Tag: U.S. Politics

The walls were closing in. Huge granite walls engrained with grit and guilt, suffocating his soul.

The Mattwhitaker had been doing just fine, thank you very much, sailing along, announcing criminal charges against some large Telecommunicus dinos from Chopstickchowmein. Then a young, brash Mediacircustops with a Jaketapperean gleam in his eye had asked about the Muellersavus investigation.

The Mattwhitaker simply couldn’t contain himself. Or his sweat glands. The words poured out like the perspiration streaming down his face.

“I’ve been fully briefed on the investigation and uh, y’know … I look forward to uh, the Muellersavus, um … delivering the final report and I, uh … really am not going to talk, uh … about an open and ongoing investigation otherwise but, y’know, sort of … the statements that I have made were as a puh-puh … um, private dino and only with publicly available information, like public, like where any dino can get it, right? Um … and y’know … I am comfortable that, um … the decisions that were made by, um, whoever, I guess … are going to be, um, reviewed … uh, y’know … looked at anyway, uh … either through the various means we have, which are several, I believe … but right now you know the investigation is, uh, I think, uh … close to being completed, uh, kind of close … and I hope that we can get the report from the Molar, I mean, Muellersavus, as soon as we … as possible.”

He sputtered finally, thankfully, to a stop. His bald head and face were bathed in sweat.

“Are you okay?” asked one Mediacircustops. “You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“Uh, no. Not at all. While we’re talking …” Oh no, he was going to spill the beans again!

The Wilburross and Christopherwray flanked him on either side. The Tyrumposaurus had told him the two high-ranking dinos were only there to give his announcement some much-needed integrity and respect. Hah! He’d show them. The acting attorney general dino had no idea where he was going. The wise, old Wilburross saw his chance, stepped forward and wheezed into his ear.

“You’ve said enough, sonny. You’re not tryin’ to get us all fired, are ya?”

But the Mattwhitaker was in full, flopsweat mode. He struggled onward. This face time was s-o-o-o-o addictive. Like the leaves from the Krazyglue tree.

“Hey, ha-ha … did you hear about the T-Rump telling all his Langleyops dinos that they should go back to school?”

The Christopherwray stepped behind him and gave him a swift kick in the rear. The Mattwhitaker didn’t even feel it, he was so lost in the moment.

“School! Yeah, can you believe it? Geez, I was only with the Sessionsopossum for what, a year? Maybe, uh … maybe I should be the dino going back to school. A show of hands maybe?”

The Mediacircusstops squatting before him were stunned. Not one short arm budged. The Mattwhitaker’s shame-faced honesty had consumed him. It was torture and bliss at the same time. Incredibly, to add to the sweat glistening upon his face, he began crying. Crazy tears for Crazytown.

“And what about the T-Rump Jr. calling out before and after the meeting with those damn Russodinos? Business associates? No. No way.” There came a hitching sob. “Why didn’t he just say so months ago? He’s hiding something, isn’t he? Why all the mystery? Will somebody please talk to me?” More sobbing.

The Wilburross smacked the quaking lunatic upside the head.

“Stop it, sonny! Just stop it! There’s no crying in politics!”

“I’m sorry. I forgot I’m the boss.” He calmed somewhat, drawing himself together. “Okay, maybe, maybe I’ll look into that next.”

He blew his nose into his armpit and promptly forgot. His attention span was markedly shorter than the T-Rump’s. The Mattwhitaker looked out at the Mediacircustops and quickly returned to a world where sweet demons flew around inside his head, demons flashing wide smiles of teeth yellowed from gnawing on ears of Iowan corn cobs.

“Then there’s the Donbeyer and the Tedlieu trying to revoke the Kushneratops security clearance. Where, I ask you, do they get off doing that? I mean, so what if the Carlkline over-rode recommendations against security clearances for 30 other dinos. Only 30? Who cares? Not me!”

The Christopherwray pounced, wrapping both hands around the Mattwhitaker’s neck, trying in vain to put an end to oxygen reaching the dino’s brain. It was no use. The thick-necked dino blinked his wild eyes.

“Speaking of the Kushnerstops, don’t you find it kind of interesting that the T-Rump and the Rudygiuliani threatened the Michaelcohen’s father-in-law … then the Chrischristie reminds us all of the disgusting crime the Kushneratops’ own pop committed? Give me a minute to catch my breath on that. I might call that criminal.”

