Tag: Trump

“I’m next,” moaned the Tyrumposaurus Jr. “I just know it. The Muellersavus is going to indict me. I can feel it.”

“Take a number, squirt,” said the Rogerstone. “It’s gonna be me. Most definitely. I’ve been much more vocal than you. I go out of my way to talk to the Mediacircustops. And I’ve been bamboozling them from the start. You’re talking to the Dirty Trickster Dino. Squat down and learn from the master.”

“But you said yesterday you were going to take the fifth against the Muellersavus. My father said only a Mafiasaurus takes the fifth.”

“And then I told them I’ll only talk in a public setting … after I fed them a story in a closed cave before. New day. New story. Get the picture?”

The T-Rump nodded his approval. He nudged his son.

“Are you soaking all this in? It’s why you’re here. You can’t learn this stuff in school.”

“Wow. Is he sneakier than you, pop?”

“No chance. He’s great but I’m the greatest. He never got 400 million moolah-moolah from his father. I did. And the dinos of the Milkanhoney Preservation are none the wiser for it.”

“That’s incredible. Can I get 400 million from you, pop?”

“Very funny. Tell you what. Keep your mouth shut and I’ll see what the Saudisaurae need done for that kind of moolah-moolah. Rudy, whaddaya got for us today? And if it’s that damn Muellersavus again, so help me, I’m gonna throw this Dietcoker at you.”

The Rudygiuliani ducked instinctively.

“Fraid so, boss.”

He then ducked for real as the large moolah-moolah leaf, containing a puddle of swamp water from the less acidic end of the lagoon splashed against the Oval Dwelling wall behind him.

“Somebody get me a Dietcoker! … Damn you, Rudy. I hate you but I need you.”

“That’s politics. Uh, first off, they’ve got the Flynnhasbeen sentencing footprints in the sand.”

“And what do they say?”

“Not much.”

“That’s a good thing. Right?”

“Not exactly. We can’t read them. They’ve been heavily trampled upon.”

“What?! It’s a hoax! They’re phony! They’ve got nothing on us.”

“Apparently the Flynnhasbeen had 19 meetings with the Muellersavus. The Michaelcohen spent 70 hours with him too. Sheesh! I wish I could bill those kind of hours.”

“What’s next?”

“Ahem. The Muellersavus will be recommending sentencing for the Michaelcohen later today, which may shed light on how he’s cooperated. In, uh … multiple investigations.”

“Multiple? How many can there be?”

“Who knows? I only work here.”

The T-Rump shrugged.

“Point taken. Speaking of which, if we need more dinos, see the Foxsquawkbox. Great dinos there. Go on.”

“The Manaforta …”

“Manaforta, hah!” sneered the Rogerstone. “You never should’ve brought that guy on.”

“But he knows the Russodinos,” said the T-Rump.

“He knows how to get himself killed. Have you seen the look in the Olegderipaska’s eyes? At least I can still walk down the path in broad daylight. I got you all the information you needed through the Julianassange and the Wikileakibeak. That was me. All me.”

“We know, Roger. We know. Say, does your Madame X dino still deal …”

“She’s my Stenograsaurus,” the Rogerstone said with a low growl.

“Okay, okay. Just asking. The Tymelania is out grazing these days.”

“No, she’s not,” said the T-Rump Jr.

“Shut up, son. Where were we, Rudy?”

“The Muellersavus is also going to tell the dino world how the Manaforta lied his way out of his plea bargain deal.”

“Hah! Good luck with that. We’ve been at this thing for 19 months. How many times did the Manaforta win Liar of the Month?”

“Five. Still eight behind you, boss.”

A dejected T-Rump Jr. kicked a stone.

“I only won once.”

“You’ve gotta get out more, kid,” said the Rogerstone.

The T-Rump snapped to.

“The Sin Hut! We still have the Sin Hut.”

He stole a look at the Rudygiuliani.

“Do we?”

“Yes, of course. But this whole schmozzle with Saudisaurus crown prince and our bogus party line about him maybe-maybe not ordering the killing of the Khashoggi. Our own Grandoldparty dinos are … well, they’re mumbling …”

“Mumbling?”

