Satire The Trump Dig

The Hypocrisy Oath …

“The Hypocrisy Oath?”

The Tyrumposaurus looked up from the footprints in the sand at the Stephenmillerus.

“I think it’s my best work,” said the T-Rump’s senior advisor. “You know you’re only as mean as your last footprint.”

“Stephen, I know where you’re coming from when you’re immoral as hell. I get that. But hypocrisy? It’s just another big word. And you know how I feel about oaths.”

“Oh, you’re going to love this. The Hypocrisy Oath is an oath that requires a new Grandoldparty dino to swear, by a number of falsehoods and misdeeds, to uphold specific unethical standards.”

“Are you sure we need this? I’ve got 8000 lies under my belt already.”

“It’s the others I’m worried about. We need to get them up to speed.”

Thirty minutes later the two dinos hid behind a rock off to the side at the Huckabeecyclops’ monthly Mediacircustops briefing. She rolled her evil eye and began.

“The authorities have tracked down a rogue White Supremasaurus who was intent on gobbling up a number of Mediacircustops.” Then under her breath. “Not that that’s a bad thing.”

“Huckabee!” hollered the Jimacosta. “In light of this, do you think the T-Rump should tone down his rampant rhetoric berating the Mediacircustops?”

“On the contrary, every single time something like this happens, the T-Rump is typically one of the first dinos to condemn the violence and you dinos are the first to blame him.”

The T-Rump turned to whisper to the Stephenmillerus.

“She’s taken the Hyprocisy Oath?”

“Didn’t have to. She’s a veteran.”

The Jimacosta had a large, runny nose for news. His sniffer picked up the T-Rump instantly.

“T-Rump! Would you care to add to that? Do you bear any responsibility because of your demeaning, divisive and vulgar language?”

The T-Rump put on his best blank face.

“No, I don’t. I think my language is very nice.”

A couple of dinos would later admit to seeing smoke coming out of the Huckabeecyclops ears. She jumped to the fore.

“What did I say, Jimacosta!? What did I say? How dare you! As if the T-Rump has to explain himself to you. No, you listen to him! I can’t believe this nonsense. The T-Rump won the battle. Decidedly. Here you are, acting like he was elected.”

The T-Rump stepped up to the flat rock podium.

“Thank you, Huckabee. It appears I need to remind the Mediacircustops that I am looking out for them … and that they are the enemy of the dinos. I don’t even have to use my sing-song voice to tell you who else is the enemy of the dino nation. It’s those damn dinos who are migrating illegally around the Great Tex-Mex Divide. They are smuggling in other dinos, enslaving them, and forcing them to bungle in the jungle … uh, outside of mating season. Very bad stuff. Horrible. Just horrible. All those poor female Duck Taypuhsaurae. Any dino that would take advantage of any one of them is no friend of mine.

The Kaitlyncollins raised her short arm.

“Actually, T-Rump, your very good friend, the Robertkraft, whom you’ve often had over to your luxury cave at Mar-a-Guano, he was just dragged away on two counts of bungling in the jungle with one those poor dinos you just mentioned in the Neverglades. Except — fact check alert — she followed a regular migration route. What about those bungles in the jungle, T-Rump?”

“Uh, well.” The T-Rump stole a look at the Stephenmillerus who winked back with ringing confidence. “Yes, well … let’s look at my friends first and foremost, shall we? There was the Robporter. Those allegations made against him were false and simply a smear campaign. Don’t forget the Judgeroymoore. He denied it. He totally denied it. He said it didn’t happen. You have to listen to him. He said 40 years ago, this did not happen.”

“And what about yourself, T-Rump?” she asked.

He dismissed her with a wave of the hand.

“At last count there were at least 18 accusers. Need I say more? I mean, really?”

Satire The Trump Dig

Captainobvious: Is this Obstruction?

He was a gangly, lanky dinosaur with a bold, inquisitive stare and a penchant for asking dinos about things clearly apparent. He was the Captainobvious. Walking home through the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir one afternoon after playing a neighbourly game of Catch Me, I’m Slow, his nostrils picked up a new, nauseating low in the stench level of the cesspool, giving him pause for thought and a chance to gasp for fresh air.

Beside the trail, he noticed a sign-up footprint in the sand for stumbling, bumbling dinos with their noses pressed to the ground. He read the footprint acronym. P-U-S-S-Y. Hmm. Does PUSSY stand for Pathetic Undying Support Sycophant Yesdinos? His curiosity was interrupted with the pounding, plodding sound of another dino coming up the path behind him. Great. Someone to chat with as he continued on his way home.

The Captainobvious squinted at the approaching dino. Could it be? Why, yes. It was none other than the Tyrumposaurus’ arch-nemesis, the Muellersavus.

“Hello, Bob. You must be finishing another day of investigation without suffering one teeny, tiny information leak.”

No answer from the tight-lipped Muellersavus, his eyes unwavering, staring straight ahead.

