Tag: The T-Rump Dig

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.”

“I can’t do it. I just can’t,” said the Rudygiuliani, scratching the many scabs on his head. They were from having too often fallen asleep in the sun. “Since you got back from Smellstinki, you’re backtracking every day now. I can’t keep things straight and even the Grandoldparty dinos are giving me a wide berth. And not just because I’m pretty wide myself,” he said, looking down at his pudgy, sagging, mud-caked haunches.

The Huckabeecyclops, her mercurial eye twitching away, wrinkled her nose at the sight.

“Backtracking,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Constant backtracking. That’s exactly what we’re going for. It’ll drive the Mediacircustops crazy. Our base is eating it up. Would, wouldn’t. ‘No’ means get out of the Oval Dwelling. This opens up everything. I love it.”

“Except we just had a vote of 98 dinos to nothing in the Sin Hut Chamber,” the Rudygiuliani told the T-Rump, “on your suggestion that we send our dinos over to the Putinodon for interrogation.”

“What’s wrong with that?” asked the T-Rump. “The Putinodon was so strong and sincere. That’s exactly what he told me to say when we discussed this on our own in Smellstinki.”

“Well, I dare say. It’s a good thing we changed your story out there a few seconds before the Sin Hut vote came in.”

The Stephenmillerus paced in a circle, dragging his scraggly, serrated tail against the floor, grating the nerves of the others, a secret joy he loved playing out.

“This one,” he said, “THIS one, we should’ve doubled down. Let the Putinodon throw our dinos out in the cold in the Gulag Hark-of-the-Yellow-Nosed. He knows how to control his dinos. He’s a maverick.”

“He’s a killer,” said the Huckabeecyclops, shuddering.

“You could be too,” the Stephenmillerus urged the T-Rump.

“A killer? You mean, for more than just meat to eat?”

“Sure, why not?

“I don’t know if you want to go there, T-Rump,” said the Rudygiuliani.

“You can’t walk back a dead dino,” offered the Huckabeecyclops.

“Who said just one?”

The Stephenmillerus frowned at her weakness. Hands on hips, his best pout on his lips, he turned to the T-Rump.

“Look, do you want to be the next Putinodon or not? I mean, what DID you two talk about when you were off on your own at Smellstinki?”

The three senior walnut brains leaned in close to the T-Rump. Dinosaurs get a lot of mud in their ears.

“Well, you know I have a tough time remembering things …”

“And he was making footprints in his sand while you weren’t,” said the Rudygiuliani.

“That’s right. I don’t read footprints in the sand. I hate it. So, uh … we talked about … uh, you know … the natural things …”

“Right, right,” said the Rudygiuliani, “where you like to pee.”

“Yes, there was that. For some reason he referred to me as the Smalldinki of Smellstinki.”

“Hmm,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Must be a Finnish thing.”

“I’m finished?!”

“No, they are. Never mind.”

“Oh, yes,” the T-Rump continued, “I made sure NOT to ask him if he meddled in our big victory.”

“Well, of course you didn’t!” an exasperated Rudygiuliani said, eyes bulging.

“You wouldn’t have gotten out of there alive,” said the Huckabeecyclops, wringing her hands nervously.

“What else?” asked the Stephenmillerus.

“Um, well … you sure don’t want to know what he’s gonna do to the Manaforta if he catches him. I pity that poor dino. I really do. No wonder he wants to stay in the Solitary Sinkhole.”

The Stephenmillerus brightened.

“Perhaps we should take another run at sending dinos, in this case, the Manaforta, to the Putinodon. You could score some major points with the Putinodon.”

“I don’t know,” said the Rudygiuliani. “98 to nothing is a tough nut to crack.”

The T-Rump whirled on them, orange tail lashing out.

“WHO said they’re gonna crack my nut?!”

“I wasn’t referring to your … nut.”

“No, no he wasn’t,” the Stephenmillerus chimed in. “He was talking about … other …”

“Nuts,” finished the Huckabeecyclops. “You have a fine nut, T-Rump.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” the T-Rump raised a claw. “A stable nut.”

“Yes, T-Rump,” they said together, bowing in unison.

“Anything else from the Putinodon?” asked the Rudygiuliani. “Anything he wants or needs? You can tell us. We won’t blab to the Langleyops dinos. They don’t need to know.”

“Hmm … He also said he will continue meddling in our affairs this fall to help us win the November battle.”

“Thank you, thank you, evil shrouded god of darkness,” the Stephenmillerus hugged himself and bowed his head, his eyes burning two fresh holes in the ground.

“Oh, oh.” said the T-Rump. “I almost forgot. Speaking of this fall, the Putinodon wants me to invite him here to the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. Can you stand it?”

The Rudygiuliani shivered, ravaged by an attack of giddy goosebumps.

“This – this just keeps getting better. Doesn’t it?”

The Tyrumposaurus’ chief of staff stood in sullen silence at his accustomed position inside the doorway to the Oval Dwelling. The Marinegunkelly had fallen long and hard from his heady military days as a key dino warfare strategist. He was now little more than a doorstop. For a cave without a door. Only the Stephenmillerus spent more time looking at his feet these days. Like a divorce that was in its final stages, the Marinegunkelly was simply taking up space. He was a voice in a vacuum. The only dino on the T-Rump’s team the leader despised more was the Sessionsopossum.

