Clue for my new scoop falls out of Jim Traficant's hair

Sex with Jim Traficant is complicated in the afterlife. Shit just falls out of his toupe at the most inopportune moments. At least with Ghoulardi, you expect it. He's a comedian.

For my new scoop, I head over to Traficant's place with a bottle of Four Roses. Before long, Ol' Dot and Jim are rollin' in the old hay, I reach for Betty Cope's vibrating floor mop she left the other night, and out pops a dildo from Traficant's head. So boring.

"Jim, if we're gonna do this, my rules, or hit the road."

"Oh, dottie, you're such a dumb old hag." Jim picks up the dildo, stirs himself an Old Fashioned with it. "I thought you were a....ahem.....JOURNALIST?"

Light bulb goes on. Now I'm interested. I let Traficant plow my every orifice for a couple hours until I can't walk, and finally understand. I cut to the chase.

"Spill it, hairball."

Traficant lights me a Lucky Strike, drags it once, places it on my lower lip seductively. "You know I had this intern who's running for president now, right?"

"The little snot got me to start doin' yoga."

Traficant smiles. "Well, if you'll just pay attention to all the clues I just shoved into you maybe you'll figure out you're following the wrong bread crumbs, Dottie."

This scoop is gonna kill me. And I'm already dead! Drat.