“Would this be a bad time to discuss your investigation?”

Not a peep.

“Are you a selective mute? … No, of course not. Anyway, I’m having a Leg of Legosaurus brunch next week and was wondering if you’d help me with some simple ice-breakers. You know, innocuous conversation?”

The Muellersavus remained silent, his eyes searching the path for an exit ramp. Unfortunately it was a one-way path with a cliff on one side and bubbling lava pits on the other. He was doomed.

“So,” the Captainobvious continued, “if I have this correct, the Comenyonus wouldn’t let the Flynnhasbeen thing go, then two days after the Comeyonus was let go, the T-Rump told the Lesterholt that it was ‘this Russodino thing’ that upset the T-Rump. I don’t know about you, but I think the T-Rump fired the Comeyonus.”

The Muellersavus thought about taking his chances with a cliff dive.

“Bob, was the T-Rump waiting for the last drop of blood to be licked up from the November battle before canning the Sessionsopossum? It happened kind of quickly. The Sessionsopossum was the first dino with a heartbeat to get behind him. I can think of a better way of saying thank you.”

I’d thank you to make a hard left into a lava pit, thought the Muellersavus. He considered giving him a gentle nudge.

“And the Mattwhitaker didn’t deserve this. He really didn’t. If there’s one thing the Mattwhitaker knows, well … maybe one day you can find it. But what about the Andymccabe? After twenty years of dedicated service to the Langleyops, the T-Rump has him fired the day before he was to receive his pension. That was probably a little humiliating.”

The two dinos trudged on, the Muellersavus doggedly, the Captainobvious obviously.

“The Mediacircustops tells us that the T-Rump spent 330 days or 43% of his time as ruler of the Milkanhoney Preservation attacking your investigation of collusion with the Russodinos. Over 1100 attacks. That’s a trend. Are you going to include the 61 times the T-Rump defended the Putinodon and the Russodinos in your report? Because you may be onto something.”

The Muelleravus’ pace quickened. The Captainobvious took a couple of deep breaths to try and keep up.

“I almost forgot, isn’t your report coming out soon? The attorney general dino might want to take a look at that. If the Williambarr or the Mattwhitaker coaxed you into finishing your report a little more quickly, I think it was probably the Mattwhitaker. That’s one reason the T-Rump hired him, y’know.”

Satire The Trump Dig

Married to the Mob …

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, George.”

The Kellyanneconvixway blinked her bloodshot eyes.

Okay, now that we got that out of the way, tell me, how are you going to screw up my life today?”

The Georgeconway didn’t bat an eye. In fact, the short squat dino relished the low-key torture. The killer lady dinos turned him on. Before meeting his wife of 17 years, he’d dated the hard-charging Lauraingraham of Foxsquawkbox infamy. And it was the equally ferocious Anncoulter who had introduced him to Kellyanne. Rocky periods were part of any geological era. But George’s marriage was in extra peril thanks to that dino. Her boss. The Tyrumposaurus.

“You did hear him call me Mister Kellyanne?”

She tittered into her hand.

“Honestly, George. You mustn’t take it so personal.”

“Personal? You went and told the Mediacircustops that nobody knows you because of me. That people know me because of you.”

As a legal dino with Walkfall Slipton Frozenkatz, the Georgeconway rolled in a nest lined with millions of moolah-moolah leaves.

She sniffed at him.

“All you had to say was yes and you could’ve had a job in the justice department …”

“What, and puke up my lunch every day?”

“What are saying, George?”

“That you must have a cast-iron stomach. … C’mon, Kellyanne. The Mattwhitaker as Attorney General? Are you kidding me? If we ever get a door to this cave, he’ll be the doorstop.”

“The T-Rump followed the rules,” she said curtly. “The Mattwhitaker was an assistant to the Sessiosopossum.”

“He was a spy. Before that he was shaking down dinos for their life savings. The T-Rump loves him because he’s a consummate crook who hates the Muellersavus.”

“Oh, George. It’s not relevant.”

“Not relevant? Look at me. It’s dragging down the bags under your eyes!”

She glared at him.

“Do you want an alternative fact? Huh? Do you? Cuz I’ll give you one so fast!”

“Good god, no.”

He remembered the image of her breaking up a fight between two dinos on the T-Rump’s inauguration night. She’d bopped one of them three times right on the button.

They shook their heads in disgust at each other. George continued a few seconds after she’d stopped. Small victory savored. 

“17 million dinos dead in the Great War,” he snorted, “and the T-Rump can’t even make it to the memorial.”

“It was raining.”

“I know. Wrong color showers.”

“Oh, George. That is so disrespectful. Just like your Trollertweety messages criticizing the T-Rump.”

My messages?!”

“Yes, they’re a violation of our marriage vows.”

“The T-Rump’s umpteen trysts aside, I have to tell someone. I must alert the dino world. That nincompoop will be the death of us all.”

“Nonsense, George. Now listen … I know there’s a part of you that thinks I chose the T-Rump over you.”