“WHITAKER!”

Uh-oh. It was the T-Rump. The leader of the dino nation rumbled into the gathering.

The Mattwhitaker’s mouth had finally stopped moving. The once-glistening sweat froze to his face. But the Mediacircustops scarcely took notice. They had the T-Rump before them. A rare site indeed.

“T-Rump,” a Mediacircustops bellowed from the back. “Are you on the same page as him too?”

“Of course not,” the Mattwhitaker blurted out. “He doesn’t even read.”

The Rogerstone spotted a pair of slow-moving salamanders and scooped them up. He offered one to the Jeromecorsi  and they squatted there beside a walk-up, enter-at-your-own-risk Brooklyn Brownstone cave. They were in the Bedrock-Stuyvesant neighbourhood, known to the locals as Corleone Country.

The Rogerstone spit out a salamander leg. Too much protein.

“Everything is going to be okay, Jerome, don’t worry.”

“Did my brother go back?”

The Rogerstone, a trickster dirtier than the Trickydickosaurus, had brought the Jeromecorsi’s brother all the way from his Italiaroma homeland as a bargaining chip.

“Yeah, but don’t worry.”

“He’s ten times more psychic than me, my brother. He thinks the case against us is thicker than poop on a rock.”

“Now I am worried about your brother. He wouldn’t even go out for Caviarraptor legs. Just wanted to go home.”

“That’s my brother. Nothing could get him away from that two-dino town. He coulda been big over here — he could of had his own Subfamily.”

“That’s a lot of poop on a rock.”

“Roger, what do I do now?”

As if on cue, a cloud passed in front of the sun. Chagrin has a shadow. It is the Rogerstone.

“Jerome, you were always interested in politics, in history. I remember you talking about Trickydick back in the day. We were young then.”

“Yeah, I still check out the footprints in the sand. You got four legal dino now. You sure that’s enough?”

“Shut up. I’m telling a story. Ahem … you were around the old dinos who dreamed up how the Subfamilies should be organized, … no rats, no flippers, no weak dinos that would ever break  — and it worked.

“Yeah,” said the Jeromecorsi. “It worked. Those were the great old days. We was like the Italiaroman Empire. But this T-Rump Family? I mean, he’s afraid of the Nancypelosi! A Nancy! Fuhgettaboutit.”

“Believe me, I’m trying.”

The two dinos sucked on their slippery salamanders, thinking of better days before the Muellersavus had hunted them down. The Rogerstone spoke very gently, his dirty trick art of finesse.

“The Italiaroman Empire … when a plot against the dino leader failed, the plotters — you, me, but specifically you — were always given a chance to let their families keep their huge nests of moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Yeah, but only the filthy rich dinos. The little dinos got knocked off. If they got arrested and executed, all their moolah-moolah went to the dino leader. If they just went home, ate some bad salamander …

The Jeromecorsi stopped in mid-chew.

“Roger?”

“Hey! My words are poison, not my food. Please, finish your salamander. You were saying?”

“Well, the little guy. If they just went home and killed themselves, up front, nothing happened.”

“Yeah, that was a good break. No fuss, a little muss. A nice deal.”

The two dinos looked at each other. The Jeromecorsi gulped. It was a gulp of understanding. He went on.

“And sometimes they went and sat in a hot springs pool and boiled like a frog, kind of like how this whole Muellersavus investigation has been going.”

“Tell me about it.”

“The Boiled Frog Syndrome.” The Jeromecorsi let out a long sigh. “Alright already. Not for nothing, I’m tired of the T-Rump. Maybe I can have a little Boiled Frog Syndrome party.”

The Rogerstone spit out the rest of his salamander. The Jeromecorsi was still chewing on his.

“Don’t worry about anything, Jerome.”

“Thanks, Roger. Thanks.”

There was a loud noise. It sounded like some big, thousand-ton Argentinosaurus banging his tail against the side of the cave. The Rogerstone blinked his eyes open. He’d been dreaming.

More tail banging.

“Come on out, Roger! We’ve got you surrounded!”

