Manhattan Madam Pleads the First

Mueller refuses her First Amendment rights at trial

She arrived at the interview with a tussle of blonde hair and a face bloated from years of plastic surgery. “It was the most grueling experience of my life. If they treat Drumpf this bad, no wonder he wants to shut it down. And he should. They behaved me like I was a witness in a criminal trial.”

“You were a witness in a criminal proceeding,” I pointed out.

“No, I wasn’t. I only went there to tell them what great guys Roger Stone and Drumpf are. They were very generous, set up bank accounts for my business and make regular deposits. When I told Mueller that, that man treated me like I’d done something illegal.”

“It’s called money laundering,” I explained to her, “and it is illegal.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “I’ve never done laundry in my life. I have illegals for that, although Donald’s making them harder to find.”

According to Davis, her testimony before the grand jury was like “one of those bootleg camps where they make you crawl through the mud and yell at you.”

“Did Mueller yell at you?”

“He wasn’t very polite. He expected me to answer his questions whether I wanted to or not, but he didn’t care a word about what I wanted to say. I kept trying to explain what a great guy Roger is, but he wouldn’t let me explain. It was a total violation of my free speech rights.”

“Did you talk to a lawyer before you answered the subpoena?”

“Heavens, no. Roger can’t afford one. He’s got bills of his own.” She pawed in her purse for a cigarette but found a bottle of Johny Walker Black and settled for that. “Besides, why do I need a lawyer to answer questions? I’m not the criminal?”

“Do you understand the difference between the first and fifth amendments?” I asked.

She waved me off. “I’m no dummy. One is freedom of speech and the other freedom of church. Or guns. Does the number really matter?” She leaned forward and squeezed my knee. “Are you free tonight? I have just the girl for you. I think you’d manage quite well on your limited budget.”

I told her I was married. “Aren’t we all?” she said.

Her lips deflated and she took a minute to inject more silicon. Her left lip sagged below her right one. “The worst part? They treated me like a whore. I haven’t been one of those in years.”

“What do you do now?”

“I arrange parties for lonely men who need companionship. Or married ones. They need it even more.”

The interview ended on that note. I gave her the URL of a site that explained the Bill of Rights, but she told me, “Honey, I don’t read. I know men that will tell me whatever I want.”

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