“A dull roar?” offered the Rudygiuliani, not wanting to duck another Dietcoker.

“Talk to me, Rudy.”

The T-Rump’s tone was the kind that typically led to an Oval Dwelling upheaval. He had just mentioned the Foxsquawkbox.

The Rudygiuliani sensed impending danger. He faced the T-Rump but his feet were already walking the other way.

“That loose-lipped, Langleyops Ginahaspel went and spilled the beans to the Sin Hut.” He started running for the doorway. “And they’re thinking of killing the Saudisaurus deal.”

“Why, you little …”

The T-Rump heaved and the drink splashed against the doorway behind the fleeing legal dino. The commotion awoke the dino slumbering there, the Marinegunkelly. He yawned and slowly rose from his haunches.

“Can I go now?”

The Wolfblitzer and the Mikepompeo sat down to a pile of Large Four-Eyed Frogasaurus legs, a rare delicacy in Argy Bargy. It was a working lunch. The Wolfblitzer paused between legs, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, Dino Secretary, You’re going to have to run that one by me again. The Wolfblitzer tapped his large nose, stretching one cavernous nostril for effect, “This ol’ sniffer has inhaled a lot of odd stories over the years. If you’d allow me to swallow my food first. (Gulp.) Okay. I’m ready.”

The Mikepompeo’s smile was almost disarming in its smug, smarmy, sliminess.  

“Wolf, the T-Rump canceled his meeting with the Putinodon because the Russodinos snatched two dozen Ukrainisailorae.”

The Wolfblitzer’s nostrils flared anew. Twice.

“So, it had nothing to do with the Michaelcohen rolling over on his belly in a plea bargain with the Muellersavus regarding luxury caves in the Moscovian Bluffs?”

“None whatsoever.”

“In all seriousness, Dino Secretary, that sounds ludicrous.”

“Uh, that’s my word, Wolf.”

“If I may present you with the timeline then. The Russodinos captured the Ukrainisailorae five days — that’s 120 hours before you canceled the Putinodon meeting, which came barely one hour after the Michaelcohen news. Would you still like to call that ludicrous?”

“Of course. It’s called sticking to the party line through hell and high water, Wolf. There’s something the Milkanhoney Preservation dinos need to understand about the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. It makes stuff up.”

“What stuff?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Stuff.”

“You do realize you are the Dino Secretary of State?”

“Yes, and I stand by my ‘stuff’ statement.”

“Let’s move on. What’s your next move with the Putinodon and the Russodinos?”

“The T-Rump refuses to hold any more talks with the Putinodon until the Russodinos release the two dozen Ukrainisailorae. We want to send a clear, unambiguous message.”

“You mean like ‘stuff’.”

“Wolf?”

“Dino Secretary, the average walnut-brained dino sitting at home in his cave waiting for his next meal to crawl through the doorway can surely see through this charade. You’ve just given the T-Rump an out to never talk to the Putinodon again … because every dino from here to Timbukdino-in-a-tootoo knows the Putinodon will never return those 24 Ukrainisailorae.”

“Wolf?”

“And it only serves to allow the Putinodon to take further liberties in the Ukraine Lane because the T-Rump continues to believe the Putinodon instead of his own Langleyops dinos.”

“Wolf?”

The Wolfblitzer paused, sizing his guest up with his uber-serious glare.

“That’s the third time you’ve cried Wolf. Do you think this is funny? Do I amuse you?”

“No, I wanted to change the subject because you, heh-heh … really owned me there. Let’s not give our Langleyops too much credit though. I mean, I used to work there. … And regarding the Saudisaurae, sure, it may be intelligence of ‘high confidence’ but I just, well, I no longer know what that means.”

“Intelligence or high confidence?”

“Wolf, are you super smart today or am I just that dumb?”

“We have breaking news, Dino Secretary.”

The Mikepompeo spun around.

“Where?”

“Okay, so I’ve known this for the past two hours. There are Saudisaurae secrets that include messages between the crown prince dino and the lead dino of the Khashoggi hit squad. Some dinos are even calling this information clear and unambiguous. How would you characterize it?”

