https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-szt7x-bdba29
This weeks T-Rump Dig Podcast features: Day 949 — Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner … the T-Rump stuns the dino global leaders at the Gee-Seven-Showed-Up … and … Day 953 — The Bed Bug Boogaloo — the T-Rump’s inner circle wrap their walnuts around how to woo the Putinodon to the Doral Gnats’n All.
“One last time. Who wants to sit beside him?”
The words from the host, the Emmanuelemacron hung in the air. The dinosaur leaders gathered around the dining rock looked down at the ground. They were at the Gee-Seven-Showed-Up dinosaur meeting at the seaside conclave at Buyritz-mais-oui.
“Okay, I can see I’m going to have to choose two dinos.”
“I sat beside him last time, said the Angelamerkel, “Never again. How do the Milkanhoney Preservation dinos say it? What a maroon!”
“I live right beside him,” said the normally reserved Justintrudeau. “Please excuse me, but for me this is a much-needed holiday.”
The Emmanuelemacron turned to the T-Rump’s trade dino, the Larrykudlow.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
“But you work for him.”
“Your point? Hey, you’re the host. You sit beside him.”
“Fine then, I will. Another meal, wasted. Boris, you’re on the other side.”
The Borisjohnson blinked.
“I beg your pardon. Were you talking to me?”
The host pointed the Britwit leader toward his assigned seat.
“Alright, but the food isn’t even here yet.”
The leader of the free-running dino world, the Tyrumposaurus, soon arrived and squatted down between the Borisjohnson and the Emmanuelemacron. The host turned to the T-Rump.
“Would you like to lead us in prayer?”
“Emmanuele, just because I’m the Chosen One, let’s not be ridiculous.”
The host glanced nervously at his guests around the dining rock.
“Okay, you’re all welcome to make your silent intentions.”
The guests all cast hopeful prayers to the upcoming year and a speedy removal of the T-Rump from power.
The T-Rump pointed to the Borisjohnson.
“Who is this guy? He was a nobody five years ago and now he’s leader of the Britwits. Amazing! Do you have a plan for Brexit, Boris?”
“Uh, well … to put it mildly, no.”
“Put it there, pal.” The T-Rump slapped palms with him “That’s how I roll too. Who needs details? Plans are for suckers. We think alike. Welcome to the team.”
The T-Rump looked around the table.
“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, this team is just me and him. Emphasis on me.”
“T-Rump,” said the Emmanuelemacron. “Everybody here is worried that you’re upsetting the dino world with this feud you’re having with the Chopstickchowmein.”
The T-Rump felt the weight of the eyes around the table bearing down on him. God, how he hated these meetings.
“Okay, okay. I’ve been having some misgivings.”
“What kind of misgivings?” asked the host.
“Well, to tell the truth — and wouldn’t that be a red-letter day — I have second thoughts about everything. Everything.”
The Larrykudlow rose from his squat.
“Okay, that’s enough. Stop right there. It’s obvious because I’m right here. He didn’t hear your question properly and his answer will most certainly be taken out of context.”
“Excuse me,” said the Emmanuelemacron. “He heard me very well because his response of having second thoughts is the perfect definition of the word he used — misgivings. There is no context to get wrong. It’s a moot point.”
“Okay, okay. The second thoughts thing. He was actually thinking about making life tougher on the Chopstickchowmein. But he didn’t. Give him a break, why don’t you? So, in closing, I have no idea what this all means for the average dino family, but I feel a positive vibe, a truly positive dino vibe. I’m here. So I felt it.”
The smug Larrykudlow returned to his squat, believing his baffle-gab had successfully muddled another stunning turn of events in T-Rump world.
“Thank you, Larry,” said the T-Rump. “Why do you all look so surprised? I’ve heard nothing but good things about all the Tariffraptors I’ve sent out. Nothing but good things. They mean business. Mean business!”
“Excuse me, T-Rump,” said the Borisjohnson. “Just to register a faint, sheep-like note of our view on the Tariffraptors. But we’re in favor of peace on the whole. We think the Britwits have lived well the past 200 years. So, that’s what we’re keen to see. We don’t like Tariffraptors on the whole.”
“I’ll give you a whole Tariffraptor,” muttered the T-Rump. “So you’re a sheep, are you?”
“A faint sheep.”
“What the hell is that?”
“A sheep with bone spurs,” came a voice from across the dining rock.
“Who said that?!”
All mugs froze in silent glum.
“Well, be you a faint sheep or a sheep that faints, it’s good to have you aboard, Boris. Let’s call this the Faint Sheep Bi-Lateral Agreement, Larry.”
“A great title, boss.”
The T-Rump swished his tail in a haphazard manner, signalling to all that something most heinous was up.
“Now then, let’s get to the real reason we’re all gathered here. I — and several others — want to get the Russodinos back in these meetings.”
“Exactly who are the others?” asked the Emmanuelemacron.
“Easy, Emmanuele. I said our earlier meeting was our best ever. Do you want me to take it down a notch? You know how the Tymelania says ‘Be Best.” We wouldn’t want to upset her now, would we?”
“The Russodinos attacked the Creme-de-la-Crimea in direct violation of what this group of dinos stands for.”
“That was five years ago. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”
The T-Rump pointed to an empty spot at the dining rock.
“We should invite them to dinner.”