A part? Try all two tons! How can you work for that lecherous lout? You must be flat-out freaking bonkers!”

Kellyanne’s eyes rolled over into the devil zone.

Melania doesn’t care!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs.

It was their “safe word phrase” for when their T-Rump tensions ran too high. George had insisted on three words lest it be confused for another alternative fact.

Placid serenity or some semblance of it had returned. He sighed, taking in the fresh grin on his wife’s face he convinced himself meant nothing. Nothing at all.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, George.”

Satire The Trump Dig

The Pregnant Playmatapus …


The crowd of dinosaur deplorables at Faux Washington Falls chanted as one, stamping their feet and punching the air with their short arms. The chant was in honor of the Nobelpeacepiper, a high-flying Pterodactyl known for dive-bombing into potential dinosaur warfare and incessantly pecking the instigators on the nose, the Achilles Heel of all dinosaurs.

The chanting continued for the T-Rump, who had threatened the Kimjongadon with annihilation unless he released all his captive Nuclearballisticus. It was the absolute threat of fire and fury, a suicidal game plan the T-Rump’s dino base reveled in.


“Thank you, thank you,” said the T-Rump. “That’s right. No Bull. No collusion. No Russodinos and — you said it — No Bull!”

The next day, the Stormydaniels lawyer Michaelavenatti squatted alongside the Jaketapper on Tapper’s Sunday morning caveside chat.

“So, Michael, did you predict that the Huckabeecyclops and Kellyanneconvixway would be sitting together at last night’s Mediacircustops T-Rump Roast?”

“No, they probably drew the short sticks.  But it’s hard to have a roast when the host fails to show up. He can run away from the laughs but not from the law.”

The legal dino grinned mischievously.

“You’re grinning mischievously, Michael,” said the Jaketapper. “Moreso even than my trademark Goofy Chuckle. Where’s that grin coming from? Could it be your glee at the Michaelcohen’s predicament … or perhaps from your recent claim that the disgraced former moolah-moolah director of the Grandoldparty, the Elliottbroidy, had nothing to do with the T-Rump’s legal dino, the Michaelcohen?”

“That information comes from an impeccable dino source.”

“Well, you haven’t been wrong yet. Are you suggesting that the T-Rump got this third dino, a Playmatapus pregnant? That would be number two on the Out-of-Wedlock Pregnancy Scoreboard for the T-Rump.”

“No predictions. Yet.”

“Let’s kick this latest T-Rump rumour around the room, shall we?”

“You kick. I’ll litigate,” the Michaelavenatti said smugly.

“The Michaelcohen,” the Jaketapper began, “is the T-Rump’s legal dino. Why would the T-Rump loan him out? What’s in it for the T-Rump? And why on earth would the Elliottbroidy take the fall for the T-Rump?”

“Notice that the names in the sand never changed, just the dinosaurs. One of them anyways.”

The Jaketapper tapped the flat rock.

“There was the Middle Eastlands kerfuffle the Elliottbroidy started against the Qatartatertots. Then his measly mea culpa to the Mediacircustops, apologizing to his wife and little dinos, saying the hanky panky was between two consenting dinos. Who says that?

“All my clients, actually.”

“But … and here’s the dark underbelly, the potential tyrant-toppling news … the Playmatapus had an abortion? What the heck is that?”

“An abortion? I don’t know, Jake.”

“It – it just sounds wrong. Maybe that’s what we should be talking about.”

“It sets a dangerous precedent, whatever it is.”

“A dinosaur abortion. How does the Plodding Church of Blue Hair Dino Immaculate Mercy roll past that one? Can they?”

“My client has no comment.”

“What’s next? The T-Rump abandoning the Great Tex-Mex Divide? No wonder this, this …”

“Abortion, Jake.”

“It’s an abortion of our senses, that’s what it is … worth 1.6 million moolah-moolah leaves evidently. And the Michaelcohen made 250 thousand off that. His newfound hobby. Dino Belly Watching. I can’t believe we’re talking about dinosaur gestation periods. How did we  get here, Michael?”

“Well, it appears that if you’re a Pornadactyl or a Playmatapus, it’s only a matter of time before the T-Rump is going to knock you … I mean, come knocking. Following that, a meeting with the Michaelcohen-Keithdavidson conspiracy combo to put your signature footprint in the sand, thereby buying your silence.”

“I’m sorry, did you say conspiracy, Michael?”

“Conspiracy-collusion, Pornodactyl-Playmatapus. They’re all the same to the T-Rump and the Michaelcohen. The latter being of course, a Pursepuppy without a bone.”

Satire The Trump Dig

Meager Legal Dinos …

The Mikepompeo stuck his neck into the Oval Dwelling.

“Excuse me, T-Rump?”


