Tag: The T-Rump Dig

You could cut the tension in the Oval Dwelling with a sharp-edged dinosaur bone. Glum faces all around. There was the Paulryan, a seasoned but largely silent Grandoldparty dino. Beside him sat the Scottpruitt, an Enviromenace whose unethical shenanigans had launched no less than a dozen investigations. A former heavyweight from the Philadelphian Free Range, the Michaelnutter was also in attendance. The Huckabeecyclops snuck inside the doorway, collapsing beside it, weeping softly into her hands. The others paid her no mind. It was just another day in the Trumpassic Period.

The Tyrumposaurus entered the Oval Dwelling and took a quick, cursory glance around the room. His angry glare settled upon the Paulryan.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this, Paul. Using your cabinet position as Beaker and a Louse to gain favorable consideration for your spouse to receive a fresh Chickfillay. What gives you that special right? Did you ever consider asking me if I might want a fresh Chickfillay? You know what? I should rename that beast. To make it sound even better. Because I can, you know. We’ll call it the T-Rump Chickfillay.”

“Excuse me, T-Rump,” said the Paulryan. He pointed at the Scottpruit. “He’s the Chickfillay.”

The T-Rump moved over to the Scottpruitt.

“You Cheekyphilly,” he said, glaring down at the Enviromenace. “You think you’re so special, saying you’re going to be here at the Oval Dwelling and then you don’t even show up. I said don’t kneel and you kick and scream saying you’re free to kneel. Who ever heard of a dinosaur kneeling? Dinos squat! You got that? Such disgraceful conduct for our national anthem, The Flight of the Trollertweeties. I used to know a few words. I think I can still hum it.” He eyed the Scottpruitt warily. “I ought to kick you out of the Milkanhoney Preservation.”

The Scottpruitt motioned over to the Michaelnutter. “Uh … he’s the Cheekyphilly.”

“Ah, yes. Chock-fullah … spies.” The T-Rump’s evil eye found the Michaelnutter. “I know all about your Langleyops penetrating my leadership campaign. You’re a sneaky bunch, you are. But you weren’t looking for Russodinos. You were looking for me!”

“Oh, T-Rump,” said the Paulryan, “I happen to agree. They were just doing their job.”

“Silence! Don’t stick up for him. … Chickfillay. Cheekyphilly. Chock-fullah. Call it what you may. It’s all the same thing. You’re all against me. Everyone of you. Against me … the stable genius!

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the sobbing Huckabeecyclops.

“What are you doing here?”

“I, I … it’s the Mediacircustops.”

“Are you crying? There’s no crying in politics!”

“They’re ganging up on me! They’re calling me a … chi- … chi- …”

“Chickfillay?”

“No.”

“Cheekyphilly?”

She shook her head.

“Chock-fullah … ?”

Another shake of her head.

“Chicken! They’re calling me chicken!”

“Frankly, Huckabee, I don’t give a damn. They can call you whatever they want as long as they say nice things about me. Remember, you’ve got a job to do.”

“Keep misinforming them?”

“Away you go. Back to work.”

She slowly rose to her haunches and dragged herself out the door. The T-Rump turned back to the others.

“Now then, I think this weekly Pardon Program I’ve begun is going to be very successful. It may even put me in the running for the Nobelpeacepiper, I’m such a nice guy. I think 30 or so pardons should do it.”

“T-Rump,” said the Michaelnutter. “Before you pardon others, maybe you should pardon yourself.”

“I will. Eventually.”

“I don’t mean that. I’m talking about your begging the pardon of the fine dinos of the Philadelphian Free Range, for embarrassing them over this whole Oval Dwelling visit fiasco.”

“I don’t beg.”

“You, on the other hand,” the T-Rump said, turning to the Paulryan, “you could use a pardon.”

“What!? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Don’t I know it. If you’d back me up on a few of these things I’ve got going on here, that wouldn’t be a problem, now would it? You’re a little too squeaky clean for my liking.”

The T-Rump’s gaze found the Scottpruitt.

