Tag: Trump

The Tyrumposaurus was on the road, stumping for the Judgeroymoore in Pepsicola Flats. The battle royale was only a few days away when the Bamahama dinos of Crimson Creek — a modest 17 tail-dragging miles away — would learn who their dinosaur would be in the Sin Hut Chamber Pothole.

The T-Rump moved through the fresh meat section of a Ceratosaurus carcass. He stopped to mull over which bite to take when he was bumped from behind. He turned and looked into the battle-scarred face of the 75-year-old Oldschoolmarm, Sub Family of the Frazzled Fricassee.

“Say, have I seen you before?” She leaned in, squinting closely at the T-Rump.

“Morning, noon and night. I’m the T-Rump.”

“Land sakes. What’s a Carpetbagger dino like you doin’ down here in Pepsicola Flats?”

“Did you know one of my 47 retreats is just over that hilltop?” he said, pointing eastward. “Miramarble Head.”

The Oldschoolmarm wasn’t impressed, causing the T-Rump to shrug.

“I’m here to turn the tide for the Judgeroymoore.”

“Oh, I don’t think he needs any tide turnin’ from the likes of you. You can just roll on back to where you came from. Get along, now.”

“Do you know how I am?” It was his turn to lean in.

“I don’t care if you’re the Billygrahamster from Chapel Hill.”

“Ma’am, you’ve obviously been chewing the fat too long. I suggest you move on over here to the prime rib.” He made room for her.

“Oh, well” she said, her eyes on a better choice of meat. “Maybe I’ll just peck.” She clawed out a section.

“So, you’ve come to hear me speak,” he said, ignoring her earlier comments.

“No,” she said, gnawing a rib bone. “I’m here to see my second cousin twice removed, the Eunicefussbudget.”

“Well, you know what they say, a vote for me is a vote for the Judge.”

“You mean the other way around.”

“For the time being,” he said.

She lowered her bone.

“We don’t cater to you high-falootin’ dinosaurs from up north, Big Rock way. We’re simple dinos down here in the sticks. We don’t right appreciate bein’ told what to do.”

“I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just telling you the way it will be.”

“There you go again with that Big Rock rabble-rousin’, Milkanhoney malarkey. Why, if I was 20 years younger, I’d bend you over my knee and tan your hide with a Razorback tail, I would.”

“Oh, c’mon now. Truth be told,” he lied, “I’m just like you.”

“Oh?” He reminded her of a Lastblast Skunk.

“Sure. Look at the Judgeroymoore. He likes to chase the Candystripertypes. I’ve been known on occasion to engage in similar activity, though not quite so young, mind you.”

As he spoke, he dug his small elbow into her side and winked at her. She was momentarily disarmed by his miniscule charm. Call it a side effect of her walnut brain. She never shied away however, from juicy dino gossip.

“Did you get their mama’s permission?” she asked, looking down her nose at him.

“Well, uh … that wasn’t always possible. Their mamas were out on the island. The Long Island.”

“I see. I suppose they were preoccupied.”

“Very. And as for the allegations of improper advances, can you believe it that all 20 female dinos and their mamas lied about me?”

“Sakes alive, why the Judgeroymoore only had nine ladies waitin’ in a line pretty as you please to lie their ever-lyin’ heads off. Have you ever seen such a thing?”

“Nope,” said the T-Rump, crossing his heart for good measure.

“You poor thing. Mark my words, the very Trumpassic Period itself is crumbling before our sad, sad eyes.”

Her heart turned to mush as she warmed to the slumming leader, bowing heart-mush and all to him. Deep inside, she found a cache of solace no paleontologist could hope to stumble upon in their wildest dreams.

“Son, can I call you that?”

“Why not? You’re as old as Pocahontas.”

“Son,” she said, clutching his arm, “when you’re down in the dumps and got your tail between your legs, I’m tellin’ you here and now … you remember that there are so many, so very many lady dinosaurs who never ever blamed you for a dad-blamed thing. Hold onto that. You take that straight to heart. Til hell freezes over and then some, you hear? Tell me you’ll do that.”

“I will, Oldschoolmarm.”

“Bless you. And I’ll be praying for you long and hard. I promise.”

He patted her arm and smiled.