It was all hands on deck in the Oval Dwelling for Day 35 of the Shut-down … or the Shut-Show as some Mediacircustops were now calling it. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Even the in-laws had been called in to help boost the Tyrumposaurus’ waning popularity. It was vital they put the proper spin on this to relate better with the average dinosaur at home in his cave starving to death. The T-Rump spoke first, lest some dino by accident might say the same words and steal his thunder.

“Those dinos out of work will make adjustments. I know they will. I also know for a fact they spend every waking hour of every day praying for me and my Great Tex-Mex Divide.”

“They certainly are,” said the Laratyrump. “Sure, it’s a little bit of pain, but it’s going to be for the future of our dino nation and their dino tots and their dino tots’ dino tots, and generations after them will thank them for going hungry right now. Dinos know, you know.”

She gave the Kevinhassett a high-five, who continued the fake sympathy.

“And not only that, why, it’s like these dinos are on vacation! They don’t have to work, they’re not getting docked vacation days … I mean, does anybody think we should do this more often?”

“Easy, Kevin,” said the T-Rump. “I like your enthusiasm but I’ve got one Rudy already. Wilbur, you’re a man of 700 million moolah-moolah leaves, you dirty dino, you. What secrets could you share with our Shutdown shut-ins?”

The 81-year-old Wilburross hobbled over from his favorite wheezing position in the corner.

“Well, I just find it hard to fathom why these dinos don’t simply venture out and get a loan. Because right now I’m offering a dino-belly low 9 percent interest rate — this week only — to any dino who wants a month’s pay on the spot. You might want to take advantage of this right away because I just might die soon. You never know.”

The T-Rump clapped his hands.

“That’s great everyone. Great job. Let’s get these talking points out there right away. With Rudy out there flapping his gums and Kellyanne saying the wall is not a wall, this is great obfu– … uh, obfu — … Stephen, help me.”

“Obfuscation,” said the Stephenmillerus.

“T-Rump,” said the Kellyanneconvixway, “that lunatic Lannydavis wants to censure you and have Rudy arrested for witness tampering. That is s-o-o-o-o low … how dare they compare us to Mafiasaurae.”

“Hmm.” The T-Rump paused. “Does the Lannydavis have a father-in-law?”

“He’s dead, boss,” said the Stephenmillerus.

“Damn. Oh well, at least I’m not going to die.”

Most of the dinos in the room believed him.

“Oh,” said the T-Rump. “Before I forget, is there anything the Russodinos need done while we’re in this shutdown? Something to make us at least look busy?”

“Not really,” said the Huckabeecyclops, “but on that note, the Rachelmaddow said that the shutdown was part of their master plan. How can you believe that left-wing, string-bean Mediacircustops?”

“You’re talking to me now, Huckabee,” said the T-Rump. “That means the Muellersavus is getting closer. Would someone go wind Rudy up?”

“T-Rump, I’ve got it!”

“What is it, Stephen?”

“I’ve got a way for us to end the shut-down, get your Great Tex-Mex Divide done and draw attention away from the Russodinos as instigators of this shut-down.”

“Too many details. You lost me.”

“We can do this! It’s so crazy, it just may work.”

“I like crazy. Go on.”

“We use the National Emergencies Act and simply declare a national emergency.”

“What about Nancy? She’s just going to say no. Sometimes late at night, she scares me, you know.”

“It’s like this, boss. No leader has ever been as … uh, outside-the-box? … as you. The act doesn’t define what a national emergency even is, but once you declare it, all kind of moolah-moolah becomes available.

“Moolah-moolah?”

“That’s right. We can grab 3-and-a-half billion from the Meteor Defense Fund. You know, that money set aside for the Big One?”

“Right,” said the T-Rump. “Good riddance to those nervous Nellies scampering around whining, ‘the end is near.’”

“Then there’s another 3 billion in civil works funds, like when we pushed those boulders into the river so we could cross, remember?”

“Sure. Bridges. Walls. Same thing.”

“Let’s not forget 680 million from the Treasury forfeiture funds.”

“Hey!” roared the T-Rump. “That was already my moolah-moolah. I’m beginning to like this!”

“And finally, 200 million from Homeland Security.”

“Why not? We can take that right out of the Kirstjennielsen’s budget. She can do without. So many others are. Tell her it’s a penalty because she still hasn’t tracked down all those migrating Latinonacho dino tots. Be sure to have Kellyanne leak that to the Mediacircustops.”