“Could we talk about the Mexicodinos instead, Wolf?”

“Chalk up another win for the old greyskin. Okay. I’ll take that topic. Are the Mexicodinos going to build the Great Tex-Mex Divide for you?”

“The wall’s going to get built.”

“By the Mexicodinos?”

“The wall’s going to get built, Wolf.”

“In 30 days?! I don’t think so, Dino Secretary. I’m tired of wasting perfectly good questions on you. Fake news? You’re unresponsive, meaning no news. What are you dinos even doing in the Oval Dwelling? Playing parlor games?

He slapped away the Mikepompeo’s hand reaching for more food.

“That’s it. You’re cut off. No more Large Four-Eyed Frogasaurus legs for you. Not until you come back with some real answers, dammit!”

The Mikepompeo slunk away into the bushes, unable to shake the humiliation.

Blitzed by the Wolf. Never again.

The Rudygiuliani licked his lips and slapped his hands together in glee.

“Hah! There’s a sucker hatched every minute!”

“The Muellersavus never knew what hit him,” said the Stephenmillerus, breaking out his lecherous sneer.

“I’ve got the best legal dinos,” said the Tyrumposaurus. “The best. How they keep me out of the Solitary Sinkhole is a mystery. The world’s greatest mystery.”

The Rudyguiliani rocked back and forth on his haunches.

“Priceless. Utterly priceless. Our legal dinos in cahoots with the Manaforta.”

“And the Jimcorsi,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Don’t forget the Jimcorsi, my favorite conspiracy theorist. He’s one crazy dino.”

“And how did we do it again?” the T-Rump asked with a fake chuckle. “You know how I like to keep things interesting by opening my mouth when you guys don’t want me to.”

“Don’t worry,” said the Rudygiuliani. “Happens to me all the time.”

“It’s like this, T-Rump,” continued the Stephenmillerus, “The Manaforta agreed to a plea bargain with the Muellersavus and then he lied to the ol’ scuz bucket the whole time. It allowed us a very, heh-heh … unethical …”

“Hey, if you’re not unethical,” said the T-Rump, “you’re not trying.”

“Yes, an unethical peek into what the Muellersavus knows.”

The Stephenmillerus paused, scratching his chin.

“Hmm. I was just wondering. We sat on our hands making the Muellersavus wait for ten days before we gave him your answers. Then he ended the plea bargain agreement the very next day. Don’t you find the timing odd? What if he knew the Manaforta was lying the whole time? Those ten days gave him time to do more interviews, gather more information. Was he just waiting for the T-Rump’s answers so he could shut us down?

“That’s just a co-inky-dink,” said the Rudygiuliani. “Don’t overthink this, Stephen. You know, it takes a special kind of legal dino — like myself I might add — to work with clients that lie so much.”

“There have been so many,” said the Stephenmillerus, blushing with pure awe.

“6500,” said the T-Rump. “Give or take. The Mediacircustops would be better off counting my Dietcokers. Somebody grab me a Dietcoker!” He turned to the Stephenmillerus. “What’s next? Do I have time to dangle another pardon to the Manaforta?”

“Uh … no. We’re leaving soon for Argy Bargy to meet with the Putinodon.”

“That’s right. I can’t wait! I love listening to his war stories about marching down the Ukraine Lane. Remind me to ask him about luxury caves. And he can have …”

“The top one. Of course.”

The Huckabeecyclops entered the cave, sticking her protruding eye into the conversation.

“Forgive me for interrupting, T-Rump, but we have another calamity.”

“The T-Melania and her trees?”

“No, I’m afraid the Michaelcohen has just struck a plea agreement with the Muellersavus. The Michaelcohen says he lied about your Moscovian Bluffs business with the Putinodon. The timeline. You know, that thing with the dates on it?”

“Damn that dirty, legal dino,” said the Stephenmillerus. “This is bad. Bad bad. Bad bad bad. We have to call off the Putinodon meeting. These are terrible optics. Can’t have you two in the same cave right now.”