“Why don’t you just tell a friend to vote for me instead. I mean, the Judge.”

The Dowderpuff raked his claws down his once puffy, now sweat-soaked jowls. They felt like sandbags hanging from the sides of his face, dragging away whatever decency he had left.  Add in the laboured breathing, his bloodshot eyes and the Dowderpuff was a blubbering mess. It was not just another day in the pit as legal counsel for the Tyrumposaurus.

Moments before, he’d thrown himself on the cross for the T-Rump’s latest Trollertweety tweet. The message had the T-Rump saying he fired the Flynnhasbeen for lying to the Mincepencenow and the Langleytips. The T-Rump’s mention of the lie to the Langleytips had raised angry eyebrows which the Dowderpuff had tried to soften by saying he, the Dowderpuff, was responsible for the T-Rump’s tainted tweet. The revelation now had him sweating profusely.

“Who’s going to believe it was me? There was nothing to hide! Really? With an exclamation mark? Look at me, I’m not an ‘exclamation mark’ kind of dinosaur. Lawyers have to be civil. And look at what I supposedly said. It makes me look like an idiot.”

“Oh, but you’re my idiot,” said the T-Rump. “Relax, Dude.”

“It’s Dowd.”

“I know, you’re just nervous because it’s your first lie.”

“Well, if truth be told, I told a lie 40 years ago.”

“Hah, I told 40 lies last week. And that’s why I’m smarter than you.”

The Dowderpuff blinked through the stinging sweat, cringing at the crazy conspiracy he found himself in.

“Well,” he stammered, “at any rate, we dodged a Bullnosed Brachiasaurus.”

The T-Rump smiled his lecherous, treacherous grin.

“And we’re going to survive more.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re a team. You civil, me uncivil. I can now say anything, then you come in and clean up the mess. It’s the perfect cover. Why didn’t I think of it before?”

“Because it borders on lunacy.”

The T-Rump frowned, just for a second.

“Lunacy I can live with. Any means to an end. Ready for my next Trollertweety tweet?”

“No.”

A leer from the T-Rump.

“Okay, I guess so.”

“That’s the spirit. This one’s short and easy. Have at her. I’m going to say that … I’m going to fire the Muellersavus.”

“You can’t.”

“Dowdy, that’s where you come in, remember? What are you going to say in my defense?”

“I’m not comfortable working this way.” The Dowderpuff began puffing up like a walking blowfish.

“C’mon, it’s the new normal.”

The Dowderpuff reluctantly gave it some thought.

“I suppose I could say you meant to say you were firing him from your thoughts so you could, uh … focus on your win over the Crookadillary instead.”

“Very good. Now this one.”

“Another tweet?”

“Of course. We’re doing this six times a day. Get with the program. Okay. I say … I’m … I’m going to pardon everyone.”

“You can’t. Oh, I keep forgetting. Of course you can. You’re the T-Rump. … Hmm. I’ll say you were being empathetic … because you never are.”

“Yes?”

“And you were pardoning them for all the bad things they’ve said about you.”

“Woah, that’s a stretch. Nice try. One more and I’ll let you clean up your sweaty jowls. What is happening with you, Puffy? Never mind. Okay, how about … the Crookadillary was in the Moscovian Bluffs with the Putinodon and five Chippendalean dinosaurs? Yeah, let’s run with that.”

“You’re kidding. That’s about as stupid as the Manaforta violating his bail conditions by speaking with a Kayjeebeeops to create an opinion piece for the Mediacircustops.”

“Stupid is as stupid does.”

The Huckabeecyclops bit her lip, rolled her eyes and prayed only for ample oxygen to survive the next few minutes.

Odds were even that she’d faint dead away or throw her short arms up in the air, laugh hysterically, then run and jump off the nearest cliff. She was in the unenviable position of having to defend the Tyrumposaurus. Again. The mammoth meteor that would end all dinosaur life was still 3 million years away, but it felt like it had just hit her in belly.

The Flynnhasbeen had flipped. The inner Oval Dwelling had been breached. What would she do? What could she say?

The T-Rump’s famous line was, ‘tell a lie three times and they’ll believe you.’ 2000 lies later, she had her doubts.