The Rudygiuliani breezed past the Marinegunkelly into the Oval Dwelling where the T-Rump squatted, counting his moolah-moolah. The T-Rump laid out the small, medium and large leaves in their respective piles. A fourth stack was his Foundation pile, for amounts he “found” he needed to move between the other piles. The T-Rump Foundation was a simple scam whereby unsuspecting, lowminded dinos paid a fee to tour the underpinnings … that is, foundation of the T-Rump cave with the understanding that upon exiting, they would become savvy, in-the-know dinos. It was a blatant moolah-moolah grab. Savvy, in-the-know dinos were still 22 million years away.

“I bring good news, T-Rump,” said the Rudygiuliani. “The Muellersavus had speculated about perhaps interviewing the Marinegunkelly but I told him under NO circumstances — Not. Gonna. Happen. What is he, crazy? He can’t just run around acting like he owns the joint.”

The Marinegunkelly’s ears perked up.

“He wanted to talk to me?”

“Was I talking to you?”

The screwed-up expression on Rudygiuliani’s face was devoid of veteran respect.

“That’s great, Rudy,” said the T-Rump. “Just great. Say, that deadline coming up on the Refugeeraptors. We’ll have to push that back.”

“Of course.”

“We can’t have the Refugeeraptors — or more importantly, our base — actually believing we care about this whole separation process. That would be a disaster.”

The Marinegunkelly frowned. His long tail twitched.

“Should we give them a timeline?” asked the Rudygiuliani.

“Details?” T-Rump scoffed. “In the sand for all to see? Of course not!”

Enough was enough. The Marinegunkelly’s tail lashed out, carving his own mark in the Oval Dwelling’s tail-scarred wall, an ever-changing mosaic of T-Rump’s daily frustration.

“The corpse has the floor!” the chief of staff snarled.

A couple of pebbles fell from the wall, pinpointing the silence. The Marinegunkelly glared at the T-Rump.

“I told you what moving here would mean — the decision-making — but you were the one who said you’d consider it. Not the actual decision-making, just the considering.  The decision-making part was left to me. Why?”

“Because you didn’t know what to do. You were confused, new to this. You didn’t know what was the right thing. But you were sure as hell sick and tired of living a life outside the swollen walnutheads of Manhattinhand.”

“So don’t hand me that “Make the Milkanhoney Preservation Great Again” garbage! You don’t care about the average dino, and you don’t want any help reuniting the baby Refugeeraptors … because you want all the attention focused on yourself. And you hated visiting the Great Tex-Mex Divide because you had the T-Melania tell everyone she didn’t care!”

“You can’t think a coherent thought and you’re miserable because you know the Obamarus can. And here we are, up to our ears in the Muellersavus investigation. With me, the decision-maker. Making no decisions.”

“What difference does that make now?” said the Rudygiuliani. “You’ll be looking for a job next week.”

“Rudy.”

“What?”

“Is it possible for you to shut the hell up for ten seconds?”

“What? … Uh … You can’t talk to me like that in the Oval Dwelling. Can he boss?”

The T-Rump looked on nonplussed.

“You two work it out. I love a good fight.”

The Marinegunkelly spoke first.

“You know what, Rudy? You know what I’m going to get you for your birthday? A great big dinosaur egg. So every time you feel shocked at all these supposed injustices, you can climb on top with your gas lighting dinosaur farts. Good luck, because you couldn’t hatch an idea!”

“Hah!” laughed the T-Rump. “Oops. Did I say that?”

The Tyrumposaurus looked down and smiled at the pleasant kissing sounds coming from his feet.

(Smack.) “Blessed.” (Smack. Smack.) “Blessed.” (Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”

It had been going on for several minutes. The Enviromenace, the Scottpruitt, was on his stomach, slowly making his way around the T-Rump’s unwashed, swamp-stained feet, kissing them repeatedly. First clockwise … then counter-clockwise.

“Missed a spot,” said the T-Rump.

(Smack. Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”

The Scottpruitt finally rose to his feet, spit out some sand, several ants and a wayward earthworm. He blushed and brightened.

“I have been so blessed to serve you in any capacity, T-Rump.”

“Alac and alas, all good things must come to an end.”

“Unfortunately the Mediacircustops haven’t seen it that way. Their attacks have been unrelenting, never mind my family, but especially on me. So, I do understand your blessed exit interview that I must resign so you don’t have to fire my scaly butt out of here.”

“You’ve done so many good things for me.”

“Haven’t I? My footprints in the sand may well stand the test of time. John Q. Dino needed me. I knew the public wouldn’t mind me spending 60,000 of their hard-earned moolah-moolah to travel to my native Boomer-Sooner Lands. And 14,000 more moolah-moolah for my legal dinos.”

“Fantastic.”

“And another 68,000 moolah-moolah, including that 4-day trip to No-Barack-Oh-Morocco.”

