Dick Feagler puts my face on bowl of dildos for housewarming

My new presidential candidate scoop is a real doozie, kids. Clues gettin rammed into my every orifice by Jim Traficant's flacid member, readers sending tips. Now, clues gettin plowed into every seraphim and cherubim in the Great Beyond, thanks to that piss ant blowhard Dick Feagler.

When Cleveland media royalty kicks the bucket, it's orgy time upstairs. So I grab a bottle of Canadian Club, head over to Dick's new pad. Quite a place. Feagler insisted on the full saintly "all you lands" treatment. Diva.

I walk in, and amidst every dead CLE media whore's dripping bodily fluids sprayed all over Dick's heavenly eternal home, there's a bowl of my face starin' at me from the bulbous tips of veiny dildos next to the cheese plate.

"What the fuck is this, Dick."

"HA!" Dick is amused. Throws back a Cosmo, shoves one of my dildo faces up Nev Chandler's hairy ass, which is bent over Betty Cope in doggy position gettin plowed by Bob Bennett. "Just thought you needed a few more clues for your," Dick rolls his eyes, "NEW SCOOP Dottie, don't get your knickers in a twist."

Feagler still thinks I'm an amateur. "Dick, you've always been a poser." I grab him by the neck, take one of his fancy dildos, shove it down his throat. Four hours of shoving my own face into Dick's g-spots, we're relaxing on his veranda listening to the holy hosts. I light a Camel, take a drag, cut to the chase.

"Spill it, Dick."

Dick gets coy. "I ain't as easy as Sam Miller, you old hag."

Drat. This scoop ain't gonna write itself.