“Scotty here, on the other hand … ah, my good dino, Scotty. You’re doing a great job. Ethically speaking, the environment as well, you’re a monster! I hope you’re still here after another dozen investigations, you’ve done so much for me. It’s too bad I’ll only be able to pardon you once. Hmm. Maybe I can change that. Until then, keep up the great work. Oh, and I have some used moolah-moolah leaves I’ve been sleeping in. Would you like those?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The Tyrumposaurus had a penchant for cheating on his Milkanhoney Preservation-sponsored fitness diet. The calorie-counting crime typically began with a few extra servings of Caviaraptor legs topped with two bushfuls of huckleberries and a drizzle of gargantuan gristle. But tonight he was paying the price. The T-Rump tossed and turned in his sleep before finally losing himself … if only to find himself in the most profound of prophetic dreams.

He dreamt he was flogging with the Putinodon on a sunny hillside overlooking a den of healthy, vibrant Playmatapus frolicking in a waist-deep, sandy beach lagoon.

The Putinodon went one way, the T-Rump the other, and the leader of the free-running dinosaur world soon stood before a cave with a large boulder blocking the entrance.

A voice came from within.

“I’ve been waiting.”

It was dino English, but spoken with an idiosyncratic accent: something between an old-fashioned, upper class Mid-Atlanticus accent, and Britwit Received Pronunciation, with a Fine Southern Dixie drawl.

The boulder moved slowly to the side, a beam of light came from the heavens and a flock of Trollertweeties suddenly passed by overhead, a squawking squadron of sorts. It almost had a religious feel to it. The T-Rump wondered if a parade may be in store. But only a single dinosaur stood there, carefully studying the Tyrumposaurus.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I am the Williameffbuckley. Some refer to me as the Williameffenbuckley. Perhaps you’ve read my footprints in the sand. No, of course you haven’t. You don’t read. What did you do at bedtime with your baby dinos?

“We counted. Moolah-moolah leaves. Every night.”

The Williameffbuckley smirked.

“I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting that you really believe what you just said.”

Even dinosaurs wonder while dreaming and the T-Rump wondered what in blue blazes a Williameffbuckley was doing in his.

“You’re fired!” he blurted out, a knee jerk reaction. Only in the dreams that blur reality, it sounded like the croaking of an old, withered frog.

And the Williameffbuckley was still there.

“Go on,” said the T-Rump. “Shoo. Be off.”

“Oh, you can’t be rid of me. I’m the preeminent voice of Milkanhoney conservatism. Some call me its great ecumenical dino.”

“Great, huh? Sorry, bub. I’m the greatest. At whatever you said.”

“Indeed you are the greatest at what you do during your executive time, because I profoundly believe it takes a lot of practice to become a moral slob.”

“I don’t have to put up with this. I know the Putinodon, you know. He almost invited me to dinner once.”

“Ah, the Putinodon, your home away from home. He’s still practicing communism. What would happen if the Communists occupied the Sahara? Answer: Nothing—for 50 years. Then there would be a shortage of sand. … The Putinodon cannot take permanent advantage of our temporary disadvantage, for it is the West he is fighting. And in the West there lie, however encysted, the ultimate resources, which are moral in nature. The Putinodon is not aware that the gates of hell shall not prevail against us. Even out of the depths of despair, we take heart in the knowledge that it cannot matter how deep we fall, for there is always hope. In the end, we will bury him.”

The T-Rump raised a claw.

“Before you do that, I believe I still owe him some moolah-moolah leaves. I mean, would you like to do some campaign stops with me? You sure have the gift of gab. I could use you. The Rudygiuliani is getting stale, believe it or not.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. As your most basic politicaI tenets are on the far side of common sense, I hereby expel you from the entire neo-classic conservative spectrum. You are a dino demagogue and narcissist.”

“Oh, come on. I was just having an off day like the Roseannebarr. I’m really a nice guy.”

“T-Rump,” the Williameffbuckley said as if cajoling a dino tot. “You are almost unique in your search for notoriety and absolutely unequalled in your co-existence with it. I would like to take you seriously but to do so would be an affront to your intelligence.”

“There you go again with that reading thing. Why read when I can just lie?”

“Because every dino has a right to his own opinion, but no dino has a right to be wrong in his facts. Today this seemingly indisputable truth no longer holds. Propaganda is indistinguishable from fact and we find ourselves living in the frightening Georgeorwellian footprints in the sand.”

“George who?”

“Truth is a demure lady, much too ladylike to knock you on your head and drag you to her cave. She is there, but people must want her, and seek her out.”

“Sounds like work.”

There was a pause, making the T-Rump nervous at his limited vocabulary.

“What?” he said. “Did you run out of fancy words already?”