The Tyrumposaurus looked at him with panicky, bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t slept in a week. He sent out his Trollertweeties at all hours these days. Their messages, garbled at best, lacked their usual scorched earth policy. Instead, they sounded like those from a sniveling Snotnose, a dino prone to complaining of phantom bone spur pain. The T-Rump was having a bad day, a terrible week and a catastrophic month. The Michaelcohen raid had been a vicious dinosaur tail to the face.

Surrounding the T-Rump were the remaining dregs from the legal dino profession willing to work pro bono in addition to receiving copious amounts of daily verbal and psychological abuse.

‘I – I’ve come to a landmark decision with the Kimjongadon.”

“How nice,” the T-Rump replied through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t help me now, does it!”

“But …”

“Can’t you see we’re in the middle of serious business here!? How can I make the Milkanhoney Preservation great again if I’m in the Solitary Sinkhole?”

“Yes, T-Rump.” The Mikepompeo turned to go.

“Pompeo, tell the Barbarabush funeral dinos I couldn’t make it out of respect … but since the T-Melania is there ….”

“I’ll see what Pornodactyls or Playmatapus are in the neighborhood.”

“You didn’t have to tell everyone.”

The aspiring Secretary of State exited.

“Okay,” the T-Rump said, turning to his lead dino attorney. The Jaysekulow was gnawing thoughtfully on a dead rodent. “What have you got for me?”

“We have some fresh meat, I mean legal dinos, added to the team.”

“Oh?” The T-Rump’s gaze skipped the first two dinos — both males — to land on the third. A female. They shared a smile, the T-Rump wanting more.

“This is the Rudygiuliani …”


“The, uh … Martyraskin …”

And?” The T-Rump grew impatient.

“The Janeraskin, of course. His wife.”

“How unfortunate.” The T-Rump winced.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“So unfortunate that you … and your husband … are only joining our team just now. I, I mean we, could’ve used you before.”

The T-Rump eyed the three new members.

“You will be working pro bono of course and, as none of you have my best interests at heart more than me, I will be calling the shots. One thing you all can do for me however …”

“Yes, yes?” the Rudygiuliani said a little too eagerly.

“I’ll need you to make up derogatory nicknames for yourselves. I simply don’t have the time.”

The Martyraskin raised a claw.

“Excuse me, but I heard that the Grandoldparty committee was spending 25% of its moolah-moolah on legal fees?”

The Jaysekulow shook his head.

“Boy, have you got a lot to learn.” He turned to his boss. “The latest status report:  we have over 100 civil law suits at the federal level, there’s the Stormydaniels thing, the Summerzervos defamation suit, the Muellersavus investigation and, this just in … the Donkeykongrus committee is suing us and the Russodinos and the Wikileakibeak for interfering with their election campaign.”

“Well, sue them back!”

“For what?”

“For suing me in the first place! How dare they!”

The Jaysekulow knew better than to butt heads with the T-Rump. The Dowderpuff had implied he knew more than the T-Rump and was now back to chasing the speedy Ambulansaurus’.

“We’ll come up with something, T-Rump. So … what kind of day are you having? Is it a I’m-smarter-than-the-Muellersavus or a He-hurt-my-feelings kind of day?”

The T-Rump mulled it over.

“That damn Comeyonus has really got me going. Who made him the law of the land? Honestly, if we just keep saying all media and their sources and the Donkeykongrus … am I missing any dino?

“Just say all dinos not present, T-Rump.”

“Right. If we can just keep lying about that then my six lies a day are meaningless, right?”

“Just one thing, T-Rump,” said the Martyraskin, “the Comeyonus has never changed his story. It’s uncanny. I’ve never heard a dino so eloquent, so convincing. Dare I say it, I really believe he’s telling the truth.”

“Hoo-boy,” said the Jaysekulow.

The T-Rump’s brow furrowed into a second frown.

“Do you want to work for me for free or not?”

The Martyraskin looked away, considering the moolah-moolah he would make from his own footprints-in-the-sand tell-all expose of this blowhard buffoon.

“I’m good,” he said.

“Alright then. I’m only keeping you because your wife had to divorce some other dino to marry you, right?”

She hadn’t, but the Raskin dinos quickly recognized the T-Rump’s penchant for maximum humiliation. There was no point in arguing with his alternate reality. Some walnut brains were simply more cracked than others. This was going to be a wild ride.

Satire The Trump Dig

The Seanhannity Calamity …

The Seanhannity clan gathered around the fresh kill of the day for supper. A delicious, 6000-pound Denversaurus. The Jillrhodes looked over the carcass at her husband and their two young dinos, the Patrickhannity and Merrihannity, drooling at the feast before them. The Seanhannity hadn’t killed it of course. No, when you made 36-million moolah-moolah a year as a Foxsquawkbox mouthpiece, you had others do your killing for you. The Jillrhodes knew the meat would expire in a few hours and they’d better eat fast. Still, there were flat rock table manners. She eyed her dino tots’ grubby hands.

“Patrick, Merri. No mud on the meat now. It’s all in the presentation.”