“I’m sorry, that seat is taken. Didn’t I tell you? The Iranosaurae have just arrived. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Wait a sec. They didn’t actually say they were going to meet with me, did they? Because they can’t do that. That would be like … an emergency. Only I can make an emergency.”
“That is not a virtue,” said the Justintrudeau.
“No, T-Rump,” said the host. “I invited them here. They’re going to meet with me and the rest of the good dinos here to discuss peace. But … just by their being here, they’re leaving a place at their table for you to ask for a meeting. Just like the place at the dining rock you see before you now. This is your big chance. If you walk away … you will have missed a golden opportunity to make things right … and … you will be seen by the rest of the dino world as being once more a lone-wolf dino not interested in dino peace. It’s a lose-lose situation for you if you don’t sit down with them. We’re so glad you could make it, T-Rump.”
“I am the chosen one.”
The Tyrumposaurus held his short arms high and positively gleamed at the Mediacircustops gathered before him. A few of them hemmed and hawed. Those more embarrassed than others, looked off to the side. A couple turned around in complete disbelief. The T-Rump’s latest, greatest whisperer, the Wayneallanroot jumped in to fill the void.
“Our leader, the T-Rump, is the greatest leader for the Jewisaurae of East Jerusalem in the history of the world, not just the Milkanhoney Preservation. He is the best leader for East Jerusalem ever and the Jewisaurae dinos in East Jerusalem love him like he’s the King of East Jerusalem. They love him like he’s the second coming of the dino Gawdalmighty. And importantly, I said “like” but I can’t even tell the difference. Wow! Can you stand it?”
Most dinos there couldn’t. More than a few of the Mediacirucustops caught themselves wishing they were 2000 miles away. Which brings us to the whereabouts of the dinosaur kingdom’s Priss Family Robinson. The Kushneratops, his wife the Tyvankanatrix and their three dino tots, eight-year-old Arabella, five-year-old Joseph and 3-year-old Theodore slogged through the high sand dunes alongside a shallow sea deep inside the Wyoming Valley. It was a hundred degrees in the blistering heat.
The Kushneratops stopped to squat beside the water.
“I, uh … I think we’re lost.”
“Oh, I’m sure we lost them a few days ago,” his wife said, referring to the Paparazzipix, free-wheeling, distant cousins of the Mediacircustops.
“No, I said we’re lost.”
The two dinos looked at each other. The dino tots lapped up the salt water, then coughed and sputtered.
“Daddy,” said Arabella. “Make the awful taste go away!”
“I’m afraid that’s one of the few things your father can’t do, sweetheart.” Tyvanka turned to her husband. “That and keeping us from getting lost,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re the one who wanted to leave in such a hurry,” he snapped. “Grab the kids and go, you said. Your father …”
He stopped and looked down. She grasped his short arm with hers and looked into his eyes mournfully.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. We had to get out of there. Father was having a bad day.”
“A crazy, get-the-hell-out-of-town-cuz-this-dino-is-loony-tunes bad day,” Jared corrected. “He said that if you’re a Jewisaurus and you want a Donkeykongrus dino in power, you are totally without intellect and disloyal. We — you, me, our dino tots — we are Jewisaurae. Does he not know this?! How he can be so S-T-O-O-O-O-O-P-I-D!”
The word echoed around the sand dunes.
S-T-O-O-O-O-O-P-I-D … S-T-O-O-O-O-O-P-I-D … S-T-O-O-O-O-O-P-I-D
“Do it again, daddy,” said Joseph, “do it again!”
“No, your father will not say it again.” She turned to Jared. “You know how he gets when he has a chance to pick on minority dinos, women and the Donkeykongrus. It’s almost as good as cheating on Tymelania. It’s what he lives for.”
“And taking over Greenlandia. My god. What was he thinking? Such an idjit.”
“Idjit,” said the wee Theodore. “Grandpa idjit.”
Jared and Tyvanka looked at their youngest dino tot and melted.
“His first words!”
They quickly compartmentalized the cherished family moment and returned to the chaos at hand.
“Jared, this whole Greenlandia thing was a set-up for him to get out of a meeting with the Denmarkus dinos, our allies. His only friends are our foes — wicked, evil dinos like the Kimjongadon and the Putinodon. He knew the Denmarkus would call his advances absurd, allowing him to then call them ‘nasty’ and cancel his trip. The Putinodon will be so very pleased.”
Jared reached for her arm.
“I don’t know how you do it, honey. You continue to amaze me. The love you have for your father when he does the most callous things. Even now when he’s prepared to strip baby dinos from their mothers once more and keep them in captivity forever.”
“Forever,” she whispered. “It sounds so long.”
Together, they looked down at their three dino tots playing in the sand. She turned to her husband, wrapped her tail around his and drew him in close.
“Let’s stay here, Jared. No more Mediacircustops. Just the children. Just us here, where we’re safe.” She looked around. “In this desolate … desert. It does come with a beach.”
He mulled it over with an arching right eye.
“Well, I would avoid the Solitary Sinkhole. But what about water? We’ll die of thirst out here.”
“We’ll pray for rain. Kids, start praying.”
The dino tots stopped and looked to their parents.
“Which way is East Jerusalem, mama?” asked Arabella.
Tyvanka turned to Jared, who gave her the how-the-hell-should-I-know look. But he needn’t worry, for at that instant came the sound of an approaching dino. Jared was about to holler ‘run for the hills’ when he recognized the dino cresting a nearby sand dune.
