The dingo so savagely not sexually assaulted by Essendon Premiership winning coach Kevin Sheedy today exclusively reveals its torment to The Age.
Although Sheedy never actually touched the dingo, his actions still amount to the worst crime since the Holocaust, although this reporter believes the two are equal, and that if the dingo, known only as ‘Jessie’, carries out her threat to commit suicide due to the unbearable pain of her near-experience, then Kevin Sheedy will surpass Adolf Hitler in the ranks of history’s greatest monsters.
Such is the horror of Jessie’s Story that we have simply reprinted the transcript of her exclusive interview below, so that the power of her words may wash over you like the enormous tsunami of suffering they are.
Sam: How did you feel when Kevin Sheedy broke into your cage, held you down and raped you repeatedly, just like Josef Fritzl did to his daughter in that dungeon in Poland or wherever it was?
Jessie: I was deeply traumatized and remain so. The only thing that can salve my distress is if you get a Walkley for this in no way self-promoting and ethically unsound campaign you are running.
Sam: You are too kind Jessie. I agree that a Walkley would be the only fair recognition for my efforts in making this shit up as I go along. Maybe an award from the UN presented by the ghost of Benazir Bhutto? Perhaps, dare I say it … Nobel?
Jessie: I for one will happily nominate you. My, that is a fetching trouser suit you are wearing Sam. Wherever did you get it?
(Continues for another 167 pages, three more pages than The Age has readers)
Johnno folded the paper and reached for his mobile phone. He was no book-learnin’ type but he knew that if he was to track down the murderer Dew, this Sam woman could be an ally.
He dialed The Age footy desk number and got Sam.
“You don’t know me, but I might have a story for you,” he said. “Can we meet somewhere.”
Two hours later and the deal had been done. In exchange for Stewart Dew’s home address, Johnno would disfigure this Rebecca woman with a bucket of acid. Such was the currency of revenge.
Later, at her desk, Sam wondered if she had done the right thing. Of course she had. Dew was just another rapist in waiting like the rest of them (except of course her lovely Dad.)
She recalled the time at a media conference at Waverley when she’d been eating a sandwich, and she’d felt a hot lusting gaze on her. She’d looked up, and there was Dew, staring at her, undressing her with his eyes.
He come over like it was the most normal thing in the world and propositioned her in the most vile fashion.
“If you’re not going to finish that sandwich Sam, can I have it?” he’d asked.
The bastard. Whatever this mad Johnno bloke did to him, he had coming. They all did.
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