most outrageous, insulting, ignorant and foolish things you’ve ever done.” He looked up at the Missusfiske. “It’s racial paranoia.”

“It’s a circle, Stephen. Have you made your footprint in the sand yet?”

He snorted in disgust. He’d make a footprint alright. On somebody’s back. The Stephenmillerus eyed an easy prey, the Maotsetsemaomao, as his head buzzed with Krazyglue. His eyes narrowed and his neck twitched, giving rise to three of the smallest hackles. Time to kick some more grade three butt.

The Maotsetsemaomao looked down, admiring his footprint in the sand. The Stephenmillerus kicked sand on the footprint.

“You’re a garbage author of a garbage footprint. Your footprint is contrary to reality.”

“What’s con-treh-ree mean, Stephen? Where’s your footprint?”

“Don’t be condescending. This is tragic and unfortunate. You’re obviously an angry, vindictive dino.”

“Missusfiske …”

“Oh, no you don’t. You have your 24 hours of Missusfiske coverage. That … that’s a grotesque comment.”

The subject of the grotesque comment, the Missusfiske, once more plodded up to her latest dilemma. The Stephenmillerus leaned into the face of the little Maotsetsemaomao.

“This is spectacularly embarrassing. There is a crisis of legitimacy to your even being here. Tell me, your mom and dad are spies, aren’t they?”

“Stephenmillerus! Need I remind you that this is a bully-free zone! You’re not making good choices, Stephen. Move it on out. Now.”

The Stephenmillerus dragged himself away, but not before giving a look over his shoulder to the Maotsetsemaomao, a look saying the playground travel ban was on.

The Krazyglue high emboldened the Stephenmillerus. The Missusfiske can’t stop me he thought. Not by the scraggly hair on her triple chin. I hope she stays awake all night thinking of ways to break me. This so-called academic bedrock is my playground. My battleground.

There was hell to pay and he sized up the next recipients. A trio of Latinonachos. He loved getting them riled up.

The three dinos squatted nearby, pointing at their footprints in the sand, laughing with each other and chatting in their native tongue. The Krazyglue coarsing through the Stephenmillerus’ walnut told him they were talking about him, running down his every insecurity and physical blemish.

He stormed over to them.

“Stop it! Stop talking about me!”

The closest Latinonachos turned to him.

“No one is talking about you, amigo.”

“Amigo!? You’re speaking Spanish? Now I’m really mad. This is the Milkanhoney Preservation where we speak English!”

Fortunately the Missusfiske was nearby. Grade three teachers have that sixth sense of coming to a student’s aid seconds before being pummeled. The Latinonachos would have left the Stephenmillerus a bloody mess.

“That’s it, Stephen. You refuse to play nice, you’ve earned yourself a time-out. Back to your tree. Five minutes. And stay put.”

She watched him trudge back to the Krazyglue tree. She felt a pang of guilt that lasted two nanoseconds. She continued watching him as he stopped immediately before the tree. He rubbed his arm against it. He was looking at something on his arm. He blew on it. She heard music. Was he humming? She watched him tap his arm, then lower his head. Was he licking his arm? Her jaw dropped. No. Not again. That little turd.

“Stephenmillerus!  How many times do I have to tell you? That Krazyglue is going to rot your brain!”

The Mediacircustops gathered around the hastily called gathering inside the Oval Dwelling. The Tyrumposaurus squatted on his rocky throne with the ever dour Stephenmillerus at his side. The Mediacircustops had received last minute notice that the Brettkavanaugh and the Kanyewest would be in attendance. Something about trying to sway female dinos and the Blackvotersaurus to the T-Rump side of the pecking order. The Stephenmillerus leaned in to the T-Rump.

“You sure you want to do this out in the open? We just lost the Nikkihaley. We can’t control this.”

“Relax. We’re killing two birds with one stone.”

“But we can get the Joelzamel and the Israeli-Lite dinos for another two million moolah-moolah. Or the Russodinos? Either group would gladly help us hoodwink the masses, giving us victory in the midterm battles.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? My dino pop is dead. That moolah-moolah windfall is a compost heap now. Repeat after me. The Georgenader paid the Joelzamel the two million out of the goodness of his heart. Don’t look at me like that. And the Sanctionsaurus is a no-go with the Russodinos. Trust me. This is gonna work.”