The T-Rump sat back on his haunches and sighed triumphantly.

“Great job, Stephen. I’ll show Nancy who’s boss. No speech? We’ll see about that. She can’t touch my national emergency. It’s all mine. Because nobody shuts down the T-Rump.”

“That’s a winner, boss.”

The Stephenmillerus kicked one heel against the other and backed away from his latest footprints in the sand. It was a speech to commemorate the Tyrumposaurus’ second year in power. The T-Rump sniffed at it.

“Are you going to run through it?” asked the Stephenmillerus. “Maybe once?” 

“I never have before. Why should I now?”

“Just thought I’d ask.”

As a charter member of the sycophant sideshow, it always came down to what far-right fiasco had he done lately. The goal was to stay off the T-Rump’s dreaded Enemies List, the bottom-feeders of his own followers. The Stephenmillerus would live to smirk another day.

The T-Rump nodded approvingly.

“I know what you’re capable of, Stephen. You’re the most despised, the most despicable speech writer I have. That’s why you’re here.”

“Thank you.” The Stephenmillerus’ cheeks turned bright red. The Huckabeecylops snickered at the sight of him blushing.

The government shutdown was 31 days old, the longest in dinosaur history. There had been no moolah-moolah leaves for 800,000 dinos for too long. Some were beginning to rethink their once lofty position on the prehistoric food chain.

“You’d better not mention anything about starving dinos in here,” the T-Rump warned.

“You mean I have to take out ‘let them eat bark?’”

A smirk from the Huckabeecyclops told the T-Rump that the Stephenmillerus was indeed kidding.

Within the hour, the clearing had filled up with dinosaurs of all stripes, the dignified, the undignified and those who just loved to dig. Many Grandoldparty dinos kept their heads down, having swallowed their pride for so long, now hoping to simply be swallowed up in the crowd as faceless, nondescript swamp creatures. The sharp eyes of the Mediacircustops however, would pick them out. It was a genetic trait of their species.

The T-Rump stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Four scandals and two years ago, I brought my family into this Oval Dwelling — a step down from my usual digs … conceived in limestone and dedicated to the proposition that all dinos are not created equal. At least not while I’m here.”

“Now we are engaged in a great shutdown, testing whether the Nancypelosi, or the Cryingchuck — so radically right — can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield, greater than any the Obamarus ever saw. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, just enough to extend the Great Tex-Mex Divide as far as I can get away with, so that the dino nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that I should be the dino to do this.”

“But, in a larger sense, I’m talking about myself again, we cannot dedicate — we cannot consecrate — we cannot hallow — this ground to the Latinonachos. No. Absolutely not. 11 million dinos have already illegally migrated. Blame the Donkeykongrus on their poor power to detract.”

“Dinos throughout the land will take note, though they may not have a personal stake in what happened here, they can never forget that I was here. Because I won’t let them. It is for them to remember that I was here to dedicate the unfinished work that the Nancypelosi and the Cryingchuck screwed up. It now falls into my lap to get the job done because I’m the only one, the only stable genius who knows how.”

“It is rather for you to be here to appreciate the great task remaining before me — that from these Latinonachos stopped dead in their tracks, we take increased devotion to that cause for which they tried to sneak past us, the slithering reptiles they are. We here highly resolve that isolationism and nationalism shall not have died in vain — that this dino nation, under my leadership, shall have a new birth of T-Rumpism — and that government of the dinos, by the T-Rump, for the T-Rump, shall not perish from the Milkanhoney Preservation. Ahem. You may thank me now.”

The Bushfortythree turned to his wife.

“That was some weirder shit.”

Inside the Oval Dwelling, the Huckabeecyclops’ mood was somber. Her lazy, wandering eye found the Tyrumposaurus.

“Blessed be the fruit,” she said.

“Alright already, Huckabee,” said the T-Rump. “And stop looking at me like that. I didn’t drive you to religion. Give your head a shake and squat. The Mincepencenow has an official status report on the Middle Eastlands. Mike?”

“Yes, oh, esteemed T-Rump. I can say with absolute, complete and total certainty that our fine dinosaur forces have put a triumphant end to the Isisasaurus threat.