“There you two are. And the kids too. How sweet.”
“Mick?” Tyvanka asked. It was the Mickmulvaney.
“Yes. Boy, that was some walk. Glad I caught up with you. Listen, there’s a T-Rump victory shin-dig a couple of sand dunes from here. That-a-way,” he said, pointing north. “I’m sure your father would love having you in attendance. You know what I mean?”
An awkward wink punctuated his question.
Tyvanka turned to Jared, who replied with a helpless shrug. They gathered the children and soon headed north. Tyvanka trudged alongside the Mickmulvaney, waiting to catch his eye.
“How’s my father feeling?” she finally asked.
“Don’t ask. I’m so glad I found you. Misery loves company.”
The Tyrumposaurus squatted at the flat rock lectern, looking out at his latest audience, a few dozen Royaldutch Shellplanters in the Beaver Beltlands of Pennsappalachia. The T-Rump’s gaze passed over their slobbery mugs one at a time. He frowned. He knew full well gatherings like these were captive audiences but the dinos here genuinely looked like they’d rather be somewhere else.
The T-Rump sniffed. Too bad. This was an official Oval Dwelling event and they’d just have to live with it. He picked out a particularly sour-looking puss in the front row and leaned over him.
“You there. Let me guess. You absolutely have to be here, don’t you?”
“We all do. The boss said if we don’t show up, we won’t get our moolah-moolah leaves.”
“Anything else?”
“He said we can’t boo you. Or be disrespectful. Or even gnash our teeth, like menacingly. I mean, that’s a natural instinct.”
“Hmph. A smile now and then wouldn’t hurt, y’know.”
“Boss didn’t say anything about smiling.”
The T-Rump sighed. This was why he didn’t spend much time with the little dinos. They didn’t pump his ego enough. Or even know how to flatter him properly. He straightened and looked out at the rest of the crowd.
“You’re all here. That’s good. Okay, alright already. So you have to be here. Of course you have to be here. I’m here. Love me, hate me. You need me, believe me. And I’m going to be speaking to some of your union leaders to say, ‘I hope you’re going to support the T-Rump.’ Okay? And if they don’t, vote them the hell out because they’re not doing their job. It’s true. It’s true. Vote’em out.”
There was a low rustling in the audience as each dino shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. The T-Rump grinned broadly and continued.
“Let’s talk about the booming economy. BOOM-ing. Pay no attention to those lies from the extreme radical left Donkeykongrus. The Chopstickchowmein are eating those Tariffraptors. Eating them! We’re helping the Combinefarmer dinos with big Tariffraptor moolah-moolah coming in. Billions coming in!
The audience stared back at him stupefied.
“T-Rump. How can you squat there and say that?”
It was the Jaketapper. The T-Rump recoiled in surprise.
“Say what?”
“There’s a Minnesotafarmer dino, the Garywertish, who says his dinos are hurt and struggling, that your words and your Trollertweeties are not helping matters, that this problem is self-inflicted by you and after a year of this, you don’t even have a plan ‘B.’ What do you say to that?”
“What do I say?”
“Yes.”
“I say … I say I have the best dinos on top of this. Like the Peternavarro. Peter! Get out here and tell this Jaketapper and these dinos about all the things we’re doing to the Chopstickchowmein. All the things. There are so many things, aren’t there? Go ahead and tell them. The things.”
The Peternavarro strutted out from the shadows to take the T-Rump’s place at the lectern. The T-Rump took two steps back and stood there silently, working his jaw like he was chewing on something important. The Peternavarro raised a short arm in the air.
“First off, I want to say that the T-Rump has the backs of all the Combinefarmer dinos in the midwest. The moolah-moolah leaves the Tariffraptors are gathering goes straight back to the Combinefarmers. So the Combinefarmers are behind the T-Rump.”
“The Combinefarmers are starting to lose patience,” said the Jaketapper. “You say that the entire burden of the Tariffraptor war is being borne by the Chopstickchowmein.”
“And that is absolutely true.”
“But a study by Harvard Harbour dinos — you did go to Harvard, didn’t you?
“I did.”
“So this is your old school that found that Milkanhoney Preservation dinos are paying 95% of the difference here and the Chopstickchowmein only 5%.”
“That dog won’t hunt. Let’s do some math here.”
“No, Peter. You’ve dodged every one of my questions, so I don’t have time for your math. But I do know someone who does. I believe you know the Johnbrinkley.”
Uh-oh, thought the Peternavarro. Not the Johnbrinkley. The Peternavarro’s confidence was swallowed in the sand like a raindrop in the desert.
The T-Rump had sent in his relief dino and now the Jaketapper his. And the Johnbrinkley was no slouch. The veteran Forbesmagaziner crunched numbers as a late night snack. The Johnbrinkley stepped to the fore.
“Yes, let’s do some math, Peter.”
“Uh, yes. Okay. Well, you see now. Our dinos here spend 14 trillion moolah-moolah leaves per year. And ten percent of 300 million is, uh … 30 million.”
“You’re just noise, Peter. Just noise. You need to stick to the subject. That 14 trillion number is global. We’re talking Chopstickchowmein here, who we have a deficit of 560 billion with and we owe over one trillion. How do you like those numbers? Do you know how long it takes a dino nation to collect one trillion moolah-moolah leaves? I didn’t think so. Why would we want to be siccing our Tariffraptors on them?