The children quickly licked their dirty hands clean, salivating all the while.

“I want the eyeballs!” said Patrick.

“No, I want the eyeballs!” said Merri.

“Here,” said their mother, ripping the fleshy orbs from the eye sockets of the wide skull. “Thank goodness dinos have two eyes. But ribs first, you two. Then the eyes.”

A Denversaurus Rib-Eye was indeed a delicacy. With the two young dinos immersed in the dripping spoils, the Jillrhodes turned to her husband.

“Can you believe the Michaelcohen?”

“The Michael who?”

“That slimeball legal dino.”

“Oh.” The Seanhannity pretended to lose himself in the meaty armpit before him.

“Not that he’s ever been in Dinosaur Court. At last count before the raid, his clients were mixed up with a Pornodactyl, a couple of Playmaytapus and that smiling nincompoop, the Keithdavidson. Not once or twice. Three times!”

“That’s not a charm,” her husband said, thoughtfully swallowing a chunk of meat.

“No, it’s downright disgusting. How’d he come to be the T-Rump’s legal dino?”

“Uh, this is still the Milkanhoney Preservation. He has rights, you know.”

The Jillrhodes snorted. Bloody mucus spewed from her nose.

“Hah! What good are rights when you have no morals?”

The Seanhannity thanked his lucky charms his wife wasn’t on his show.

She picked up the club-like femur bone and quickly stripped the meat from it.

“You think the T-Rump doubles down? I’ll show you doubling down. If I ever caught you with a Pornodactyl …”

She whacked him twice on the noggin. Hard.

“Ouch! Hey!”

“Mommy’s hitting daddy again,” Merri announced.

“Everything’s okay, children. Your mother is just laying down the law.”

She turned back to her husband.

“When you go into Foxsquawkbox mode, I have no idea what you’re up to.”

“You would if you’d just watch my show.”

“You know I wouldn’t waste one second on that trivial tripe you call the truth.”

“Can we watch, mom?” the dino tots said as one.

“NO! It’ll poison your minds!” She turned back to her cowering mate. “And this mystery client. Hah! What a crock of Shishkabobcats.”

“Mom, what’s a mystery client?” asked Patrick.

“A dino who is trying to hide something.”

“Like what?”

“Ask your father.”

The Seanhannity gulped, swallowed a bone and hacked it up.

“What?! … I mean … (cough, cough) who knows? Yeah. … Pffph. Who knows?”

Patrick scrunched his face.

“But you said you knew everything, including the Donkeykongrus’ Deep State thoughts, daddy.”

“Seanhannity! Have you been teaching our children those cornball conspiracy theories again?!”

“Hey, it’s a dino-eat-dino world out there.”

“But what the Michaelcohen is doing is criminal.”

“Innocent until proven guilty?” He looked to his kids for support. They weren’t buying it. Better they not see ol’ daddy dino like this. “Kids, time to play outside the cave.”

“Seanhannity!” his wife exclaimed. Good to see how popular he was in his own home.

“You know very well we’re in the Pterodactyl prime pickin’s corridor this time of day.” She eyed him warily. “Something’s wrong. What are you hiding? C’mon, out with it.

“Uh. Nothing.”

“Don’t you nothing me.” She pointed to the bloody Denversaurus. “You’re next on the flat rock if you don’t cough it up right now. And your sudden demise won’t be a Sethrich conspiracy story. I’ll tell them I did it.”

She bonked him twice again with the bloody femur bone. It was their new Talking Bone.

“Alright, alright.” The Seanhannity surrendered, holding his short arms in the air. “I’M the mystery client. But he’s not really my legal dino. He helped me out with some advice on real estate. You know, the Porno-, I mean Hornoplenty Badlands.”

“Oh, this could end badly for you alright.”

She took one look at their children and told herself she wouldn’t scar them for life. No, she’d bide her time. Because hell hath no fury like a dino scorned by a Michaelcohen client.

She gave her husband the extra-hairy eyeball. Her nostrils flared, slimy snot bubbles boiling over. Momma was mad.

Merri turned to her brother.

“Daddy’s sleeping in the den tonight.”

Satire The Trump Dig

Mar-a-Guano Meet-n-Tweet …

There was the gnashing of teeth and flashing of raw, rare Kosmoceratops meat in the mouths of the Tyrumposaurus, the Jeaninepirro, the Seanhannity and the frizzy-scalped Donking. The four dinos were at the T-Rump’s Mar-a-Guano retreat to discuss strategy and devour spoils befitting their standing in the topsy-turvy political food chain.

The Jeaninepirro paused, blood dripping from her jowls, her sharp teeth and claws deep in a juicy flap of Kosmo red meat. The kind of red meat that makes a dino see red. The Jeaninepirro ate a lot of red meat.

“T-Rump,” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join your legal team? I’m free next week.”

“Well, I’ve been giving it a great amount of consideration, meaning I wasn’t thinking about it until you mentioned it, but … I think I’d like you to stay with the Foxsquawkbox and friends. You serve me so well there. Very well. So … so … well.”

