Journalists on the Hump

CNN's Candy Crowley has a very hairy pussy. A large face, a strong, powerful nose, and a forest of pubic hair. The lips of her vagina are thick and intricate -- complicated, fascinating, scary, and stunning, just like she is. She loves the smell of sex. I say the smell because that's what triggers her lust: the smell of arm pits, of balls and assholes. And the sweatier, the better. She loves to sniff and whiff anything that's male, even -- or should I say especially -- the black socks of men. Her husband's long and skinny cock was always good, but she enjoyed other cocks quite a bit, and knew how to make sure she partook of what was within her reach without triggering any suspicions. "Do it in plain site," she used to say, "and no one will suspect." And she did. Aaron Brown was a regular guest on her bed. His hairy chest afforded her ample grounds to lick and smell; his thick cock and his always-shaved balls, where favorite delicacies that she relished sucking.

On the road, as she covered the primaries and later on the full elections, she masturbated a lot. It was the only way she could safely relieve her tensions. She carried along on her trips her several pornographic DVDs, including her collection of Rocco Sifferdi movies. "He is passionate and dedicated," she confided to her closest colleagues, "and I admire that in a man." But sometimes, she didn't need her DVDs to help her. Just watching herself on TV re-runs sometimes aroused her to orgasms, as Anderson whispered to her how wonderful she was.

And you wouldn't know that Loud Dobbs kept a well-preserved Chinese woman in her sixties as a concubine that he fucked every single night. It was the only way he could keep his vigor, he explained to his wife Debi Segura, who had signed off on the project long ago -- many years ago -- when Lou had gotten it into his head that ejaculating into the pussy of a Chinese woman on a nightly basis gave him the power he needed to keep fighting. And the media, looking for the usual things in the usual places, never suspected a thing, mistaking the Chinese woman for a non-entity staffer whose job was beneath their curiosity. And so Lou emptied his large sack of semen regularly, thanking God for the privilege of being born in such a great country..

And I am sure you would never have guessed in a million years that Bill O'Reilley has a small penis and that he never once cheated on his wife, Maureen McPhilmy. Always disciplined and always sober, he made sure to pump his wife twice a week at least, and to kiss her and caress her when she had her period and could not let him penetrate her. He loved to shave her pussy and to suck on it for hours afterwards, declaring his adamant delight in the white juices that generously overflew from her vagina as she glared at him with her bulgy eyes, as if angry at him for sucking her with such lust. But she was not angry. Her heart raced and she wagged her tongue with sexual desire. And at such times, she became lustful beyond control and the dirty thoughts that she bottled up would come gushing out: "I know you want to put your cock inside Mara Liason, I just know it.... You know what, Brit Hume was looking at me and I know he wants to fuck me..." And so on, she would go on and on, until Bill would stop her and bring her to her senses.

Watching C-SPAN late at night, sipping a Michelob in the darkness of his bedroom, all by himself, Wolf Blitzer always ended up taking out his cock and masturbating quietly. His days were noisy and filled with a million random little things and he was always the happiest these moments. He had long ago forgotten how to disconnect completely, having decided that constant work was the only way to live. "But I love this job," he told his friends, defensively, when they wondered out loud why he didn't take any days off. These moments of rest between his long daily battles were all he needed. It was more than enough. So, finally relaxing, he fantasized about screwing Candy Crowley -- penetrating what he was sure was a thick, large pussy.. He loved the fact that she was fat and had a large nose and that her neck was showing her age. If only he knew how many times Candy had fantasized about him and his hairy face -- and how close she had come to approaching him and inviting him to join her stable of men. And he fantasized about Barbara Walters -- old and scary, but still attractive, and one that Wolf could easily imagine himself penetrating with aggressive gusto. He was certain that she shaved her pussy regularly and was also sure that her pussy smelled of faint vinegar. And he craved Glenn Eifel's boobs -- so big and so black, he thought, and shook his head every time he thought of those boobs, remembering his "so black" remark during the dark days of Katrina.

Larry King, getting crankier by the day but never forgetting where he came from and how far he had traveled, never lets a day go by without putting his cock inside a vagina. It was usually his wife's vagina, but when she was not there, the Filipina nanny did just as well, fulfilling her duty with poise and dedication. And by and large she too enjoyed the sex: for a man in his seventies, he had a strong cock and kept it hard reasonably long enough. And he tried to be sweet too: he made it a point to always smile and pat her on the butt once she was done, thinking that he was being agreeable. But in fact he always frightened her a bit and made her wince at the sight of the overstretched exaggerated smile on his ghoulish face, even if she understood that he meant well and was only trying to please.

Brian Lamb, the father of C-CPAN, was a legend for many reasons. Not only did he single handedly establish the only serious, decent, and always reliable source of political information, but he was also a gigantic masturbator. Gigantic no only because he carried around a 14 inch penis, but also because he masturbated three or four times a day, every day. His habit was well known in the C-CPAN offices, and strangely enough, no one thought Brian Lamb the worse for it. It was accepted as yet another one of his quirks, just like his abrupt and yet polite and detached interviewing style. Late at night, as he sat down reading, he could often be heard yelling, "Females! Females"" as he masturbated loudly. (He always used shampoo, which made his masturbations so loud that Peter Slen, an executive producer, could hear him loud and clear across the hall.)

This was a historic year -- a year like no other. A black man was about to win the presidency. The economy was collapsing. A woman had nearly won the nomination of her party. The oldest man to ever run was running, and by his side ran the first woman to be nominated to the vice presidency by the Republican Party. This was an election that the whole world followed very closely and openly cheered for one candidate and prayed for the failure of the other. Many couples watched the debates while having sex, the men thrusting their women and slapping their asses when their candidate scored a zinger or made a strong point. And the dedicated masturbators yelled and spit on their cocks or slapped their pussies in delight when the other candidate stumbled or goofed. And along the campaign trail, trying to survive the madness that surrounded them, the reporters more than anyone else whipped their cocks and pumped their pussies, celebrating Majestic History as it unfurled right in front of their lustful eyes.