“I, uh … we see no such data,” he coughed.
“Because you’re reading the data wrong. After his being in the Oval Dwelling for two-and-a-half years, you might want to tell the T-Rump how a Tariffraptor war really works. The Tariffraptor moolah-moolah coming into the Dino Treasury? None of it comes from Chopstickchowmein. Not one leaf. It all comes from our own dinos paying for Chopstickchowmein goods. The Milkanhoney Preservation are the dinos picking the tab. Just like the 24 billion you’ve now given the Combinefarmer dinos to keep them from starving.”
The T-Rump stepped forward.
“I want some fake news, I mean, good news and I want it now.”
“Sorry, T-Rump. You’ve also conveniently forgotten or failed to understand that the Xijinping can put stimulus moolah-moolah into the Chopstickchowmein without asking for approval and he doesn’t have to worry about an election next year. Oh, and he did not devalue his moolah-moolah. That was your 12,000th lie, wasn’t it?”
“Damn!”
“One more thing. The Chopstickchowmein dinos are coming for a visit in two weeks. If you can’t iron things out, what then?”
The T-Rump and the Peternavarro shared an uneasy look.
The Johnbrinkley shook his head.
“Y’know, you’d better hope they show up. If they don’t, you may be without a deal for the remainder of your days in the Oval Dwelling. That’s not a good look. Can you say reptile recession?”
After the meeting, the Royaldutch Shellplanters filed out of the gathering area. One dino turned to his co-worker.
“And to think you almost stayed home. Do you feel better now?”
“Do I? I’m gettin’ paid and I’m votin’ Donkeykongrus!”
The Trollertweety flew overhead, releasing its fury.
“Squawk! The T-Rump is mentally declining! He’s losing his step! He’s a corrosive, socially dividing cancer! Squawk!”
That damn Mooch, thought the dino, looking up from his squat at the entrance to the Oval Dwelling. He turned and rapped three times on the wall with his tail. The Mickmulvaney timidly approached the sound of the rapping to greet the visitor. The chief of dino staff relaxed, then raised a shackle or two when he saw who it was.
“You again,” he sniffed.
“I don’t care who it is,” came the Tyrumposaurus’ shout in the background. “Send them in. I need some attention.”
The tired, wretched, poor Lewandowski stepped into the cave. The Sethabramson had described the Lewandowski as a Ziplocbaggie of Gymcandy wrapped in a Cheapsuit, sent out into the world to sexually and physically assault dino women and dodge the Subpoenasaurae. The Ziplocbaggie, Gymcandy and Cheapsuit were all dinos from the wrong side of nature’s trail.
Their culmination, the Lewandowski, now stood before the T-Rump, who looked up from his third Cheezbuggabugga.
“You again.”
The Lewandowski’s presence preceded perturbance. As with all the T-Rump’s yes-dinos, He took it as a hello.
“The Subpoenasaurus came to see me today. For the third time.”
“You know the drill,” said the T-Rump. “Play dumb, don’t even agree on the colour of the sky … and we’ll claim executive privilege.”
“But I never even worked for you. Can we do that?”
“You’re forgetting we have the Williambarr and the Moscowmitch in our corner.”
“You mean the Mitchgetbacktowork.”
“No, he’s the Moscowmitch now.”
“You can change his species?”
“I can do anything. I’m simply honoring Mitch’s great work in calling the Sanctionsaurus off the Olegderipaska so the Russodinos could become major players in the northeast corner of Kentucky-Muckety-Muck thanks to 200 million moolah-moolah leaves.”
The Lewandowski cringed at the thought but was well practiced at concealing all jaw-dropping emotions in front of the T-Rump, who continued speaking to any dino who would listen.
“I may take over Greenlandia next week. What do you think?”
The Lewandowski thought the leader was bat-poop crazy but responded with the perfunctory nod, yet again enabling the dino king with no oaths.
The T-Rump scratched his sagging nether regions. An idea fell out.
“Y’know, Corey. I was thinking. This subpoena thing. We need to deflect this, I mean, turn it into a positive.”
“Of course,” said the enabler, praying silently as well that he hadn’t just precipitated the death and destruction of all dinos.
“Yes,” said the T-Rump. “I think you should run for the Sin Hut in … uh, oh … I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t want to know. But humor me. Pick somewhere.”
“New Hampshironia?”
“Done. I’ll make a visit there and tell them you’re the best thing since … hold on. Stephen!”
“Since dino tots held captive,” came the sinister voice of the Stephenmillerus from deep within his Den of Demented Doom.
“Right,” said the T-Rump with a chuckle. “We’ll run with that.”
“But what about my baggage?” asked the Lewandowski. “I’ve got a lotta skeletons. Even a few you don’t know about.”
“Quiet. Don’t say another word. You know what the Putinodon said about keeping the crime one dino removed from me. Cooch! Get in here.”
The Kencuccinelli entered the Oval Dwelling with his trademark sneer and bowed to the T-Rump.
“Cooch, before you start, you gotta say it one more time. Okay?”
The Lewandowski looked from the T-Rump to the Cooch, who knew exactly what the T-Rump was referring to. The T-Rump’s new migration go-to-dino had revised the time-honored Emmalazarus’ footprint poem at the base of the Status-Libertarius, stripping it of all previous symbolism. The Cooch version? He coughed and began.