The leader of the free-running dino world turned to the large gathering.

“Welcome everyone. I’m doing a great job and have a pair of dinos here today who will back me up on that. We have the Brettkavanaugh, fresh from his victory over the disastrous Donkeykongrus and the Kanyewest, fresh from … wherever. Brett, why don’t you go first with the accolades?”

“Yes, well …”

“Stop!” said the Kanyewest. “Just stop right there.” He jumped forward in front of the Brettkavanaugh. “You can leave now. I’ve got this covered. All of it. You’ve forgotten who has the monolithic voice. That’s right. Move your love on over there.” He pointed to the sidelines.

“But, but. I like b–…”

The Brettkavanaugh thought better of saying it. He gave the T-Rump his best pained expression, but the T-Rump nodded for him to move aside. Some of the Mediacircustops smirked. This was shaping up as just another day in the Oval Dwelling.

“Welcome to the alternate universe,” said the Kanyewest. “If some of you are feeling imprisoned from killing six dinos, I want you to know there are infinite amounts of universe and that I am you and I have to set you free. Mind you, I didn’t have a lot of male energy growing up and now that I have a family, well … I still don’t have a lot of male energy goin’ on. It’s beautiful though.”

The Kanyewest pointed at the T-Rump.

“You though, you made me a super dino.”

Behind a smile, the T-Rump gritted his teeth. He hated it when other dinos called themselves super in front of him. This was his Oval Dwelling.

“You,” said the Kanyewest, “are the dopest.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I didn’t really say dope. I don’t say negative words. I try to flip them. I just say positive, lovely, divine, universal words.”

“Oh, okay. Divine. Right.”

“What I need the liberal dinos to improve on is, if he don’t look good,” he said gazing at the Mediacircustops,  “we don’t look good. This is our leader.”

“Did you just say I don’t look good?”

“It was from the soul. I just channeled it.”

The T-Rump looked at the Stephenmillerus who returned a confirming, silent nod.

“Let’s stop worrying about the future,” said the Kanyewest. “All we really have is today. We just have today. Over and over and over again, the eternal returns, the hero’s journey and Trump is on his hero’s journey, right now.”

The T-Rump raised a claw.

“Did you hear that everyone? He called me a hero. But I’m not going on a journey. I’m staying right here.”

“You do that, T-Rump. But I’m a super dino and I’m going to go all the way signaling, because time is a myth. All we have is now, all we have is today.”

The T-Rump looked again to the Stephenmillerus for clarification. This time the senior advisor returned his dreaded look of disdain. The show was over. The T-Rump rose from his squat and joined the Kanyewest.

“Kanye, is that your stomach rumbling or Hurricane Michael? You must be starving. Let’s go eat. Now.”

The 33-year-old Millennialsaurus munched on the low-hanging dinosaur egg fruit, a cross between a plum and an apricot that provided essential fibre. Millennials were concerned about their health, as well they should, being on their way to surpassing the Babyboomerus as the Trumpassic Period’s largest living generation.

The Millennialsaurus, Miller to his friends, was like most Millennials. Still a single dino, living with his parents in the back, dank part of the cave in a major dino traffic area. He had close black and brown friends. Scale colour was not an issue. Miller didn’t idolize any Paganraptors, he lounged around most of the day and had the participation trophy to prove it. But one thought germinated in his walnut brain, refusing to go away. The world was a mess and what had he done to deserve this?

On the MAGA, that is, Millennials Approaching Government Apoplexy scale, Miller, like 44% of his brethren was an independent. 27% were Donkeykongrus, 17% Grandoldparty and the remaining 12% of Millennials had taken a vow of silence until the T-Rump was ousted.

Miller bit into another juicy dino egg fruit and squatted comfortably beneath the tree to watch the dino afternoon trudge hour traffic pass by. Above the sound of dragging heels, he was able to catch snippets of conversations as the dinos plodded past.

The Peterstrzok and the Lisapage came into view.

“They tied our hands, Lisa. Tied our hands!”