Two nanoseconds later there came a great roar of clashing dinosaurs in the distance. Horrific shrieks and the painful wails of mortal dino combat filled the cave, causing the T-Rump to shudder.

“What is it, Mike?”  

“I’m sorry, T-Rump, but that was the unmistakable sound of several of our own brave dinos being senselessly slaughtered by rebel Isisasaurus.”

“Great, you idiot. Why’d you have to go and say that?”

“But you said.”

“That’s right,” said the T-Rump. “I said. I can get away with anything. But you. One sentence and you make a mess of it. No wonder every dino lies to you.”

“Every one?”

“Newsflash, Mike. Even me.”

The Mincepencenow was crestfallen. His shoulders slumped and a single dino tear rolled down his cheek.

The T-Rump shook his head.

“Why is everybody so sad? None of you appreciate chaos. You really don’t. Steven, what’s up with the Donkeykongrus? Tell me they all caught hoof-and-mouth disease and are gravely ill.”

The Stephenmillerus smirked.

“Unfortunately not, T-Rump. However, we do have an issue. The Nancypelosi is forcing us to move your State of the Preservation Address to sometime after the shutdown. Some poppycock about it not looking good for you to pat yourself on the back while dinos are starving.”

“Why that … that …” The T-Rump grabbed the Stephenmillerus by the throat. “I want you to find me a dino who knows a terrible, horrible, derogatory word that rhymes with Pelosi, you got that?”

“Gulp. Yes, T-Rump.”

“What are we going to do with her in the meantime? I want her to feel pain.”

The Huckabeecyclops forgot religion and brightened.

“She was planning a trip to see our fighting dinos in the Afghan Sandstand.”

“Big deal,” said the T-Rump. “What good is that?”

The Stephenmillerus clapped his hands.

“She bumped your speech. You bump her trip.”

The T-Rump beamed.

“What would I do without you two? I’m serious. You do know they’re going to throw you both in the Solitary Sinkhole when this is over.”

The two conniving cohorts looked at each other.

“But what a ride!” they sang together.

“Okay, so, while you’re at it,” said the T-Rump. “Cancel the trip to Daveys.”

“Davos,” said the Stephenmillerus.

“Right.”

“But you don’t have to,” said the Huckabeecyclops.

“Nonsense! I didn’t want to go anyway. If I can’t have a secret meeting with the Putinodon, why bother?”

“Uh, T-Rump?”

“What now, Huckabee?”

“Did you know that the Williambarr and the Muellersavus are, um … friends?”

“What?! Why am I finding out about this now? I spend all this time lying about the Comeyonus being friends with the Muellersavus and now my new attorney general dino actually is. How did this happen?”

“Remember the No Vetting Rule you put in place two years ago?”

“Ancient history. But don’t change a thing. We don’t have time for that. Hell, we don’t even have dinos for that.”

“We need more dinos to keep up with this breaking news,” the Stephenmillerus said almost proudly. “The Michaelcohen blabbed about those two polls you rigged for 50,000 moolah-moolah leaves.”

“Yes. Hmm. I’m thinking family.”

A confused look from the Dino of Deportation.

“Not my family,” said the T-Rump. “The Michaelcohen’s family. Hit him where it hurts.”

“Oh, I think he just hit us where it hurts.”

“How so?”

The Stephenmillerus paused. The kind of pause signaling profoundly bad news.

“He told the Mediacircustops that you told him to lie to the Kongrus Kave about your proposed luxury caves in the Moscovian Bluffs. They have the footprints in the sand to prove it. It’s a crime, T-Rump. They finally got you!”

The T-Rump grabbed his chest. His eyes rolled over. He fainted, falling forward in a perfect face plant.

A rumbling roar in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir rose to a crescendo of patriotic proportions, echoing throughout the land as dinosaurs young and old turned their tonsils to the skies to proclaim …

“Praise be!”

“Pass the trailsnack, ma.”

Trailsnack was Trumpassic Period parlance for roadkill. Another unidentifiable, stomped-upon mess of intestines and entrails that tasted surprisingly like chicken.

It was supper time in the Red Neck Nukkledraggerz home in the very hilly Billy Blue Bayou. Ma  passed an extra-crushed breastplate to Billyjoe as her other son Billybob and her husband gnashed away. Billyjoe and Billybob, both in their mid-30s, lived in their parents’ subterranean cavern.