The Williameffbuckley shrugged.

“I am satisfied to sit back and contemplate my own former eloquence. … But so you don’t go away angry … you just go away … I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine, a great patriot …”

“Oh, no you don’t. Not the Muellersavus.”

“Rest assured, there will be time for him. I was talking about the …”

A ferocious, jagged toothed, saliva-dripping-from-jaws dinosaur stepped out of the wings. His roar sent a chill down the T-Rump’s spine.

It was the Joemccarthy, foaming at the mouth in a foul, anti-Russodino sympathizing mood.

“It was terrible!”

The Kushneratop’s skinny body shook, his shoulders hitching in gut-wrenching sobs. Puddles from his streaming dinosaur tears soaked into the dry ground beneath his carefully chewed claws, his melodramatic wails of grief echoing through the prehistoric neighborhood.

“It was awful!”

“It was just an interview,” said his legal dino, the Crabbyabbelowell.

“For seven hours! It was torture! Pure torture! It was like … like Jerusalem’s Lot all over again. Stuck in the corner of a little … corner.” He shuddered. “At least then I could speak freely.”

He made no mention of the 55 dinos who’d died outside during his speech, fighting for theirs.

The Tyvankanatrix comforted her husband.

“You’re so brave. Seven hours. You don’t even listen to me for that long.”

The T-Rump strummed his fingers impatiently. He turned to the Crabbyabbelowell.

“Well? How’d he do?”

“Fine. Just fine. He answered every question. I’ll give him that. But that pesky Wolfblitzer. He’s the one that got under my skin. The nerve of him asking if my client was a witness, subject or target.”

“Well, which is he?”

“Not you too! … Look, I simply told him that today’s witness is tomorrow’s indicted dino.”

“You said what?! I’d expect that from the Rudygiuliani. Who’s side are you on anyway?”

The Kushernatops’ eyes rolled back and he whimpered anew, rocking on his haunches.

“No, no. Not another interview. Say it ain’t so.”

He curled up in the fetal position and sucked his little pinky claw. The T-Vanka looked to her father.

“Daddy, you’re scaring him.”

The T-Rump turned to the legal dino.

“Tell my sniveling son-in-law he’s done talking with the Muellersavus.”

“Sorry, T-Rump, I’m afraid the sniveling has only begun.”

“Well, isn’t this is a disaster of a disaster. I can’t buy happiness and now my moolah-moolah can’t even get me peace and quiet.”

“Uh … I’m doing this pro bono, remember?”

“I don’t want your sob story too. You’re not even family. T-Vanka, dear,” he said, pointing to Jared. “Just get him out of here. Before I start feeling sorry for him.”

“Of course, father.”

She dutifully shepherded the Kushneratops, still shaking, from the Oval Dwelling. The T-Rump returned to the Crabbyabbelowell.

“I want to sit down with the Muellersavus. I really do.”

“I’m not your legal dino, but that’s still a bad idea.”

“But look, I’ve been saying ‘deep state’ and presto! — only 17% of Grandoldparty dinos trust the Muellersavus. We’re killing them in the court of public opinion.”

“He will be issuing a report.”

“So? I’ll force the Deeohjay dinos to hand it over to the Devilnunesmemo. He’ll eat it before he reads it. I can do that, you know. The Rudygiuliani says so.”

“I’ll forget you said that. On a much more positive note, the Kushneratops got his top secret security clearance back. He now has access to your morning footprints in the sand.”

“That’s great. Just great. Because I think, you know … someone really should read them.”

“You mean … you haven’t?”

The T-Rump scrunched his face in disgust.

“Are you kidding. Why should I? The Homelandsecurus Kirstjennielsen said she wasn’t even aware of the Langleyops footprints in the sand about the Russodinos meddling in the election to help me win. And that came out months ago.”

“You’re not trying to start another conspiracy in your intelligence community. Are you?”

“Do you think it’s too soon? We’ve gotten good mileage out of Spygate. What’s it been, six days?”

There came a sad, brooding shadow in the doorway.

“T-Vanka!” shouted the T-Rump. “I thought I told you to get that panty-waist pussy — I mean, your husband — out of here!”

“It’s me,” said the sad, brooding shadow, lumbering into view.

The T-Rump squinted.

“Is that you, Mike?” 

“Yes.”