“No!” said the T-Rump, lashing out with his tail. “I wanna go to Argy Bargy. Argy Bargy! Argy Bargy!”

He stamped his feet. His face turned red. The other dinos wondered. Was he holding his breath?

“You need to settle down, T-Rump,” said the Rudygiuliani. “You’re spooked and completely distracted.”

“And one other thing, T-Rump,” said the Huckabeecyclops.

“Huckabee,” said the Stephenmillerus. “Can’t you see he’s spooked and completely distracted?”

“Him? If I don’t tell him everything, he yells at me, calls me bad things, trashes my ancestry and, and … I’m hanging onto this job by the shortest hair on your butt, okay?”

“Ahem.” The Stephenmillerus involuntarily squeezed his butt cheeks.

“What is it, Huckabee?” asked the T-Rump.

“They’re implicating the T-Rump Jr. and the Tyvankanatrix in your shady business dealings with the Putinodon during the war campaign.”

The T-Rump shook his head.

“Sad. So sad. My offspring. So young. Why, they’d barely begun to lie.”

It was not a good day inside the Papadopoulos cave. Rocks, debris and leftover bones ricocheted off the walls. The Simonamangiante was throwing anything that wasn’t rooted to the spot at her husband.

“I can’t take this any more, George!”

A hippo’s hip bone sailed over his head.

“Hey! I was gnawing on that!”

“My mother told me to watch out for dinos like you!”

“Your mother said she liked my Euro dino good looks.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? That’s not a foreign policy platform!”

She stopped throwing things. Her short arms had stiffened up already. She broke down, sobbing.

“I’m tired of being asked if I’m a Russodino spy!”

“Honey?”

“Sorry, I lost it there for a minute.” She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. Simona carefully eyed her husband. “George, I know you want to be a political dino, but right now you are … nothing.”

“Now wait just a minute. That’s not fair. I was the first dino in the T-Rump’s circle to be busted.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there. But that was s-o-o-o-o long ago. Since then, there’s been the Flynnhasbeen, the Rickyprisongates, the Manaforta, the Michaelcohen and more of his sinister circle grabbing the Mediacircustops attention. I don’t like waiting in line like some old, baggy Baboochkasaurus. What are you going to do, George?”

“Um, tell the truth?”

“Hah! Really? Where has that gotten you?”

“Two weeks in the Solitary Sinkhole?”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“So help me, George, when you return in two weeks, this cave will be empty!”

“I said I’d do something about the army ant-termite-tarantula problem.”

“No, I’ll be gone, George. As in buh-bye.”

“But Simona, sweetheart, we just got married.”

“Don’t Simona sweetheart me. My bio-politico-celebrity clock is ticking!”

She stamped her foot on the ground for effect, raising a cloud of dust.

“Please, dear. My allergies.”

He blinked his eyes, wiped his nose and realized she was still glaring at him. He sighed.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Where have you been, George? Join the crowd. Do what every Grandoldparty dino has been doing the last two years. Lie! Lie! Lie! You’ve got to get back to lying. Just pretend it’s the new truth. Watch the T-Rump. It comes so natural — like breathing for him. And his cronies fall right in line. I just love a good sycophant. Why can’t you be like them, George? Why can’t you fight back? Double down. Forget dino decency. Be the bully. Be best.”

“Huh?”

“The new normal, remember?”

“O-k-a-a-a-y,” he said with a shrug. “So, um … I could say my case was a big case of entrapment.”

“You’re thinking small again, George. Girls don’t dig small dinos.”

“Right. It’s the biggest case of entrapment.”

“And?”

“I need more?”

“It’s a quick news cycle, George.”

“Right. I, uh … I believe I was framed. That’s right. Framed! There was evidence hidden from me. Hidden for crying out loud!”

“Keep going, my sexy Euro dino.”

“I’m not going to spend one day in the Solitary Sinkhole. Not one! And, and pleading guilty was the biggest regret of my life!”

“My hero,” she said with a swoon she knew would make him weak-kneed. She watched him smile with an air of confidence. It had been so long. She allowed him to bask in it for a brief moment.