“I wonder what them workin’ dinos is doin’ today,” Billyjoe said with a chuckle. “Or ain’t doin’. How many days that shutdown been now? 17?”

“16,” said Billybob. “And a bunch o’ hours.”

“That means 17.”

“16.”

Ma spit out a bone.

“Would you two cut it out! Ya got nothin’ better to do than argue over the time o’ day? Honestly. You’re gonna be the death o’ me.”

“Sorry, ma,” said Billyjoe. “We’re jus’ jacked up over the T-Rump hullabaloo, his Great Text-Mex Divide and all. The dino world is finally gettin’ tuh see how the other half lives.”

“Well, I don’t rightly know what all the fuss is about. All them dinos outta work right now. They could round’em up and build that wall in no time. Ain’t that right, pa?”

“Huh, what’s that? Is you talkin’ tuh me?”

Pa’s hearing had been haywire ever since the rabid raptor incident.

“Never mind,” she said. “I just think it’s nice that the T-Rump is finally takin’ a big squat for the little guy.”

“Both haunches, damn straight,” said Billyjoe. “First he said it was his shutdown, then he said you can call it the Pelosi shutdown or the Cryingchuck shutdown. He’s one-smart dino, coverin’ all them bases like that. Hah! He’s even callin’ it a strike.”

Billybob puzzled while munching.

“What’s a strike, Billyjoe?”

“That’s when ya don’t work cuz ya don’t want to.”

“Kinda like us, huh? Didn’t know we wuz on strike.”

“I’m the dino who should go on strike,” said ma. “Feedin’ you two and keepin’ your tails clean. You been squattin’ downstairs, no jobs fer so long, it’s a calamity, a national emergency!”

Billybob slapped his tail on the ground.

“Well, drag my knuckles til they’re bloody’n raw, that’s what the T-Rump said, ma! He’s gonna soon declare a national emergency.  He plum said they’re havin’ meetin’s this week … an’ nuthin’s gonna happen at them. That T-Rump is a psycho.”

“You mean psychic,” said Billyjoe. “Psycho is what you is at a T-Rump rally. Or when the Rashidatlaib said she was gonna impeach the mother-.”

“Billyjoe!” His mother threw a bone at him, bonking him on the beak. “No cussin’ durin’ supper!”

“Cussin’?” It was pappy piping up. “Is they cussin’ again? I loves a good cussin’! Only thing better than the T-Rump cussin’ is a lady dino cussin’. Is a lady cussin’?”

“Hush up, you ol’ fossil, before I gives you a cussin’ upside the head!”  Ma threw a bone at him, missing him on purpose because his eyes were worse than his ears, thanks to the older brother of said rabid raptor.

Billyjoe chewed with his mouth more open than the others.

“I hear the Donkeykongrus is askin’ for official justification for the Great Tex-Mex Divide.”

“What’s that?” asked Billybob.

“A wall, ya idjit.”

“No, the oh-fish-ull just-uh-fih-kay-shun. … Whew. That was a long one.”

“Oh. Just details is all. Who needs’em? The T-Rump sure don’t. That all just takes up more time. Look at us, ya think we gotta lotta spare time on our hands?”

Billybob stopped chewing.

“Gee, Billyjoe. I don’t rightly know. Ma? What say you?”

“Well, the T-Rump done said this shutdown could last for months, years even.”

Billybob slapped his knee.

“Hot Wartyhotdog! That means we gots ext-tree time on our hands. The T-Rump is my hee-ro.”

“Ayup,” said Billyjoe. “Done got a very, very large brain, he does. The biggest in these parts.”

“Naw,” said Billybob. “That his gut be talkin’.”

“Brain.”

“Gut.”

Ma threw bones at both of them. Direct hits.

“Billyjoe! Billybob! Don’t make me spit out this trailsnack and come over there!”

It was the first day of a new world in the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir. The Tyrumposaurus, the Stephenmillerus and the Huckabeecyclops hunkered down in the Oval Dwelling, commiserating over that very fact. The aging wonder, the Nancypelosi, and the incoming wave of new Donkeykongrus dinos had just finished taking the solemn Oath of Nether Regions. That is, they promised to give any tail-dragging Grandoldparty dino a kick in the butt. For all to see, it was the new dino transparency.