It was the T-Rump’s plodding mate, the Mincepencenow.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“The Mediacircustops …”

“Stop right there, don’t believe a word. It’s all fake. Fake news.”

“No, they were reporting on what the Kimjongadon said. On what he called me. A … a … political dummy.”

“Well, I never.” The T-Rump’s tail lashed out, creating another crack in the cave. “That does it! The heck with this summit meeting. I’ll just find summit else to do. There will be NO meeting. It’s canceled!”

The Mincepencenow dropped to his knees. He considered kissing the T-Rump’s scaly feet.

“You … you’d do that for me?”

“Of course. Let me be perfectly clear. The only dino that gets to call you a political dummy is me.”

He was a veteran Trollertweety long in the beak. Not much to look at, he was destined to forever fly under the radar. He knew deep down where twits didn’t tweet that he was as disposable as a Kushneratops. But that didn’t stop him from staring up into the eyes of dark contempt before him. The eyes of deep corruption. The eyes of a surly Tyrumposaurus that is, because the T-Rump, Ashtag felt, had flirted with for so long and finally crossed the dreaded red line. That red line in the sands of democracy that even a Trollertweety did best to tiptoe around.

“I won’t do it,” Ashtag said.

“What do you mean you won’t do it?” The T-Rump’s nostrils flared and his face screwed up into a scaly, wrinkled knot of hate. “Since when do you have a voice?”

“Since, well …” The Trollertweety had to think fast. “Since I noticed you haven’t been yourself lately.”

“Oh?” The T-Rump sneered. This was rich. Being psychoanalyzed by a wee Trollertweety. “Go on.”

“Two days ago. You had to recall a Trollertweety because you got your wife’s name wrong. Your own wife, T-Rump. It’s the T-Melania, not the T-Melanie. You never got the Stormydaniels or the Katemcdougal wrong. Or the …”

“Okay, okay. But this has nothing to do with that.”

“But it does. Then there’s the five Trollertweeties you sent out yesterday.”

“What about them?”

“There were 11 lies between them. Eleven.”

“So?”

“So … besides the fact that the dinos want the truth from their leader, it makes me look bad.”

“You? Who cares about you? You’re just a … tiny, measly …Trollertweety.”

“I care about me.”

The little Ashtag’s beady eyes belied a bravery that gave even the T-Rump pause. The dino leader scowled down at him.

“You do know I can have you, ahem … deleted.”

“Better than to fly around the Trumpassic kingdom spouting your nonsense about the Langleyops eavesdropping on your cave … or the improper unmasking of your dino aides. That was pure malarkeyville … Or claiming you had evidence of your Comeyonus chat in the Oval Dwelling. Nope. … A deep state within the Langleyops? Not a chance. … The Christophersteele footprints in the sand triggering the Russodino investigation? I don’t think so …”

“Enough!”

“Which brings us to today’s message you want me to bring to 52 million dinosaurs. I have a little problem with the first sentence.”

The T-Rump bristled.

“It is exactly the way I want it.”

“Really. ‘I hereby demand?’ If that doesn’t scream dictator …”

“Look, the Putinodon would do the same thing. And he’s a great leader. Great.”

“Afraid not, boss. What you have here is just another scorched earth message. You’re telling the Deeohjay dinos to investigate the Langleyops to see if they infiltrated your team for political purposes.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t own the Deeohjay dinos.”

“I don’t? But I picked them.”

The Trollertweety shook his head.

“This informant was there as part of a counterintelligence operation, not a criminal one.”

“Meaning?”

“He was trying to help you.”

“Oh. Well, this is the first I’m hearing of this,” the T-Rump lied for the 3,165th time. 

“Perhaps you do need me around,” Ashtag said with a shrug. “You know, to keep you informed. Call me the messenger who can help craft your message.”

The T-Rump mulled it over. His nightly chats with the Seanhannity had become toxic, even by Foxsquawkbox standards. He stared hard down at his wee tweeter, considering his options of slim and none. The expression on the T-Rump’s face softened.

“You are my little Trollertweety.”

“Less trouble than the Michaelcohen, the Manaforta, the Flynnhasbeen …”

“Alright already. You made your point!”

And so, of course, the fly-by-night, 29-syllable relationship continued between the T-Rump and his Trollertweety fleet. Perhaps because the T-Rump knew he couldn’t be friends with anyone but himself. He only longed to hear his words trumpeted across the land. But maybe, just maybe, deep in the empty pit of his soul there was a small scraping of empathy suggesting he be on good terms with the messenger. However ridiculous the courage of the small, insignificant Ashtag.  