“Give me your be best white-striped dinos who can stand on their own two feet and find their own damn food.”
“I love it!” said the T-Rump. “Short. Sweet. White-striped supreme. Okay now, what can you do for Corey here? He’s got a lot of crap you need to make go away.”
The Lewandowski’s raging stream of controversies poured out to be de- and reconstructed by the Cooch.
Battery against a female Mediacircustops?
“He was standing on his own two feet.”
Directed by the T-Rump to deliver a message to the Sessionsopposum telling the Muellersavus to just forget about past battle campaign shenanigans and focus on future campaigns?
The Cooch smiled.
“They can stand on their own two feet. Next time.”
Other episodes of obstruction of justice?
“Obstruction?” he said. “You’re the one standing on our two feet.”
The Cooch had landed. One small step for delaying justice, one giant leap for white-striped supremacy.
The following song could be heard making the rounds recently in the Trumpassic Period playgrounds near and far as dino tots sang at the top of their little lungs, heaping praise upon their great leader, the Tyrumposaurus ...
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know
And in his scam Obama’s bad
He knows you know I know
With his birth not here
And his birth not there
Here no birth, there no birth
Ain’t nowhere Obama’s birth
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know!
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know
And in his scam, who killed Sethrich?
He knows you know I know
With a Sethrich here
And a Sethrich there
Here a Seth, there a Seth
Everywhere a Sethrich
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know!
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know
And in his scam they listened in
He knows you know I know
With a tap tap here
And a tap tap there
Here a tap, there a tap
Everywhere a tap tap
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know!
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know
And in his scam they vote too much!
He knows you know I know
With a vote vote here
And a vote vote there
Here a vote, there a vote
Everywhere a vote vote
Old T-Rump he had a scam
He knows you know I know!
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know
And in his scam he had intel
He knows you know I know
With a deep state here
And a deep state there
Here a state, there a state
Everywhere a deep state
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know!
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows you know I know
And in his scam the Epstein died
He knows you know I know
With a guard not here
And a guard not there
Hillary’d here, Hillary’d there
Every dino Hillary’d
With a deep state here
And a deep state there
Here a state, there a state
Everywhere a deep state
With a vote vote here
And a vote vote there
Here a vote, there a vote
Everywhere a vote vote
With a tap tap here
And a tap tap there
Here a tap, there a tap
Everywhere a tap tap
With a Sethrich here
And a Sethrich there
Here a Seth, there a Seth
Everywhere a Sethrich
With his birth not here
And his birth not there
Here no birth, there no birth
Ain’t nowhere Obama’s birth
Old T-Rump, he had a scam
He knows! You know! I know!
The plodding Tyrumposaurus entourage pulled up at the entrance to the Dino Sick Bay in Greaterdayton to a waiting pack of Mediacircustops. Just days before, nine dinos had been slaughtered and 27 more injured in a brutal, senseless early morning attack. While several Greaterdayton dinos had suggested perhaps the T-Rump might want to wait or not bother coming at all, the T-Rump listened to his better devils and here he was, in all his preening glory.
The Stephaniegrisham stepped forward to address the Mediacircustops.
“Hi, remember me?”
“No!” came the resounding chorus.
“Oh, come on, now. I’ve been meaning to speak to you. Really. Maybe next year. Anyways, this is how this meet’n greet, I mean, sympathy visit is going to go down. Let’s remember that the T-Rump is truly a great leader. That’s your headline everyone or I will hunt you down. Following that, this is all about honoring the victims, comforting the communities and thanking the first responders and dino docs for their heroic actions. Kind of like the T-Rump arriving to see you for the first time. Very heroic.”
“Let’s go,” said the T-Rump. “They can’t wait to see me.”
The T-Rump and his closest besty beasties entered the Sick Bay. The Mediacircustops stepped forward as well, right into the raised short arm of the Stephaniegrisham.
“Oh, no. Stop right there. This won’t do. You can’t come inside. Think of the pain and suffering.”
“Oh, the victims. Of course,” said the Andersoncooper.
“No, the T-Rump. What if he actually succumbs to a bout of … empathy? What would you think then?”
“Wow. You are s-o-o-o right.”
Moments later, the T-Rump and friends stood over a recovering dino patient. He was nursing several wounds. He looked up at the T-Rump and struggled to find words.
“I – I …” the wounded dino gasped.
“Go on,” urged the T-Rump.
“I – I … don’t want to see you. Get out of my sight.”
The T-Rump’s pack quickly regrouped and found a second patient to visit.
“Scram!” came the one word response.
Exit stage left and on to a third injured dino, who upon seeing the T-Rump began screaming.
“A-a-a-a-a-a-g-h!”
A dino nurse poked her head in the cave.
“What’s wrong?”
“A nightmare, ohmigod.” He looked up. “A-a-a-a-a-a-g-h! He’s still here! N-o-o-o-o-o-o!”
The nurse quickly ushered the T-Rump and company away from the Greaterdayton victims. Fingers crossed, the Stephaniegrisham pointed to three dino patients who had not been involved in the Greaterdayton attack.
“Here we go. I’m sure your visiting these dinos will be the highlight of their day.”
The first dino rose from his sick nest at the sight of the T-Rump.
“Hah! I loved it when the Joaquincastro identified your major moolah-moolah leaf donors. They’re fueling your campaign of hate that labels the Latinonachos dinos as ‘invaders.’”
