It Wasn't Rape! (Not Precisely)

 

(By Cyril Blubberpuss, Conservative-American)

It wasn't rape!" I yelled as I stuck my head in a battered women's shelter.

     I can't put into words just how angry I am at that jury's verdict in Manhattan. I mean, where can a male celebrity bloated with a sense of impunity go to get a fair trial? Luckily, the very next day, the new CNN (Conservative News Network) gave my good friend Donald a fair hearing, in which he was allowed to present his side of the story without interruption or challenge.

     Of course, there's a world of difference between rape and sexual assault. Admittedly, rape is an ugly experience whereas forceful digital penetration and prematurely ejaculating all over a dress is more of an experience that everyone can laugh about for decades.

     But my friend Donnie's not laughing because it never happened. Why, by his own admission, he never even met the woman! Here he is with his ex wife, Marla Maples, and, to show that Donnie has a common touch, he's even yukking it up with one of his butlers or waiters.

 

 

    And, if the lies start piling up against you, call your accuser names. My father's old friend and Joe McCarthy's legal counsel, Roy "Boy Toy" Cohn was good at that. Good ole Roy would never fail to set the table on a roar by calling heterosexuals "breeders".

    And speaking of Joe McCarthy, I'd like to interject by relating a tale of my own father Ambrose's so-called sex scandal during his brief but eventful quarter term in Congress. Back before that third rate Dear Abby, E. Jean Carroll, was even in junior high school, my sainted father, Congressman Ambrose Blubberpuss, was accused of sexual assault by one of his female pages.

    Properly outraged by these lies, Father sought the help of Sen. McCarthy, who was busy walking into the statues of Statuary Hall in the Capitol Building. When Father poured out his heart to him, McCarthy belched, unsteadily looked at him and slurred, "Who are you?" Father interpreted McCarthy's response as a brilliant strategy for dealing with his accuser- So he fired the girl and simply said he never met her.

    Then an avalanche of fake photographs came out that, I have to admit, were brilliantly done, showing Father in close proximity with his accuser. The girl then disappeared and next thing anyone knew, Father began receiving at his Manhattan Congressional office several photographs of the Jersey pine barrens.

    

    Then of course, there are the series of accusations, often from junior high school principals and school superintendents, that have been leveled at my baby brother, Cecil, over the years, including one outrageous one in which he volunteered to be the boys' wardrobe manager at the local junior high during a Christmas musical.

     That's a fine reward for passionate civic duty!

 

 

     And I don't even want to get into the vile accusations hurled at my sweet baby Bertha, including one that, ironically, also allegedly took place at the Bergdorf Goodman lady's changing room. It seems to be a family curse. Luckily, I've evaded such scandals. It tough to make such spurious accusations stick when you haven't gotten it up since the Carter administration.