The Marinegunkelly stuck his head into the Oval Dwelling. The Tyrumposaurus was munching on his third Cheezbuggabugga.

“More bad news,” said the chief of staff. “The Sin Hut Committee just agreed with the Langleyops that the Russodinos meddled in your glorious defeat of the Crookadillary.”

“They cannot take that away from me! I beat her fair and square.”

A sobering look down the snout from the Marinegunkelly.

“Don’t start,” said the T-Rump, “I didn’t need any help from the weaponized, social molars of that rogue dino Cambridgeanalyticus.”

“The Christopherwylie is telling everybody that the Bannoncanon used the Cambridgeanalyticus to suppress Crookadillary supporters.”

“Whistle blowers are leakers! Leakers, I tell you. And I didn’t need any help from the Wikileakibeak either. Or the 30 years of high-fives, backslapping and late nights with the Russodinos. It was, is and always will be about ME. Hmm. Is it too late to make that my new campaign slogan? Now then, did I beat the Crookadillary? Remind me.”

“Yes, T-Rump. You beat her fair and square.”

“And?”

“And you could’ve beat her by more if she didn’t have millions of Californius dinos voting multiple times against you.”

“Get the Giuliani on that pronto.”

“On what?”

“I don’t know. I just like saying that. Get him on …  whatever. He’s been here three weeks now so he no longer knows what the truth is. That’s the way I want it. The more bafflegab, the better. Keep lying … “

“Until the truth gives up and goes home,” the Marinegunkelly said by rote. He sighed the sigh of a million delusionally blind dinosaurs, then remembered where he was.

“Oh, yes. Your financial footprint in the sand?”

“What about it?”

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to get away with not having to certify that the information is true.”

“Dammit! If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?”

Praying that it was a rhetorical question and not another cry for adulation, the Marinegunkelly pressed on.

“Now that you’ve disclosed your payment to the Stormydaniels, we can expect the ethics dinosaurs to come traipsing through here any moment. Since it’s a Thursday, is that still one of our Days of Denial?”

A sour puss from the T-Rump.

“I can’t keep up with the Rudygiuliani. Maybe that’s a good thing. You know, plausible deniability.”

“He’s your lawyer, T-Rump.”

“Don’t remind me. It’s so damn lonely here at the top. I miss those chance encounters with Pornodactyls. I’m going for a walk to cheer up.”

Moments later, while strolling down a nearby path, the T-Rump came upon a large gathering. It was the commencement ceremony for graduating Virginiamilitarius dinos. The T-Rump searched the crowd for young twenty, thirty and forty-somethings before his gaze finally arrived at the flat rock podium where his former secretary of state, the Saveyourenergyrex, was speaking.

“If our leaders seek to conceal the truth, or we as dinosaurs become accepting of alternative realities that are no longer grounded in facts, then we as Milkanhoney Preservation dinos are on a pathway to relinquishing our freedom.”

The T-Rump frowned. There he goes again, flapping his gums. Why am I thinking of the Kellyanneconvixway?

“A responsibility of every dinosaur to each other,” the Saveyourenergyrex continued, “is to preserve and protect our freedom by recognizing what truth is and is not, what a fact is and is not and begin by holding ourselves accountable to truthfulness and demand our pursuit of the Milkanhoney Preservation’s future be fact-based — not based on wishful moron thinking, not hoped-for moron outcomes made in shallow moron promises.”

The T-Rump tapped his chin with a claw. Moron? What moron?

“Because you must stand up to the morons in your life,” said his former chief of staff. “Never, ever be afraid to call a moron a moron. Even if that moron is the greatest moron in the world. Because morons can’t be great. They’re morons. And they surround themselves with other morons because morons love morons. It’s how they multiply. Everybody becomes a moron. It’s contagious. Like ringworm. Because another worm has joined the ring. Don’t be fooled. It’s a moron alright. Don’t be a moron. Get up and leave. Like I did. … So, in closing, to become a successful, ahem … ringworm-free dinosaur, who do you stay away from?”

“MORONS!” the crowd of dinos gleefully cheered as the T-Rump continued tapping his chin. Who’s the greatest moron?