“Hey! Wait a minute. He can’t tell dinos that kind of information.”
“You nincompoop. Any dino can look it up. It’s public knowledge.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I don’t even know who the Joaquincastro is other than the lesser brother of a failed candidate who makes a fool of himself every time he opens his mouth. Joaquin is not the dino that his brother is … but his brother, according to most, is … not much!”
“Y’know, T-Rump. You do have a round-about way of making yourself look like an idiot. I’ll give you that.”
The Stephaniegrisham jumped between them.
“It’s not good to be yelling at the patients.”
“He’s not wounded. He’s faking. Fake fake faker!”
A moment later, the T-Rump and friends stopped at the bedside of the next patient. The consoler-in-chief glanced down at him, then off into space.
“So, uh … what are you in for?”
“Bone spurs.”
“Very funny. A wise guy, eh?”
The Stephaniegrisham gave her boss the look. He calmed down.
“Uh, that’s nice.”
“Not really. The Joebiden said you’re fanning the flames of white-striped dino supremacy in the Milkanhoney Preservation.”
“The sleepy Joebiden? B-o-o-o-o-r-i-n-g! The dino nation will do poorly with him. You’ll do poorly with him.” The T-Rump pointed a threatening finger at the wounded dino.
The Stephaniegrisham grabbed the T-Rump by the shoulder.
“One more. Let’s try one more. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
A third non-Greaterdayton attack-related patient was soon blessed with the arrival of a smiling T-Rump, chest held high.
“So, how do you like me so far?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, how have you been treating me so far?”
“You just got here.”
The Danscavino rushed to the patient’s side and whispered something in his ear. The dino patient looked confused.
“Rock star?”
Waving his arms about, the Danscavino attempted to drag the entire phrase from the recovering dino.
“No,” said the patient. “I won’t say it. I’m definitely not treating him like a rock star!”
The Danscavino held his hands up. Conversation over. He peeked at the T-Rump, who was doing his best to grin and bear this latest broadside.
“Don’t worry, boss. He’s delirious. I’ll look after it. I will absolutely get the word out.”
Within hours, the T-Rump Pity Party Part Two arrived at the Dino Sick Bay in Elpasogrande. There they found stronger sentiments staring back at them. Emphatic footprints in the sand that read ‘Go Home!’, ‘Stay Away!’ and “White-Striped Supremacy is NOT a Virtue.” But the T-Rump stepped passed them all. He was here to pay his respects to 22 dead dinos and dozens more wounded whether they liked it or not.
Outside the view of the Mediacircustops once more, the Stephaniegrisham guided the group quickly past the dinos wounded in the white-striped supremacy attack. She wasn’t taking any chances. Straight to the dinos with less of a bone to pick. Or so she thought.
The first dino smiled at the T-Rump. The Foxsquawkbox would ecstatically record it as the first smile at the T-Rump from an Elpasogrande dino in 932 days. The smile came with words.
“I just wanted to say that that was very nice what the Sherrodbrown and the Nanwhaley said earlier today about your meeting the injured dinos in Greaterdayton.”
“What?! Don’t believe it. Fake news! They threw me under the Priebusunderbus! Over and over. It was disgusting. The most disgusting thing the dino world has ever seen!”
The Stephaniegrisham kept repeating to herself, I love my job, I love my job … as she directed the T-Rump over to a second patient. A patient who appeared to by lying in wait, rubbing his short arms together.
“You should have listened to Beto. He told you not to come. The Betoorourke gave you the dirty end of the tail. He called you a white-striped supremacist dino, he did. It looks good on you.”
The T-Rump did a slow burn, his orange skin turning bright red. A chameleon cataclysm.
“You … you tell him to — to … to be quiet!”
The leader of the free-running dino world turned and stormed away. The Stephaniegrisham angled in in front of him, managing to direct him to a final dino, a last gasp attempt at nailing down the smallest of victories she would gladly take at this point. The still-frowning T-Rump looked down at the latest recovering dino.
“What do you want?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’d better.”
The dino didn’t understand.
“Inside joke,” said the T-Rump, itching to leave as soon as dino-ly possible.
“Your lies are catching up with you,” said the dino patient. “The Tuckercarlson said the whole white-striped supremacy thing is a hoax.”
“No, no, no. You’ve got the wrong hoax.”
The dino patient scoffed.
“There are so many. And so we have another Foxsquawkbox dino taking another vacation because they said the wrong thing. You should take a vacation, T-Rump. For good.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘for now,’ thank you very much.”
And with that the T-Rump and his followers fairly barreled out of the Dino Sick Bay into a throng of Mediacircustops waiting for them. The T-Rump stepped forward.
“We had an amazing day, as you know. Well, you would know if you’d been in there. The love, the respect and enthusiasm for me. It was, it really was amazing. I wish you could’ve been in there to see it.”
“Stochastic terror?! What the hell is that?”
The Tyrumposaurus looked incredulously at his acting chief of staff, the Mickmulvaney, who was becoming quite used to explaining big words to the T-Rump.
“Yes, well, they are not good words. Stochastic terror means the public demonization of a dino or group resulting in the incitement of a violent act, which is statistically probable but whose specifics cannot be predicted.”
The T-Rump still looked miffed.
“What the Mediacircustops are suggesting is that your divisive rhetoric played a role in the dino massacres in Gilroygarlic and Elpasogrande.”