“Why do we even bother, Peter? We had dozens of leads to get to the bottom of the Kavanaugh investigation and the Oval Dwelling shut. It. Down. How dare they.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m doing my best to give our illicit affair a second chance, but this Kavanaugh confirmation … I mean, they were all upset about our bungling in the jungle and now the Sin Hut dinos are ignoring — or is it normalizing sexual assault?”

The two Langleyops lovers were followed by the Mitchgetbacktowork and the Chuckgrassley.

“I told you I would ram it through, didn’t I?” said the dino majority leader. “Ram, ram, thank you, Chuck. It’s taken 33 years but we finally did it.”

“You did a bang-up job on tail dragging the Merrickgarland. That was the filibuster of filibusters.”

“They don’t call me the Kentuckygobbler for nothing. We old, pasty-white geezers need to stick together. So we close our eyes, our ears and plug our noses. Kavanaugh was a stinky one but we’re home free now. The T-Rump’s reign of terror has given us cover to do anything. Who knew? Anything at all.”

“Say, Mitch, what about the Midterms?”

“Hah! Who cares? The damage is done. 33 years, Chuck. The Supreme Dino Court is finally ours!”

The two dinos chuckled and wheezed, dragging themselves past Miller and down the path.

The Susancollins soon appeared, ambling along, looking somewhat lost.

“I believe the Christineford was attacked but the Brettkavanaugh said he didn’t do it … I believe the Christineford was attacked but the Brettkavanaugh said he didn’t do it.”

Her shaky, monotone voice repeated the phrase ad nauseam as she stumbled out of view.

“Can you believe the Joemanchin?”

It was the voice of the T-Rump Jr. He and the T-Rump were taking their victory stroll. The T-Rump Jr. waved his hands excitedly.

“He waited until after the Susancollins backed the Brettkavanaugh before jumping on board. A real profile in courage. Just another lyin’ liberal, right, pop?”

“You said it.” The T-Rump flashed a smug grin, proud that his zero-empathy gene had been passed on. A vanquished enemy was only to be piled upon. “Yes, it’s a shame what the Donkeykongrus have become. They’re just an angry left-wing mob. Dinos of crime. Just imagine the devastation they would cause if they ever obtained the power they so desperately want and crave.”

“I have to hand it to you, pop. Only you could get away with mocking a survivor as 19 other survivors still accuse you.”

“That’s why I’m the greatest. The Christineford named the wrong dino. I’m a hundred percent. I have no doubt.”

The T-Rump and son lapsed into locker room talk, disappearing down the path. The Millennialsaurus mouthed the T-Rump’s words. I have no doubt. As if the T-Rump was there three decades ago. No, he wasn’t. His base would believe anything the T-Rump said but Miller knew better.

The dino egg fruit grew sour in his mouth. He spat it out. The time for the Millennialsaurus had come. Time to get up, go out and pound the paths for true, well-meaning dinos who wanted a peaceful, promising tomorrow. Not the Grandoldparty geriatrics and sycophants in lock-step with the T-Rump’s seven daily lies, derisive division and rampant corruption. No more. The November battles drew near. Miller felt the groundswell of emotion, a wellspring awakening stirring within like an earthquake tremor. The Millennialsaurus knew it would be Midterm Mayhem only a dinosaur could appreciate. Just 29 more days of the T-Rump digging new lows in his bottomless legacy.

Miller set his jaw and swallowed hard. I wasn’t there. But I am now.

The weekend had arrived at the more acidic end of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. It was a special recluse for dinos looking for a minor, malty, hoppy respite or those of the wide-mouthed Sloppydrunk species. The Brettkavanaugh trudged in, tail between his legs, sniffling and looking like he’d been crying for several hours. He spotted and made his way for an open reservoir-side ledge. He was about to squat with a plop when another dinosaur roared.

“Hey, bud! You can’t have that seat.”

It was the voice of the Bouncerbeasty, a large, gap-toothed dino who took his territorial instincts beyond the proprietary level. An owner with an attitude. Except this was the Brettkavanaugh’s favorite watering hole.

“Whaddaya mean? This is my seat!”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Yesterday, you, ahem …  boofed all over the ledge. It took the Bleachersaurus and two skunks to get that smell off the rock.”