“She can’t do this to me!” the Tyrumposaurus wailed, lashing his tale against the battered Whaling-Away Wall behind him.

“They’re not budging on the Great Tex-Mex Divide,” said the ever despondent Stephenmillerus.

“They haven’t investigated you. Yet,” the Huckabeecyclops said, clinging desperately to a smidgen of hope.

“No!” the T-Rump roared. “Nancy’s getting all the attention! Where are my Mediacircustops?”

“We can put in a call to the Foxsquawkbox,” said the Huckabeecyclops. They’re always ready to kiss your bone spurs.”

The T-Rump paused to reflect on the latest display of supreme sycophancy shown towards him. But since none had occurred in the past 24 hours, all memories save for family names and morning scalp maintenance escaped him.

“That’s nice,” he lied softly. “But I need more.”

The Huckabeecyclops brightened.

“The Russodinos are holding the Paulwhelan hostage. Rescuing him would send your ratings sky-high.”

“No can do. Read my toothy grimace, the Putinodon is always right and my Langleyops dinos can’t find their tails with both hands. Look at the fascinating story the Putinodon came up with since we grabbed the Mariabutina. Great story. I’m sure the rube, tin-tooth dinos will eat it up.”

Another idea pinged the Huckabeecyclops.

“There’s the new attorney general dino in Manhatinhand, the Letitiajames. She’s been talking about you non-stop. I want the T-Rump, I want the T-Rump.”

“For the Solitary Sinkhole, you idiot,” the Stephenmillerus cut her off. “T-Rump, regarding the Nancypelosi …” he said, rubbing his hands in wicked glee. “We’ll head her off at the pass.”.

“Oh, no.” The T-Rump shuddered. “No violence. Please.”

“It’s a figure of–”

“Her daughter — her daughter said that Nancy could cut your head off and you wouldn’t even know you’re bleeding.”

Feeling woozy, the T-Rump slumped forward. The Stephenmillerus grabbed him before he hit the ground. The antagonistic analyst turned to the Huckabeecyclops.

“Can you run with that? Spin Nancy’s ‘cut your head off’ quote into some wild threat we can use against them?”

“I don’t know. After all, we are depraved, roaming, foaming-at-the-mouth dinosaurs.”

“Speak for yourself, Huckabee,” the T-Rump snorted, shaking off his nausea. Now then, Stephen. What are we going to do?”

Thirty minutes later, the Huckabeecyclops paraded in front of a hastily called Mediacircustops briefing. Behind her, half a dozen hefty Bald Borderpatrollus dinos traipsed in and lined up behind her, making for an impressive, if not impromptu border of their own. The Huckabeecyclops flashed her challenging eyeball at the news hungry dinos before her.

“Welcome. Before you start yelling at me, dare I remind you that I have the Tyrumposaurus right behind me.”

“Hah!” came a cry from the front row. “You’re nuts. That’s your best lie yet. The T-Rump has never shown his face here. Never.”

The dinos around him nodded their heads and laughed. Their laughter quickly turned to gasps. They blinked, slobbered and rubbed their eyes at the miracle before them.

The T-Rump was at the Mediacircustops briefing. A Trumpassic Period first. He stepped to the fore.

“Alright, alright. Don’t all clap at once. I’m here to tell you I’ll say one nice thing about the Nancypelosi. It would be nice if she’d come to her senses and end this government shutdown. Sheesh! I like my executive time but this is ridiculous. Now then, these fine dinos behind me are all guards straight from the Great Tex-Mex Divide. They are there so you have the freedom to remind the Milkanhoney Preservation how important I am. I’d let them each step up and tell you their harrowing stories of how they’ve fought tooth and nail to keep the marauding, the rampaging and the bloodthirsty Latinonachos from stripping our freedoms away like meat from a bone … but this is my Great Tex-Mex Divide, my demand for more moolah-moolah leaves and my political stunt to put your focus back on me.”

The Stephenmillerus winced. He lies all day long and then picks the worst time to be honest.

“That will be all” the T-Rump said, glaring sternly at his audience. “Thank you, thank you and good-bye.”

He turned and led his entourage away.

“What? No questions?” one Mediacircustops said to another. “You call that a briefing?”

“Yeah, where’s the beef? Didn’t he say something about meat from a bone?”