“But we get a pass on Greaterdayton,” interrupted the Stephenmillerus. “There’s that.”
“Not something you’d want to turn into a talking point,” corrected the Mickmulvaney.
The three sites in question had seen 34 dinos killed and dozens wounded by lone-wolf dinos. The T-Rump turned to the Stephenmillerus.
“I said god bless them all and that I might look into it. That’s the best I can do. What’s next?”
“What’s next? We do nothing. It’s business as usual. We’re winning. Look at our great way of life. Remember?”
“Except we have a little problem,” said the Mickmulvaney. “It appears the Sherrodbrown, the Timryan and the Berniesanders want the Mitchgetbacktowork to get all his dinos back to the Sin Hut and do something about this.”
“I wouldn’t want my vay-cay interrupted,” said the T-Rump.
His chief of staff looked aghast.
“For 34 dead dinos?”
The three dinos quietly contemplated what was the dead dino magic number before the Kongrus Kave should cancel vacations. A minute later the Stephenmillerus brightened.
“Here’s what we do. We say the Mitchgetbacktowork fell down and hurt his shoulder. He can’t go to the Sin Hut. Dino doc’s orders.”
“Great, Stephen,” said the T-Rump. “Just great. But I’m in a doubling down mood. Especially after the Betoorourke called me a white-striped nationalist. Me? White-striped? C’mon. What can we do there?”
“Elpasogrande is his own neighborhood,” said the Mickmulvaney. “You need to leave that alone. Just say you’re angry, you’re upset and that you want it to stop.”
“I was talking to Stephen. Which reminds me, can I triple down before I double down? It would save time.”
The Stephenmillerus lowered his gaze as he did when the T-Rump asked a question defying simple logic.
The Stephaniegrisham took the awkward pause as a chance to poke her snout into the Oval Dwelling.
“Excuse me, T-Rump? I just wanted to confirm. We are taking away the Briankarem’s access today, aren’t we? I can only avoid him for so long. He already went and told the other Mediacircustops. That wasn’t part of the plan. I may have to speak at some point and I know you don’t want that.”
“Of course not. Didn’t the Huckabeecyclops tell you all her good places to hide?”
“Hide? That one-eyed ogre told the Mediacircustops how to find me!”
The T-Rump chuckled.
“I always liked that girl’s spunk. Stephanie, nobody believes the Mediacircustops fake news anymore so you have a job in title only. Remember that. Just shut up and smile, okay?”
With that ringing endorsement, she retired from the cave. The T-Rump rejoined his dilemma du jour.
“The most important thing about Elpasogrande and Greaterdayton, the big question here is when can I get back to dividing the dino nation? When?!”
“I don’t think you want to go there just yet,” said the Mickmulvaney.
“Silence!” said the Stephenmillerus. “It’s so easy to see why you are the acting chief of staff.”
The Mickmulvaney shrank inside. The damning designation always hit him to the core.
The Stephenmillerus stuck out his jaw, signalling he had something very important to say.
“I’m sure you can dive right back in with your fiery rhetoric within the next 24-to-48 hours. We can turn this on its head and distract the dino nation by blaming the Mediacircustops as the motivation behind the massacres. They’re the ones stirring the pot with their fake news.”
“Great stuff, Stephen. But I know you’ve got more evil in your genius. Dig deep now.”
The T-Rump and the Mickmulvaney leaned back in their squats in awe as the T-Rump senior advisor did a double shift of his jaw, verbally grinding down upon all things evil and wicked.
“We could suspend all Mediacircustops access to the Oval Dwelling for 48 hours. No, we need to get meaner. … We have you call the Betoorourke a white-striped nationalist. That would keep him hopping for days. … That’s two bad things. Hmm …”
“I think we’re missing the point,” said the Mickmulvaney. “The real two bad things are Elpasogrande and Greaterdayton. These are what dinos are connecting.”
The Stephenmillerus raised his hand as if to swat the Mickmulvaney but paused, resuming his diabolical thought process.
“Two bad things … connected …”
A light went on in his head, spelling obvious doom for the Milkanhoney Preservation.
“I’ve got it. We join the massacre issue and our migration problem by introducing background check legislation on all migrant dinos coming across the Great Tex-Mex Divide. How dark and devilish! Two wrongs to make a right. For us!”
The Stephenmillerus’ sinister laugh filled the Oval Dwelling.
“Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
The 20 Donkeykongrus dinos slogged along, continuing their Trudge-About, a Trumpassic Period version of the walk-about. It was a soul-searching trek these dinos took religiously every month. The November battle was still 15 months away but it was never too late to commiserate with comrades about how best to defeat the Tyrumposaurus.
They made their way through Motorsitty-Klunker, a greasy-grassed Michigonian meadow where the rubber trees met the road. They traveled in two packs of ten, separated by a hundred yards and a thousand thoughts. Misery loves company but let’s not get ridiculous.
In the lead group, the Elizabethwarren raised her short arm.
“We can’t take the Oval Dwelling with small ideas and spinelessness.”
“That’s why we need to take care of ourselves,” said the Johndelaney. “It’s all about health and I’m the only dino here with experience in the business.”
“It’s not a business,” said the Berniesanders.
“You don’t know that, Bernie,” said the Timryan. “You don’t know that.”
“I do know it. I wrote the damn bill.”