“Fantastic. That must have been so nice for you and your wife.”

“Thank you for mentioning her. Your memory is so blessed. Yes, she has enjoyed the perks of my supposed leadership of the Envirodino movement. My staff chased down her favorite scaly-skin Ritz-Lagoon oils, tried finding her a job paying 200,000 moolah-moolah and even a fresh Chickfillay. No tough task.”

“Fantastic.”

“Of course, my wife and I would still like to have some of the blessed moolah-moolah leaves you and the T-Melania have slept on. Anything with your scent, if you know what I mean.”

Awkward moment. The T-Rump coughed.

“And how did that little bachelor pad work out on Capitalist Hill?”

“Oh, it was a sweet deal from another Lobbysaurus — just 50 moolah-moolah a night. Market rate. Definitely market rate. They must’ve forgotten who I am because they — believe it or not — evicted me after six months. Can you imagine that? Something about me not paying the bill. But that’s what staffer dinos are for, right?”

“Fantastic.”

“You allowed my popularity to flourish, T-Rump. Still, you never know when the public may lash out, so I had no problem spending another 30,000 of the public’s moolah-moolah on extra dino security for that trip last year to Mafia Meadows. The Lasagnasaucean was delicious.”

“Fantastic.”

“Yes, the memories have been many. There was my 43,000 moolah-moolah sound-proof cave, not that I don’t love to hear your blessed roar. And was I being selfish? Heck no. I gave substantial raises to two of my staffers. Unfortunately I had to demote several others who had the audacity to question my decisions.”

“Fantastic.”

“Well, now that I’m a free dino, are you sure you won’t reconsider my request to replace the top legal dino in the land, the Sessionsopossum? I think his freckles are affecting his thinking. You know I’d never recuse myself. Just look how many investigations I just had against me? Fourteen?”

“You make a good point,” said the T-Rump, extending his short arms. “But you can see my hands are tied. I’ll be replacing you with the Wheelerdealer.”

The Wheelerdealer was a Lobbysaurus from the Notso-Kleencoal Deposits.

“He will do a blessed job for you, T-Rump. A blessed, blessed job. Bless you.”

The Scottpruitt dropped to his knees to kiss the T-Rump’s feet good-bye.

(Smack. Smack.) “Blessed. Blessed.”

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

“Psst!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ha-ha .. heh-heh … hah-hah-hah-hah!”

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

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

“In the Highly-Esteemed neighborhood?”

“That’s the one.”

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

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

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

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

“I like your thinking.”

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know.”

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

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

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

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

“But I don’t have a brother.”

“I’m talking about the T-Rump Jr.!”

“Why?”

“As a Supreme Court dino!”

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

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

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

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

“Now you’re talking!”

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

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

“Uh, sure?”

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

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

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

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

“How do I look? Be honest now.”

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

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

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

“Oh, T-Rump?”

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

“The Seanhannity says hello.”

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

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

“That small two-storey brownstone?”

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

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

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

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

“Of course.”

The T-Rump turned to the Billshineola.

“Well?”

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

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

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

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

“Gotcha.”

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

“Uh, T-Rump?”

“Yes? What is it Stephen?”

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

“Spit it out, dino.”

The Stephenmillerus coughed up several semi-digested rodents.

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

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

“Of course.”

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

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

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

“Go home, Jim! Go home, Jim!”

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

“What are you doing here?”

“Go home, Jim! Go home, Jim!”

“But I work here. You go home.”

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

The Jimacosta ignored her and turned back to the Huckabeecyclops.

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

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

“That will be enough of that!”

“What?!”

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

“But this is a free country!”

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

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

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

The T-Rump turned to the Billshineola.

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

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

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

The T-Rump paused. 

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

The Billshineola held up a claw.

“Party pooper?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I present you the Stephencolbert.”

The T-Rump gave him the once over.

“Do I know you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Stephencolbert brightened.

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

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

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

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

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

“The best? Of course I’m the best.”

“Next!”

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

“Do I know you?”

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

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

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

“Sure. I can pardon family.”

“Oh, thank you, bless you, T-Rump.”

“Not your family. Mine.”

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

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

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

“Those were … those were my practice pardons.”

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

The Stephencolbert turned to the Michaelcohen.

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

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

“You – you’re replacing me. Already?”

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

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

The T-Rump eyed him strangely.

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

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

The Michaelcohen trudged dejectedly for the door.

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

A defeated Michaelcohen staggered out the door.

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

The Stephencolbert skipped around the room.

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

The Rudygiuliani frowned.

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

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

The Rudygiuliani rose from his haunches.

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

The Stephencolbert headed for the door as well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Mediacircustops host was somewhat puzzled.

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

The Peternavarro threw his short arms up in the air.

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

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

The lizard shook him off.

“That Justintrudeau!”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re winning my argument for me.”

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

“The shortest,” added the Larrykudlow.

The Peternavarro waggled a claw at the Jaketapper.

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

“He was supposed to be there.”

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

The Larrykudlow jumped in.

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

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

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

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

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

The Peternavarro jumped up from his haunches.

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

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

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

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

His long, forked tongue flicked out and reeled in.