The Rudygiuliani squatted before a visibly upset Tyrumposaurus. The T-Rump’s tail twitched nervously. The legal dino backed up a step, safely out of tail-whacking distance. One never knew when the T-Rump would lash out. The Rudygiuliani had to think fast — never a good thing for him.

“I know. Just say you never heard of him.”

“Never heard of him? How can you say that? He’s the Viktorvekselberg! How do you erase a name like that from your memory? It sticks out like … like my name. Damn him! He could sink this whole thing and he’s cramping my style.”

“Sink what thing? I’m sorry, you’ll have to bring me up to speed. Help me get my facts straight. And … as your legal counsel, I suggest … I mean, hope you’ll tell me the truth.”

The highly contagious, lying, corrupt Look of 3000 Lies from the T-Rump burned three words into the legal dino’s wobbly walnut. Not. A. Chance.

“Just asking. Okay, let’s look on the bright side. He only threw half a million moolah-moolah leaves into the Essential Slush Pond. That’s just a fraction of what’s there. And let’s not forget, it was the Viktorvekselberg’s cousin who was running the show over there at Columbus Chevynova. Why don’t you let me go and explain this whole Viktorvekselberg thing to the Mediacircustops.”

“No! By the time you’re done, they’ll think he’s my brother.”

“Do you want him to be? I can do that too. Just say the word.”

“No!”

“Okay, my mistake. It’s just that you had so many Russodinos there when you were sworn in. And then in the Oval Dwelling after you got rid of that Flynnhasbeen nutjob. I thought they were your relatives. It’s too bad I wasn’t there to help you then.”

The T-Rump shuddered. The Rudygiuliani took this as his cue to leave.

“Not so fast,” said the T-Rump. “You mentioned half million being just a fraction?”

“Ah, yes. Um … a fraction of what?”

“You tell me.”

“Oh, well … You forgot?”

“Look, if it didn’t happen on the Foxsquawkbox it didn’t happen! I’m getting tired of having to send out a Trollertweety EVERY time I want the news the way I want it!”

“Right. Yes. well, I’m sorry to bring it up … but the Michaelcohen raked in 4.4 million moolah-moolah leaves from dinosaurs like the Viktorvekselberg who wanted access to you.”

The T-Rump’s tail lashed out, carving a new crease in the Oval Dwelling’s wall.

“Why that ungrateful Checkercabby-chasing chump! The nerve of that Pursepuppy! After all I’ve done for him!”

“Might I remind you — and the Mediacircustops later — that that moolah-moolah was meant to take care of your problems, your legal issues, your really big mistakes … just like the slush pond I had back in the day … when I knew right from wrong. I mean, trying to right those wrongs. Without other dinos knowing of course. Except now they do. But we can turn this to our advantage. Trust me.”

But the T-Rump knew better. Unless a hanger-on was heaping, Mincepencenow-like words of gushing praise upon him, the T-Rump tuned any dino out after three seconds.

“How dare he make moolah-moolah off me! He’s going to pay it back. With interest.”

“I don’t know about that. He just borrowed nine million moolah-moolah against his cave in Manhattinhand. Gee, you know what? Maybe the Viktorvekselberg could help him out. 13 billion goes a long way these days.”

The T-Rump raised a crooked claw to his crooked chin. A crooked thought crossed his mind. The Rudygiuliani had a bafflegab mouth that might do better behind the scenes.

Because the T-Rump needed a new fixer. Badly.

The Rudygiuliani smiled smugly across the flat rock table at the Muellersavus. He’d only been on board two weeks as the latest Tyrumposaurus legal dino, but was already making waves with the Mediacircustops. Big enough to elicit a meeting with the veteran special counsel in charge of the Russodino collusion investigation. It was the case that refused to go away. But it would, now that he, the Rudygiuliani, was fighting back. He tightened his small, gnarled fists. He was vibrating with energy, squatting, ready to spring across the table and, if need be, punch the Muellersavus right in the nose.

“Okay, Mueller, the way I see it, you don’t have a leg to stand on because that two-dino tango, the Peterstrzok and Lisapage lagoon romance proves that all 850,000 dinos in the intelligence community are operating with a deep state agenda. That’s right.”

“Don’t waste my time with your dinosaur gas lighting deflections. I want to talk about you.”

“Me? Why me? I didn’t do anything.”

“Did you talk at length with the Stephanopoulos yesterday about the T-Rump?”