She stepped to the Bullee-Tar Pit and looked out over a sizable crowd of salivating Mediacircustops. She gulped and pointed to the closest raised claw before her. It was the Jimacosta.

“What does the T-Rump have to say about the Flynnhasbeen pleading guilty?”

“That’s what you get when you hire an Obamarus retread.”

“But the Obamarus warned the T-Rump about working with the Flynnhasbeen.”

“You can’t believe everything you hear from the Donkeykongrus. The Flynnhasbeen won’t be the first dinosaur and certainly not the last to get a bad performance report.”

“He was the National Security Adviser!”

“For 25 days.” She sniffed her armpits one after the other. Still dry. So far so good. “The Flynnhasbeen was acting alone.”

She hated lying. It had turned her into a monster. The other dinosaurs made fun of her facial expressions, the size of her tail and her lazy Arkansas Whitewater drawl. It was horrible. After following her father willingly into politics, she wished instead she’d kicked and screamed to the bitter end.

“Excuse me,” said the Jimacosta, “I’m still here. Who was the Flynnhasbeen taking his orders from?”

“I already answered that question,” she snarled, baring an impressive row of razor-sharp chompers. “He’s a grown dinosaur. I’m not his babysitter.”

“So the Flynnhasbeen was talking with the Kayjeebeeops on his own?”

“Apparently.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” asked the Jimacosta.

“I answered that question already too.”

“Uh, right. He’s a grown dinosaur. Who then, was the senior official dinosaur and other senior dinosaurs that the Flynnhasbeen spoke with at Mar-a-Guano regarding the Kayjeebeeops?”

“There were no senior dinosaurs. The Flynnhasbeen is lying through every last one of his decaying teeth. He may be a pathological liar for all I know. Why don’t you look into that?”

“But why would he lie? He agreed to tell the truth. If he’s caught lying, his son will go to the Solitary Sinkhole and his grandson will never meet his father or grandfather.”

“Well, since he’s a liar, maybe that’s a good thing.”

“You are one cold-skinned dinosaur, Huckabee.”

“It’s the climate. Next question!”

The Davidaxelrod raised a claw.

“Do you get the sense that this house of moolah-moolah leaves — the T-Rump Reign — is poised to cave in soon, uh … the very near future?

“On the contrary,” the Huckabeecyclops huffed and puffed, “we just agreed on how best to proceed with the mytaxes returnis, our first major victory since the T-Rump came to power. He’s extremely pleased, as we should all be.”

There was grumbling amongst the Mediacircustops.

Again with the mytaxes returnis, the thick layer of green skin every dinosaur shed each spring. Except the T-Rump of course. He and the biggest dinosaurs had decided to keep all the green skins to line their nests while the less fortunate were left to freeze. The same less fortunate who had the T-Rump’s back when he roared to power. It was survival of the biggest.

“The T-Rump said just yesterday he has the final say,” said the Davidaxelrod. “How could the Flynnhasbeen possibly be acting alone?”

“If I said it once, I said it a million, kabillion times.” The Huckabeecyclops erupted like Ol’ Not-So-Faithful, the nearby semi-active volcano. She tremored violently on her hind legs. She drooled, gobs of slobber flying everywhere. “Read my lips!”

“I’ll try if you’ll stop shaking.”

She paid him no mind. This was politics cut to the quick of her unmanicured claws. Matching wits with the Mediacircustops with a melt-down tossed in for good measure. There was no stopping her now.

“The T-Rump team — the Tyrumposaurae — is the finest lot of dinosaurs to ever ravage these lands. Oh, sure, we’ve lost a few along the way … the Sallyatesaur, the Flynnhasbeen, the Manaforta, the Spicerophus, the Carterpagealpha, the Priebusunderbus, the Scaramunchkin, the Bannoncanon …”

“Spare us the history lesson,” the Davidaxelrod said, yawning.  

“No! Don’t take your eyes off my slippery lips! You need this lesson because the T-Rump IS the leader and when are you all going to realize that he knows what’s best for the Milkanhoney Preservation and — dammit — stop picking on us! Stop picking on me!”

You could hear a Trollertweety feather hit the ground. The Huckabeecyclops quickly stole behind a big rock and a hard place, unable to breathe. Anything to protect her from this maelstrom of psychological torture. Mammoth tears poured down her cheeks. The Mediacircustops looked at each other with wide, googly eyes.