“Oh, George?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I just want you to know how proud I am of you and I promise I will be here to welcome you home when you return because I love you so much.”

“My dear, sweet Simona, it’s only two weeks.”

“Well, actually, George … when you say all those things you told me you’re going to say — and I know you will because you so want me to believe you’re the strong uber Euro dino that can still sweep me off my feet …”

“Yes, yes?”

“The Meullersavus is going to throw you back in the Solitary Sinkhole for perjury, George.”

The Papadopoulos squatted before her stunned.

“But look on the bright side, George. You’ll have plenty of time to work on your foreign policy platform.”

The two Turkeysaurae had reached their day of reckoning. The Gobblinpeas and Gobblincarrots, Peas and Carrots to their feathered brethren, were about to be sacrificed to appease the Tyrumpsaurus’ appetite.

To record the elaborate event, the many Mediacircustops jostled for position, drooling profusely, for it was a day for all dinos to feast, followed by sleeping the sleep of the Black Turkey Blackout.

The T-Rump approached the flat rock lectern. Showtime.

“Thank you. Thank you. I was planning to chow down on Peas and Carrots here but owing to a time-honored tradition … check that. What I’m about to do is a first in Turkeysaurae history. I am pardoning my family — I mean, Peas and Carrots.”

“T-Rump?” asked Peas.

“You can thank me later. Allow me to bask in the fake news Mediacircustops attention.”

“But we don’t want to be pardoned.”

“What? Is this some kind of joke?”

“No. Kill us now!” wailed Carrots. “We don’t want to be a part of your world!”

“But my world is the best. For me, anyway.”

“No, no. I beg of you, put us out of our misery!” Peas hollered. “Your world without empathy shall be a world without me!”

“And me,” chimed in Carrots.

“Nonsense! I’m very nice with the Putinodon, the Kimjongadon and most recently the crown prince Saudisaurus. I didn’t even bat an eye when he had the Khashoggi killed.”

“And time after time you threw your own Langleyops intel dinos under the Priebusunderbus,” said Peas.

“Is there any room left?” asked Carrots.

“You’re a two-faced tyrant, T-Rump.”

“That’s a bad thing? I call it part of the negotiation process.”

The Gobblincarrots ruffled his feathers much like his distant cousin, the Kentucky Gobbler Mitchgetbacktowork.

“For months you railed against the Crookadillary for not guarding her secrets. Then your own daughter does the same thing!”

“Don’t worry, I have my legal dino’s — the T-Rump judges — on it. Nepotism will soon be a code of honour around here.”

“Wait,” said Carrots. “Can I be plucked, tarred and re-feathered instead? It sounds more attention-grabbing, don’t you think?”

“We need publicity that drowns you out,” Peas said to the T-Rump.

“Never happen. Have you seen the Foxsquawkbox dinos lately? Practically a branch of government. I promote from within, you know.”

“But you had to go all the way to the Des Moines Dust Bowl to get the Mattwhitaker. He’s a sham of a scam, strictly flim-flam.”

“Your point?”

“900 thousand moolah-moolah leaves. You bought him.”

“Loyalty comes with a price,” the T-Rump sniffed. “You should thank me for keeping it under a million.”

“T-Rump!” Carrots shouted. “You are ruining institutions the Milkanhoney Preservation was founded upon. Freedom of speech …”

“If it doesn’t benefit me, it’s obviously fake news.”

“The D-O-J … Dinos of Justice.”

“A disaster! They don’t know security. Only law. They need to know it’s my way or the wrong way. They are my dinos!”

“But we are not,” said Peas. “Go ahead. Rip my gizzard out. Now.”

“I changed my mind,” said Carrots. “I can’t look at you another second. Two words. Pluck me.”

The T-Rump was at a loggerhead of a conundrum. He always doubled down at this stage of any debate. He would normally now emphatically state his desire to pardon them. Except he really did want to kill these turkeys. He mulled it over.

Peas and Carrots were taken aback. The shock and awe of the T-Rump actually thinking through a predicament was not lost on them. Peas seized the opportunity of this potential cerebral breakthrough. Perhaps the T-Rump’s walnut was not completely cracked.