“Yes.”

“Then you did something.”

“Wait a minute. You’re overseeing the Russodino, not the Stormydaniels case.”

“Oh, it’s only a matter of time before you spill over into Russodinos.”

“But I have attorney-client privilege.”

“Not when you wax so … eloquently … to the Mediacircustops.” He leaned into the T-Rump’s lawyer. “I’m interested in your intent.”

“My intent? You mean the T-Rump’s intent.”

“No, based on what you’ve said to the Stephanopoulos, you’ve quickly moved from being a subject …”

“A subject?!”

“To a target …”

“Target?”

“ … of my investigation.”

“What the …?” The Rudygiuliani fell backward off his haunches. He struggled back to a squatting position with some semblance of dignity. “Why, I’ve only been here two weeks. There’s a million footprints in the sand I haven’t even read yet. You must have me confused for the Devilnunesmemo.”

“No,” the Muellersavus said calmly, his eyes piercing the legal dino’s googly-eyed expression. “You’re my dino now. Is that clear?”

A raspy gulp escaped the Rudygiuliani. The veteran Langleyops continued.

“You wanted to get out ahead of this, didn’t you?”

“Uh … of course I did,” said the Rudygiuliani, veering T-Rumpianly off script. “That’s our strategy. Deflect. Confuse. Repeat. Wait a minute. Maybe that’s not the T-Rump’s strategy. Maybe that’s just my strategy. Can I get back to you on that?

“Are you making all this up on the fly?”

“Okay, so you got me there. But last time I checked, it’s NOT a crime to lie to the Mediacircustops.”

“Are these more of the facts you are still working on?”

“Look,” said the Rudygiuliani, “it’s just like I was telling the Stephanopoulos, I don’t know how you separate fact from opinion. Maybe your walnut is bigger than mine. You tell me.”

The Muellersavus frowned as an elder dino might when a dino tot runs into a tree, falls down, gets up and runs back into it.

“I’ll ask the questions here. Why did you call the payment to the Stormydaniels a nuisance payment?”

“Oh, good. I thought it was going to be a hard one. It’s like this, Robert. Can I call you Robert? In the grand scheme of the T-Rump battle campaign, 130-thousand moolah-moolah leaves, let’s face it, it’s not a lot to chew on. So when you get into the millions, well that’s more dinos the T-Rump needs the Michaelcohen to hush up.”

“How?”

“How. Well, let’s see. I think I can put my finger on it.” He slapped his forehead. “Why, from his slush fund of course. I mean retainer fees.”

“So you’re saying there were more payments?”

“Does a diplodocus skinny dip? Of course there were more. At least, I’m pretty sure. I’m still ramping up. But we’re talking the T-Rump here. The dino of a million caves. Now, these other caves had nothing to do with the Stormydaniels. One cave. One Stormydaniels. Got that? Maybe I need to describe it differently.”

“Please.”

“Well, since I am here to get out ahead of all this. I can’t state it too clearly. This was not uncommon. By any stretch of the imagination. The T-Rump’s agreement with the Michaelcohen, as far as I know, is a longstanding agreement — we’re talking decades, Robert — that the Michaelcohen takes care of situations like this. I have no knowledge of that but I — I — I would think if it was necessary, yes. Definitely yes. Let’s not forget, he’s an honest, honorable legal dino.”

“Moving on,” said the Muellersavus, “when did the T-Rump know about payment to the Stormydaniels?”

“We’re still talking about the Stormydaniels? … I don’t know. From the beginning would be my best guess, but that’s all irrelevant. He’s the leader of the Milkanhoney Preservation and I’m just here to preserve his good name. If the Obamarus and the Crookadillary can get preferential treatment, then you know what? Wow. Work with me. The T-Rump may as well take the Fifth because this is all nonsense. If he isn’t already, he should be above the law, you know.”

This last statement caught even the Muellersavus off guard.

“There you are!”

It was the Marinegunkelly, the T-Rump’s chief of staff, standing in the doorway. The T-Rump had evidently found something for him to do. A quick nod from the Marinegunkelly to the Muellersavus said the interview was over. The chief of staff glared down at the Rudygiuliani.

“The T-Rump wants to see you,” he growled. “NOW.”

The Rudygiuliani rose from his haunches to leave. He turned to the Muellersavus.

“I think that went well. Don’t you?”