“We’re doing our best, T-Rump,” said the Seanhannity. “It’s all we can do to stay ahead of the sick and twisted agenda of the Mediacircustops down at the Main Stream.”

“Sick and twisted agenda,” the T-Rump said. “I like that.”

“I’m truly humbled,” said the Foxsquawkbox host. “I have more. Rabid rabbit-hole reporters … left-leaning, lily-livered liars … deep doo-doo, Deep State defenders …”

“Fine, just fine, Sean. I’ll keep you another week.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding. Just an old line my mother used to tell me. Which is why I like my father much better. When I picture my father and my mother in mind, my father is always bigger. Much bigger.”

“Ahem,” said the Jeaninepirro, “I believe it’s my turn to bash those liberal line-spewing losers. LOCK’EM UP!”

Her loud shout startled the T-Rump. He clutched his throat, choking on a half-chewed flap of Kosmo gizzard, his second helping of gizzard because his guests were only allowed one. The horror in the T-Rump’s eyes spoke of a suddenly realized threat that no one would save him.

“Ohmigod! Did I do that?” she said. “I’m so sorry. Are you dying? You’re not going to uninvite me, are you?”

The Donking sprang to action. He brought his tail around like a roundhouse punch, right to the kisser. A tooth tumbled out of the T-Rump’s mouth. His eyelids sank, pulling the shades over their panic.

“You dummy,” said the Seanhannity. “You knocked him out.”

“That’s all I know,” said the Donking, squatting back on his haunches.

The Seanhannity jumped in the air, landing with resounding thud on the T-Rump’s belly. The T-Rump’s eyelids flew open and the guilty gizzard ejected high up in the air. The three other dinosaurs jockeyed for position under the flight of the juicy red meat. A quick two kicks to two groins and the Jeaninepirro snapped her jaws shut, swallowing the gizzard.

“M-m-m, sloppy seconds.”

A dazed T-Rump struggled to a squatting position.

“Did the Mediacircustops get my successful recovery? Did the Maggiehaberman say anything about me? Anything?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the Seanhannity. “There’s always tomorrow.”

“That’s all that matters.” The T-Rump sighed. “Has her husband left her yet?”

The other three dinosaurs shared the Oval Dwelling’s daily conundrum of wondering whether to humor the leader of the dinosaur world or simply ignore him. They nodded that in this case ignorance was bliss.

The Seanhannity raised a claw.

“Here’s one we haven’t tried yet. Let’s say that the Main Stream Mediacircustops only have jobs if they profess to have an undying, looks could kill, spit in your face hatred of you.”

“I’ll go you one better,” said the Jeaninepirro. “The Sinclair dinos — Sub Family of the Mediacircustops — have close to 200 species at the Main Stream. We should have them all say the same fake news message. Something like …”

“Let’s do this together,” interrupted the Seanhannity. “You know, misery loves company. I’ll start. We, the stalwart, know-it-all Sinclair dinos will root out the …”

“Nefarious, ugly thought-provoking, fickle, time-wasting facts,” chimed in the Jeaninepirro.

“That only serve to take our esteemed leader, the Tyrumposaurus, and his most important thoughts away from his latest game of flog,” finished the Seanhannity.

“I like it,” said the T-Rump. “Make it so. All 200 species. Give me loyalty. Or moolah-moolah.”

“Speaking of which,” said the Seanhannity. “We finally found a dinosaur poll that gives you a 50% approval rating.”

“How much did we pay for that?”

“We don’t want to say things like that, T-Rump,” cautioned the Jeaninepirro.

“Oh, right. Well, what poll was it?”

“Oh,” said the Seanhannity. “A little dino outfit just this side of extinction. It’s called the Ragamuffin Report.”

“They said 50%?”

“Yes. Well, they polled 5 dinosaurs and it’s a rolling average over a 5-minute period. Give or take 20 percent.”

“Fantastic! That’s more than the Obamarus ever had. Isn’t it?”

“At some point.”

“I want more. 60%. Get me 60.”

“Allow me,” said the Donking. “You want to beat the Obamarus? I can see it now.” He waved his short arms wide. Twice for effect. “We’ll call it The T-Rump Thump-a-Chump.’ You and the Obamarus toe-to-toe.”

“Can we throw in the Crookadillary too? Remember how I thumped her?”

“Are you sure you can handle two at the same time?” asked the Jeaninepirro.

“Oh, sure. You should’ve seen what I did to that place in the Moscovian Bluffs. Trashed it!”

“But what about your bone spurs?”

The T-Rump smiled his satisfied, lounge lizard smile.

“Did you want to see them? I have a private cave just around the corner. Out of the way, unassuming, includes a non-disclosure agreement. But you know all about those.”