“Woah!” said the Johnhickenlooper. “I want everyone to just stop and think of where you would be if you woke up tomorrow morning and needed life saving surgery.”
“Thanks John,” said the Betoorourke. “You sure know how to ruin a good trudge-about. We already have the Stevebullock’s false choice. And now your freaked-out choice.”
The Stevebullock harrumphed.
“False choice? Hah! I kicked the Kochbrothersaurus out of Hannah-Montana! The Kochbrothersaurus! Uh … where was I? Oh, yeah. False choice. Better than watching you guys keep trying to outdo each other with your stupid wish lists.”
The Johndelaney clapped him on the back.
“I agree with you, Steve, but I have to go you one better on the wish lists because I need to get to 5% like now. We can win if we run on real solutions, not impossible promises. Things that are workable, not fairy tales.”
The Elizabethwarren again waved her arms in the air emphatically.
“Why anyone would go to the trouble of being the leader of the dino nation only to talk about all the things we can’t get done.”
The Johndelaney smiled back at her awkwardly, as if he’d delivered the punch line.
“Wow,” said the Johnhickenlooper, “I’m glad she got you, John, before I spoke, because I’m dead set in my ways and can’t comprehend change. And these are radical changes we’re talking.”
The Berniesanders threw his hands up.
“Throw your hands up,” said John.
“Okay,” said Bernie, throwing his hands up.
“Oh, I can do that to,” said the Johnhickenlooper. So both dinos took turns throwing their hands up for a moment or two, as the other dinos thankfully reminded themselves the dino world wasn’t watching.
“Hey,” said the Petebuttigieg, “I’ve spent my entire adult lifetime waiting for a moment like this. Hear me out. They’re going to say we’re a bunch of crazy socialists. So, let’s just stand up for the right policy, go out there and defend it. That’s my policy.”
The dinos all paused, looking at him for a long moment.
“N-a-a-a-a-h,” they said with a collective shake of their heads.
“You need a voice from the heartland,” ventured the Amyklobuchar.
“Define heartland,” said the Timryan. “Because that sounds damn close to Youngstown.” He let his glare resonate. He turned to the others. “I hope tonight at some level I captured your imagination.”
“Ooh,” said the Mariannewilliamson, holding out her trembling hands. “Can you feel the toxicity and emotional turbulence below the surface?”
A visibly frightened Timryan backed away from her. Youngstown was replaced by Crazytown. She continued.
“What imagination? I’ll show you imagination. Where should I start? The war on wonkiness? The 40 acres and a mule?” I know, how about the dark psychic force of the collectivized hatred?
A hundred yards behind, the second pack of ten dinos weren’t faring much better.
The Billdeblasio tapped the Joebiden on the shoulder.
“Hey, I’m still waiting to hear your response when the issue came up of all those deportations.”
The Joebiden turned to face him.
“But here’s the deal. The fact is that we’re talking about things that occurred a long, long time ago. And now, all of a sudden, you know — I find it fascinating. Everybody is talking about how terrible I am on these issues.”
“Now you’re talking,” said the Coreybooker. “You’re dipping into the Koolaid and you do know the flavour.”
Koolaid was a nickname for the less swampy water slurped from the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. The Joebiden grasped the Coreybooker’s arm.
“The fact is that the leader — that, excuse me, the exalted one … damn, the numero uno, hold on now, I’ll get it … the future leader here — there … finally.”
“Thanks for your endorsement,” said the Coreybooker. “Giving up already, are you?”
“Joe,” said the Jayinslee. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, now don’t take this the wrong way, but your health plan … well, I’m afraid to say … it’s … middling.
“Middling?”
“That’s right. Middling.”
“As in middle-weight,” said the Kamalaharris. “Sorry, Jay, if you want to punch up, you’ve got to go at him harder. Allow me.” She stared down the Joebiden. “Welcome to Round Two. Let’s talk health care. Unfortunately, you’re just simply inaccurate in what you’re describing.”
“Stop right there!”
It was the Tulsigabbard. Her eyes positively gleamed at the Kamalaharris.
“You blocked evidence that would’ve helped a dino on death row, you put 1500 wacky-tobaccy dinos in the Solitary Sinkhole and you kept other dinos there too long — to be used as cheap labor.”
The Kamalaharris was caught flat-footed. A wise Juliancastro looked on.
“It looks like more than one of us hasn’t learned the lessons of the past and one of us, heh-heh — that would be me — has.”
The Kamalaharris finally found her voice.
“I – I’m proud of my record. History’s proud of my record. 40 million Califortyniners are proud of my record. Proud, proud, proud. You know what you can do with your, your fancy speeches.”
You could hear a lone swamp bubble pop in the reservoir. The dinos looked at one another. The Andrewyang finally broke the tension.
“Hey, did you know that the opposite of the T-Rump is an Asian dino who likes math?”
The Kirstengillibrand saw her chance and jumped in.
“I’ll tell you this, if you want to get something done, just tell me it’s impossible.”
“That cliff over there,” said the Coreybooker, grinning at her. “It’s impossible to jump off it.”
“Ahem,” said the Michaelbennett. “Listen up. Who doesn’t think I can draw a straight line from the Dixieslaver dinos … through the Segregators … through the Caveless Crisis … through the Solitary Sinkhole … right to the Betsydevos? Huh? C’mon. Any takers? I win. You lose.”
The Donkeykongrus debates continued.
David Belisle