“It’s not like we’ll be turning tricks on Twelfth and Mass.” Jane reassured her husband.

“We need a higher class of johns.” Dick replied. “We’ve sold ourselves cheap for the last four years.”

Dick and Jane made their bones spinning lies and hustling Fake News at the White House. Seeing their stuff repeated on Fox was as good as West Wing cocaine.

It was inevitable they’d attract offers from white-nationalists pumping out rumors about pedophiles in pizzerias.

“We have to protect our brand.” Dick insisted. “We can‘t afford to be associated with ridiculous fairy tales.”

“They’re talking serious money; and they’ll pay us upfront,” Jane said. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Dicky Dearest, June’s rent is due on Tuesday.”

“Maybe you could buy us a free month by offering our landlord a blowjob.” Dick said, laughing.

“I think Solly’s more interested in you, cowboy.”