Satire The Trump Dig

The Moscowchickenkiev …

Ho-hum, thought the Muellersavus. Another day, another victory. For collusion. His Langleytips DNA told him it was only a matter of sifting through the rubble and connecting the rocks that mattered. Today he was sitting atop a boulder.

He ramped up his steely-eyed gaze and directed it across the rustic rockpile at the latest stool pigeon caught in his gut-squeezing, mind-melding jaws of justice.

The Alexvanderzwaan, a Danishbritwit ex-legal dino from the meager Skadden Arps Slate Formation, squatted before him. He was the 19th dinosaur caught in the Moscovian Bluffs investigation. Beside him squatted the Rickyprisongates, nervously eyeing the Muellersavus. The veteran Langleytips dinosaur had already nailed him for washing millions of moolah-moolah leaves with his kingpin idol, the Manaforta, in all the wrong places. Law abiding dinos knew moolah-moolah leaves should always be washed at home.

“Alex,” said the Muellersavus, “you lied to me about your conversation with the Rickyprisiongates here. Now that you’re staring at the Solitary Sinkhole, you spent the past three days whining to one of my subordinate dinos about how you desperately need to be home to see the egg cracking of your first little dino.”

“Please, Muellersavus. I’m just a lonely Danishbritwit.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The Muellersavus waggled a boney claw at him. “I call it collusion entitlement. Did you ever stop to think how I feel? The Papadopoulus. The Flynnhasbeen. And now you. Lying to me. All of you. Do you think this is some dino game of Hang the Droopy Nose on the Dippy Diplodocus? Well?”

The ex-legal dino dropped his gaze to the ground in shame.


“No, what?”

“No, it’s not some dino game of Hang the Droopy Nose on the Dippy Diplodocus.”

“I should say not. So, no, you can’t go home. Your poor wife is going to have to crack that damn egg all by herself. I hope you remember that.”

The Alexvanderzwaan was moved to tears.  An obvious ploy for pity thought the Muellersavus. Egg crackings, adopted dino babies, the Muellersavus had seen it all. It was time for the boulder play. Crack this one, Manaforta.

“Manaforta! Get in here!”

The Manaforta shuffled in, looking like a Martharaptor caught in the bright light of an incoming meteor. The Alexvanderzwaan’s eyes lit up.

“Hey, Manaforta! It’s been, what … 15 months since we’ve all been together?”

The Manaforta stole a quick glance at the Muellersavus, then turned to the two dinos.

“I don’t know any of you. Never seen you before in my life.”

“Paulie?” The Rickyprisongates looked crushed.

“Oh. Sorry, Ricky. Force of habit. Of course I know you. Only at work though. Remember, you work for me.”

The hairy eyeball from the Manaforta.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Paulie?”

“Ladies,” said the Muellersavus, “let’s cut to the chase.”

“Great,” said the Rickyprisongates. “I’m starved.”

“Figure of speech. Manaforta, you might be interested in knowing, the Alexvanderzwaan and your prodigy here, the Rickyprisongates were speaking with … I’ll call him a mystery dinosaur … the Moscowchickenkiev.”

The Manaforta turned to the Rickyprisongates.

“Did you tell him about the … the … Moscowchickenkiev? Huh? Did you? The Moscowchickenkiev, Ricky!”

“Paulie, stop it. You’re making me hungry!”

The Rickyprisongates coughed up a large, soft-shell rodent, then slowly regurgitated it.

“I’m sorry, Paulie,” he said between swallows. “I had to. I like you a lot but …”

“But what?”

“I don’t like you enough to spend 300 years with you in the Solitary Sinkhole. There. I said it.”

“But we can get pardons, Ricky. Pardons.” He said it through clenched teeth, squeezing his hands into pleading fists.

“Forget it, Paulie. The T-Rump has. The Stormydaniels, the Karenmcdougal, you know how short his attention span is.”

The Manaforta had to give him that one. The Muellersavus raised a claw.

“Manaforta, I think you know who the Moscowchickenkiev is. Oh, who am I kidding? No, I know you know who he is. The question is, do you know how many dinosaurs have already told me you know who he is. Well? … This was just my little way of reminding you that your washing moolah-moolah leaves all over the countryside is just the beginning of the troubled waters I now hold back, just waiting to wash over you. … It’s your turn, Manaforta. Are you a big fish or a little fish? Be the little fish and you may get to see your own little fishies outside visiting hours at the Solitary Sinkhole. What’ll it be, Manaforta? … I’m waiting.”

Satire The Trump Dig

Expulsion Repulsion …

“Get in here, Joey! Now!

The Joeydigenova poked his long neck inside the Oval Dwelling.

“My wife too? We’re a team you know.”

Moments later the Joeydigenova and his legal lover, the Victoriatoensing, squatted across from the Tyrumposaurus.

“I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” said the T-Rump. “While you had me at the two-for-one package deal, I’m afraid this just isn’t going to work out.”

“Why not?” asked the Victoriatoensing.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind six ways to Sunday on this one … and when your gut feeling turns to major indigestion, I just can’t always chalk it up to something I ate. No hard feelings?”