“Okay,” said Peas. “I’ll give you a chance to talk us out of killing ourselves. Because today after all is a special day. T-Rump, what do you have to be thankful for?”

“Oh, well. That’s easy. I’m thankful for the tremendous difference I’ve made.

Peas and Carrots promptly fainted dead away. They were revived after dessert and retired to spend the rest of their days taking turns dunking their heads in Loony Lagoon.

“Bobby! Good to see you!”

The Muellersavus was taken aback. The Tyrumposaurus, drooling smirk and all, had indeed darkened his doorway.

“Ahem. Come in, T-Rump.”

The two dinosaurs soon squatted across from one another in the Muellersavus’ spartan working cave. Save for a few volcanic and other shiny rock momentos, the cave was just another hole in the wall.

“What brings you before me, T-Rump?”

“Well, at first I said I wasn’t going to answer your questions, then I said I would. I wouldn’t. Would. Wouldn’t …”

“And?”

“Then I said I was only going to read your footprints in the sand and answer them with my own footprints …”

“Correct.”

“And then I remembered … I can’t read. S-o-o-o-o, here I am. You ask. I’ll answer. Easy-peasy.”

“And your legal dinos. Where are they?”

“Pshaw! Who needs’em? I know everything!”

Except how to read thought the Muellersavus.

“Very well. Let’s start at the beginning. When you say your prayers at night, who do you say them to?”

“C’mon now, Bob. You know the Tymelania and I sleep in separate caves. I don’t want that to get out. Just when she was starting to hold my hand again.”

The Muellersavus set his hard, chiseled jaw.

“Do you pray, T-Rump?”

“What, and ruin my knees? Please.”

“Do you honour your mother and father?”

“You’ve got that all backwards. It was my father who honoured me. But like I said, it was only a loan of a million moolah-moolah leaves — which I paid back in full. Not that crazy 400 million number. Sheesh!”

“Do you keep the Sabbath Day holy?”

“Hey, these questions are pretty good. Did you just make these up?”

“Answer the question, please.”

“Look, Bob. I’m out flogging every weekend. It’s who I am. You know what they say. Happy T-Rump, Happy T-Rump.”

“I see. Did you ever commit idolatry?”

“Idolatry? You mean adultery — Aha! Perjury trap! I got you.”

“No, I was referring to idols.”

“Oh, that. Well, it’s no secret really. I moved from being a celebrity to an idol. Big idol. Really big. These things happen. Especially with me.”

“Did you use blasphemy?”

“Whatever the hell that is. Next question.”

“Did you commit murder?”

“N-o-o-o-o,” the T-Rump said, drawing the word out slowly. “But I could. Any dino, any dino path. In broad daylight even. You already knew that too. Dumb questions. Waste of time.”

“Did you commit adultery?”

“Lately?”

A stoic nod from the Muellersavus.

“On that one, I’ll take Executive Privilege. Trust me, it was. But the Stormydaniels thing? The Tymelania had a headache, okay? The worst migraine the world has ever seen. So sad. What was I to do? The Stormydaniels may have been there. I don’t know.”

“Did you ever steal?”

“Steal? Steal what?”

“Anything.”

“Everybody steals something. The Crookadillary couldn’t look after her own secrets and some dinos who I don’t know stole them. Go chase them. I bet you’ll find the Crookadillary right in the middle of it.

A puzzled look from the Muellersavus.

“Why would the Crookadillary want someone to steal her secrets?”

“I know you didn’t just fall out of the turnip tree, Bob. You worked for the Obamarus for what … 4? … 8? … 16 years? We don’t need to go into all the bad stuff that happened to the Crookadillary that guaranteed my glorious victory. It should’ve been more glorious. The most glorious. And because it wasn’t she should spend the rest of her life in the Solitary Sinkhole.”

The Muellersavus’ lunch gurgled in his stomach. A side effect of his job was major indigestion.

“T-Rump, did you bear false witness?”