“Hold it right there!”

The Lindseygraham jumped out from behind a clump of Junipers. He snarled at the Bouncerbeasty.

“If you wanted a Langleyops investigation you could’ve come to us.”

“Pardon?”

“What you want to do is destroy this dino’s life, hold this seat open and hope some other dino takes it in two years.”

“Two years? Look around. It’s happy hour.”

The Lindseygraham turned to the Brettkavanaugh.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. When you see the Sotomayor and the Kaganator, tell’em that Lindsey said hello, cuz I voted for them.”

The Bouncerbeasty’s face screwed up.

“You voted for those two?”

“Okay, so I was having a Donkeykongrus moment. Excuse me, but I have a T-Rump rant to continue.”

He inhaled deeply and held his breath for 30 seconds until his cheeks were a blustery red. He waggled a claw at the Bouncerbeasty.

“I would never do to them what you’ve done to this guy.”

“Well, duh. Lady dinos don’t frequent this end of the reservoir.”

The Lindseygraham huffed and puffed.

“This is the most unethical sham since I’ve been in politics.” Then to the Brettkavanaugh. “I can’t imagine what you and your family have gone through. I don’t know who’s crying more, you or your wife.”

He returned to the Bouncerbeasty.

“Boy, you all want power. God, I hope you never get it.”

“It’s just a seat, pal.”

“I hope the Milkanhoney Preservation dinos see through this charade. God, I hate to say it cuz these have been my friends.” He turned back to the Brettkavanaugh. “But let me tell you when it comes to this. If you’re looking for a fair process, you came to the wrong town at the wrong time, my friend.”

“Buddy,” said the Bouncerbeasty, “you’re welcome to drown your sorrows and continue your war stories over there.”

But the Lindseygraham was on a roll. He got back in the Brettkavanaugh’s face.

“Do you consider this a job interview?”

“I came here for a drink.”

“This is not a job interview. This is hell.”

“It will be if I don’t get served.”

“This is going to destroy the ability of good people to come forward because of this crap.”

“Hey!” the Bouncerbeasty jumped in. “Don’t knock the muddy water. It’s an acquired taste.”

The Lindseygraham raised his voice, taking in the reservoir crowd.

“To my Grandoldparty colleagues, if this dino doesn’t get this seat, you’re legitimizing the most despicable thing that I have seen in my time in politics.” He turned to the Bouncerbeasty. “You want this seat? I hope you never get it.”

“Who killed the T-Rump and made you king? Get outta here, mac!”

“Hold it. Please. Just a minute.”

The Lindseygraham turned to the sound of the voice.

“The Christineford? … But you’re just a victim. I mean, a victim with a, uh … problem. I mean …”

“It appears you’re the one suffering right now. Perhaps I can help.”

She tapped the dino in the next seat and pointed to his seat.

“May I?”

The dino grunted but her patient smile convinced him to get up and move to another ledge.

She pointed to the two adjoining seats now open and to the Lindseygraham.

“Lie down.”

Wide eyes from the Brettkavanaugh.

“Hey, that’s my–”

The Christineford put a claw to her lips and pointed to the other side of the Reservoir.

“You shouldn’t be here, remember?”

“Oh, right. Heh-heh.”

He shuffled off, sniffling and pouting about his poor luck, hoping happy hour wouldn’t end before he got to the other side.

The Lindseygraham was by now on his back. He looked up at the sky, snickering lightly at the shapes of the clouds.

“Tell me,” the Christineford said gently. “What seems to be bothering you?”

“I – I miss the Johnmccainus.”

“We all do.”

“You know I called the T-Rump a jackass for mocking him.”

“I remember. The T-Rump then told every dino where you lived.”

“It took me two weeks to find another cave. That race-baiting, xenophobic, religious bigot. I don’t believe the T-Rump has the temperament and judgment to be commander in chief.”

“That’s it, get it all out.”

“I told them the T-Rump was going to places where very few people have gone and I wasn’t going with him. I told them if the T-Rump won, we’d get destroyed. And we would deserve it.”

The Christineford smiled.

“Wow. That was a lot to get off your chest.”

“I was just wondering …”

“Yes?”

“Could I see you on a weekly basis?”