“Uh, no, of course not,” said the Joeydigenova. “You mentioned good news?”

“Yes, I didn’t want you two to leave without having done something for me. That’s how the Oval Dwelling rolls.”

The legal duo chuckled at the T-Rump’s joke … but the T-Rump didn’t get it. Awkward.

“We’re listening.”

“The Stormydaniels thing is blowing up again. Damn that Mediacircustops Andersoncooper. It’s all the Tymelania’s fault. If she wouldn’t have had all those head-aches, none of this would’ve ever happened. You do see I need something — anything — to blow this Stormy mess out of the water.”

“Of course.” The legal dino duo leaned toward each other, spoke in muffled terms for a minute, nodded and turned back to the T-Rump.

“You need to ratchet things up big-time,” said the Joeydigenova. “I mean big big. Hugely big. So, what’s the craziest thing you could do?”

“That’s easy. Expel some Russodino diplomats.”


“But what will the Putinodon say?”

“Look, do you want the Stormydaniels forgotten for one day, maybe two?”

“Go on,” said the T-Rump.

“Okay, so the question is how many Russodino diplomats are we going to expel.”

“Not too many I hope. The Putinodon’s really a good guy dino.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve come up with a method of giving you plausible deniability. And you can always say this is the reason you fired us.”

“I like it already.”

“Great. To help keep you focused and reduce your Putinodon stress, we’re going to make a game of it.”

“I like games.”

“We know. … We’re going to arrive at the number of expulsions randomly.”

“You lost me.”

“Plausible deniability.”


“Now then,” the Victoriatoensing jumped in, “for every conspiracy theory that led to dead dinos at the hands of the Putinodon, you’re going to expel 10 Russodino diplomats. Okay?”

“Dead dinos? Hah! The Putinodon would never do that. Sounds like fake news to me. Looks like I won’t have to diss him after all.”

“Let’s begin, shall we? There was the Litvinenko going down with some bad swamp water.”

“Even I remember that one. Okay. That’s ten.”

“Oh, we’re not done with the Litvinenko conspiracy. There’s the Ponomarev who also had some bad water two days before, the Matthewpuncher who invesitgated the poison and the Danielmcgrory, the Mediacircustops who reported it. All gone.

“You made your point. Ten. Next.”

“There’s the Sergeimagnitsky and the Perepilichny, both Sub Family of the Whistleblower dinosaur. Beaten, heart attack. That type of thing.”

“The Sergeimagnitsky … that lead to the …”

“Sanctionsaurus, that’s right.”

“Oh. Well,” said the T-Rump. “The Putinodon wasn’t too upset about that. I guess that’s twenty.”

The Joeydigenova leaned forward.

“For the next conspiracy, we’ll combine the Mediacircustops with the Oligarchus because one dino was relative to both. The Mikhaillesin — right here on the Milkanhoney Preservation. Then there was the Politkovskaya, a Mediacircustops covering the Second Chechen Frontier and the Yurigolubev, an Oligarchus from the Yukosoil Fields.”

The T-Rump tapped his chin with a claw.

“Dead, dead …?”

“And dead,” said the Victoriatoensing. “We’re at thirty. Let’s not forget the Garethwillliams. He was found inside the Duffelbag Barrier. He was a Londonbritwit tracking down where the Russodino moolah-moolah leaves were being washed.”

“Oh, you mean like the Manaforta and Rickyprisongates.”

“Yep. That makes forty.”

“Surely that’s gotta be it,” said the T-Rump. “I mean, if you can’t trust the Putinodon …”

“His competition, the Borisnemtsov, turned up dead in the Moscovian Bluffs. Every Russodino security guard on duty that night was looking the other way.”

“Big coincidence. But I’ll give you that one. Fifty. Let’s wrap this up before I can say fake news.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” said the Joeydigenova. “Remember the Stormydaniels. We need shock value. This final conspiracy we call the Project Moscovian Bluffs. We have the Stevenmoss, the Stevencurtis, the Robbiecurtis — no relation — the Paulcastle, the Johnnyelichaoff, the Scotyoung, the Patarkatsishvili and the mastermind, the Borisberezovsky. A pack of Londonbritwits, legal dinos and Russodinos just looking to make some moolah-moolah before they all started jumping off cliffs and suffering heart attacks in the prime of their lives.”

“C’mon. Eight dinos?” said the T-Rump.

The legal dino duo nodded.

“Well, if it’s eight, it only cost me 10 expulsions. Alright then.”

“That’s sixty total, T-Rump.”

“And you’re sure I won’t get into trouble?”

“Heck no. We coordinated this with sixteen other dinosaur-member states. You’ve got your Stormydaniels deflection and Putinodon cover. You’re good to go.”

“That’s great, you two. Just great. It’s too bad that I have to let you go. But other legal dinos are just dying to get in here, y’know. … Uh, you wouldn’t know any, would you?”