“Uh, Huckabee?” It was the Davidaxelrod. “You have to come out now and answer the question.”

“No. No more questions. Not until you say you’re sorry.”

More googly-eyed looks.

The Davidaxelrod, veteran, straight-ahead Sub Family Mediacircustops that he was, plunged on.

“Why all the lies, Huckabee? What are you trying to hide? Besides yourself.”

There came no answer. Only a low whimper. Several of the Mediacircustops hurried around the large rock. There they found the Huckabeecyclops lying on her side in the dinosaur fetal position. Curled in a ball, that is, one short arm held out, repeatedly punching out to the side, signalling it’s egg-breaking time. She mumbled something over and over. The Mediacircustops knelt down over her to make out her hushed words, barely above a whisper.

“Make it better, daddy. Please make it better.”

The Tyrumposaurus stared down into the dim, dull waters of the stagnant Morongene Pool. The burning question escaped his lips.

“Mirror, mirror, at my feet. Who’s the last I need to beat?”

Alas, the Tyrumposaurus was not alone. Unseen a short distance away, the globe-trotting Christyamanpour, Sub Family of the Mediacircustops, was munching away on a magnolia shrub. She stopped in mid-munch, a story idea born.

Within the hour, a very animated discussion broke out between the most popular Mediacircustops types. That is, the debonair Andersoncooper, the grizzly Wolfblitzer and the always affable Paulbegala. The Andersoncooper began the dinosaur dialogue.

“The T-Rump raises an interesting question. Who then, is the most dishonest and corrupt leader … a leader the T-Rump aspires so badly to be? I’m going to reach across the savannah of savage beasts and open the bidding with the Hitleraptor.”

The Wolfblitzer and the Paulbegala both nodded matter-of-factly. There would be no short-armed punches pulled in this debate.

“The Hitleraptor,” continued the Andersoncooper, “used countless scapegoats to blame for his followers’ hardships. He started the Second Dinosaur War by invading the Poh Lands. Let’s not forget the Hollow Caustic genocide where 6 million dinosaurs died. It’s friggin’ scary. On that note, over to you, Wolf.”

The Wolfblitzer cleared his throat by coughing up prehistoric replicas of a hedgehog, dachshund and a calico cat.

“Thank you, Anderson. You’ve made some valid points, but I’m sure dinosaurs everywhere would be hard pressed to name a more oppressive leader than the Stalinator. You mentioned millions. Let’s not forget, during the Great Famine of ‘32, 4 million dinosaurs starved to death. In the Great Purge, millions were exiled, imprisoned or put to death, including the Leontrotsky, the Nicholaiyezhov and the Sergeykirov. Paul?”

The Paulbegala was chomping at the bit, his grin quickly overtaking his cheeks.

“You two are falling asleep in Ancient History class. Today’s most despicable dinosaur has to be the Putinodon. Just look at the quadruple attacks at the Hexogen Ruins 18 years ago. He killed 300 of his own dinosaurs … then used that shock and awe to take the stage as a fake hero. On that pretense, he attacked the innocent Fetchachechens the very next day. It was all a wickedly nefarious plan to propel himself to power in a matter of weeks. But wait, it gets better. Mediacircustops that didn’t speak nicely of him were thrown in the Solitary Sinkhole. And oh, by the way, he’s running roughshod over the poor dinos in the Crimean Pristine as we speak. Bye-bye freedom. Yes, the Putinodon controls everything but Ol’ Not-So-Faithful.

The Paulbegala was referring to the semi-active volcano in the Yellowstone Region.

“Funny you should say that,” said the Andersoncooper, “because the trophy we have for the winner — post-dinosaurus or not — was created at the edge of that volcano. The intense heat from Ol’ Not-So-Faithful’s latest eruption baked an impressive pile of Diplodocus droppings into, well … an impressive pile of Diplodocus droppings.”

The three veteran Mediacircustops paused to admire the award. They turned to each other and nodded knowingly. No further explanation was necessary.

“Well then,” said the Wolfblitzer, “it appears to be unanimous. The winner of the Fake Leader Trophy is … the T-Rump.”

The Paulbegala chuckled.

“Wear it well, T-Rump. Wear it well.”