|George Voinovich enjoys Virgil Dominic groping me.|
Guess George Voinovich thinks he's so important he can wake me up from my eternal slumber to dust off the ol' Remington to cover another well known unspoken of Caligulan political orgy. Why me.
"Hear about the pock marked discheveled potential Ohio VP pick whose dick never saw an orifice it didn't plug?" Voinovich says to me over the punch bowl at his welcome party to the CLE Media Great Beyond. Like I need this. Casey Coleman starts laughing, pourin' shots, calls over Ghoulardi, Gib Shanley picks me up, they all start parading me around like Vince Lombardi after Super Bowl I.
"All Hail the Queen of Cleveland Journalism!!!" everyone starts chanting. I'm bobbin' up and down in mid air, Joel Rose sees an opening, climbs into the scrum holdin' me up, sticks a finger where it don't belong, suddenly its on. Hours go by, I wake up next to Georgie pourin' me an Old Fashioned wearin' nothin' but the stupid fucking grin.
"You're gonna love this one, Dottie!"
"Spill it," I tell him, taking a drag on a Lucky Strike.
"You know the story, Dot, don't play coy with me." George still has that debonair charm, even in glorious death. Hands me my drink, we take our first sips staring into each others' eyes. Just then Betty Cope barges in, sees George in his birthday suit, and its on again. More hours go by, all I remember is Nev Chandler swingin from a body stirrup at some point.
But I got the scoop! Guess I'm back on the beat!