“Who, me? You’ve got to be kidding. Look around. There’s the Flynnhasbeen, the Papadapolous, the Rickyprisongates, the Manaforta, the Michealcohen, the Alanweisselberg, the Davidpecker, and soon, I’m sure, that dirty trickster, the Rogerstone. All of them turning on me. It wasn’t that long ago,” he said wistfully, “they were all very, very loyal to me. Like dung beetles on dino poop.”

The Muellersavus struggled shaking the image from his mind. The T-Rump continued.

“Now they’re saying bad things about me, making things up. If you add up all their lies, I’m sure they’re approaching my mark of 6000. Approaching, I said. All these dinos against one. Obviously I’m the victim here.”

A key part of the Muellersavus’ resilient steadfastness was his ability to never roll his eyes.

“Last question, T-Rump. Do you covet your neighbour’s property?”

“Again with the perjury trap. Just say it. You mean my neighbour’s wife, don’t you? Well, newsflash for you. I haven’t even asked you about yours — though I’m sure she must be a very beautiful dino. By the way, Bob, are you married?”

The Tymelania sipped from a quiet pond beneath the requisite Gucci-Gucci tree in the Congobongo region of Africana. This was her latest get-away from the politics of the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir, from the shock and awe, or more precisely, the “awe, shucks” mentality it perpetuated. Then there was that despicable dino whose cruelest con was they day they mated. The Tyrumposaurus. He, her husband; she, his hostage.

She didn’t travel light. She’d dragged her entire entourage with her — from head shrink to tail masseuse — just to remind every dino within her best profile-viewing distance, the higher the standing the higher the maintenance. Uber supreme maintenance. That was the look she modeled these days. Sadly, she admitted it was a look that usually came across as somewhat perturbed, mildly petulant and dare she say, pissed off? Who was she kidding? She’d never wanted any of this. Being the First Lady Dino meant being chased onto the global dino scene for all to see. For the Mediacircustops to pick her life apart, regurgitate the meaty parts and spit out the bones that would lodge in the public’s craw. She swallowed hard. It was too much. All the time. She felt exposed, naked. A dino’s normal, natural state to be sure. She made a mental note. More daily dips in Lagoon de Mudde for her scaly skin.

The Mediacircustops breathed down her neck constantly. There weren’t enough trees in the forest for her to hide behind, lest one find her and ask how it felt having a husband who was bungling in the jungle with the Karenmcdougal, the Stormydaniels and — insert dino here. Playmatapae and Pornadactyls. Mere days after her she laid her last egg for him. His egg. Her shell. Cracked. To. Hell. Oh, the pain.

Why couldn’t they be like the Obamarus’? There was a couple whose love was genuine and joyful, not celebrated in separate caves. The Obamarus’ words were like music while the T-Rump spewed lies, vitriol and the bitter backwash of deflection upon deflection. The Tymelania felt bad she didn’t have a bestselling footprint in the sand like the Michelleobamarus. No, the T-Rump’s wife could only achieve a partial footprint. Be best. Instead of hope, it screamed ‘Help!’

Mainstream scuttlebutt called the T-Rump the worst dino leader ever. Did that make her the worst First Lady ever? She never asked to be First Lady. Those damned Russodinos. It was all their fault. The fix was in from the Manaforta to the Rogerstone to that turncoat, the Michaelcohen. The T-Rump couldn’t lie his way to the top without help. And now the Muellersavus was closing in, indictment by indictment. It was a tale of two pities. One, that she was married to the T-Rump, the second that she couldn’t testify against him.

The T-Rump. That orange-lumped bump on a stump. How could he? He was hitting it off so well with the Emmanuelmacron. Together, they were dancing dino dudes. And then the T-Rump had to go and ruin it. Blaming his own dinos for not telling him that skipping the dino war memorial would a huge public backlash. But then he took his nonsense nationalist agenda and threw it in Emmanuel’s face. Of course Emmanuel had to defend himself on his home turf. And of course my idiot husband proceeded to do what he does best. Double down on his most insane idea of the day. So, no more Weeweegayparis for me. I could just scream. I don’t care if I crack a nail. I am this close to completely losing it.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

That was the last time any dino saw or heard of the security dino, the Mirarickardel.