She's Giving Dirty Old Men a Bad Name

Updated: Feb 9


Let’s be honest. Any woman who goes into a Bergdorf Goodman women’s change room with a man who isn’t her lover or husband – and especially THAT man – isn’t to be believed. I’m talking E. Jean Carroll here. You know, the attention-grabbing advice columnist who claims that Donald Trump raped her and whom Donald Trump claims isn’t attractive enough to merit raping.


Now go ahead, social media trolls and #METoo witch hunters, unleash a shit-storm of abuse on me.


I never thought I’d be advocating for Donald ‘Grab-em-by-the-pussy’ Trump, 45th President of the United States and America’s most despicable cultural icon. But hey, life is unpredictable. And sometimes one needs to stand up for even the worst villains in order to safeguard the rights and freedoms of all citizens in this society that’s so fond of finger-pointing and so casual about the rule of law. Not to mention roughly half the electorate that’s incapable of rational thought.


My son is a criminal defense lawyer in Canada, a nation that has taken in more migrants than any country in the world and whose people don’t think it’s a problem. Canadians take multi-culturalism seriously. Canada is also a country that isn’t wracked by sex scandals amongst the political elite, high-flying business types and wannabe media stars. Marijuana is legal in Canada.

Assault rifles are strictly forbidden. I asked my lawyer son how he can defend those scumbags who beyond any doubt are guilty as charged. His response was simple.


“Dad,” he replied, “My clients know they’re guilty. And I know they’re guilty. But if we don’t ensure they get their full civil rights and equal treatment under the law, then nobody will get their rights under the law. Without criminal defense lawyers, we’d already be living in a police state.”


Proceedings in the Supreme Court of Canada are televised in real time via the internet. I watched as my son’s legal team plead a case to the tribunal of judges. His client had been incarcerated for the last nine years because the police and crown prosecutors withheld key eyewitness testimony attesting to the accused’s innocence. The imprisoned individual had visited a bar, then got into a verbal dispute with another client who subsequently punched him. On leaving the bar later that evening, the assailant was shot dead. Police could not locate the real assassin, so they did the next best thing. They may not have actually lied, but they did withhold the truth without any qualms of conscience.


But let’s get back to E. Jean Carroll and her accusation. Let's see if there's any truth or qualms of conscience here.


In her book, What Do We Need Men For: A Modest Proposal, the showy advice columnist claims that she was 52 on the day she ran into Donald Trump at the department store during the Fall of 1995 or Spring of 1996; she doesn’t quite remember when it was. Carroll agreed to help him pick out lingerie as a gift for an unnamed woman.


Trump would have been married to Marla Maples during that period but it’s a slam dunk that the lingerie wasn’t for her. Most likely it was intended for Melania Knaus, a Slovakian-born model (confirmed) and alleged escort (unconfirmed) living in Manhattan at the time. Melania eventually entered the USA on an ‘Einstein’ visa, posed for soft porn that was widely distributed on the international market, and after marrying Trump became FLOTUS45 in 2016 (see www.francescorizzuto.com/blog/first-lady-of-porn).


According to Carroll, Trump suggested she try the lingerie on, then joked that he should try it on himself. Nothing criminal in that, right? Men flirt. Women flirt. It’s a pas de deux. In an interview with a New York Times reporter featured on the podcast 'The Daily', she recounts her excitement with the idea of enticing him, lingerie in hand, into the women's change room, supposedly in the interest of a good story. Exactly the kind of sage advice she’d have given any one of her women readers.


The moment the dressing-room door is closed, he lunges at me, pushes me against the wall, hitting my head quite badly, and puts his mouth against my lips. I am so shocked I shove him back and start laughing again.”


Laughing? Who is raping whom here? Nonetheless, this is vintage Trump. A hot mic recording captured on a studio bus in which Trump and Billy Bush were preparing to film an episode of Access Hollywood left this for posterity: "I just start kissing them ... I don't even wait. And when you're a star, they let you do it, you can do anything ... grab 'em by the pussy." Twenty-two other women have accused Trump of sexual misconduct as of June 2019, but then, that’s a relatively small number given the man’s wealth and the massive number of gold diggers lusting after it.


“He seizes both my arms and pushes me up against the wall a second time, and as I become aware of how large he is, he holds me against the wall with his shoulder and jams his hand under my coat dress and pulls down my tights.”


According to another hot mic that picked up a conversation between Vladimir Putin and Angela Merkel, Donald Trump is not ‘large’.



Large or small or whatever, the saga continues:


“I am astonished by what I’m about to write. I keep laughing. The next moment, still wearing correct business attire, shirt, tie, suit jacket, overcoat, he opens the overcoat, unzips his pants, and, forcing his fingers around my private area, thrusts his penis halfway – or completely, I’m not certain – inside me. It turns into a colossal struggle. I am wearing a pair of sturdy black patent-leather four-inch Barneys high heels, which puts my height around six-one, and I try to stomp his foot. I try to push him off with my one free hand – for some reason, I keep holding my purse with the other – and I finally get a knee up high enough to push him out and off and I turn, open the door, and run out of the dressing room.”


Okay. So, here we have a 52-year-old, supposedly mature woman fleeing a rapist in a Bergdorf’s women’s change room with her tights hugging her ankles (or at least low enough to get an unlubricated penis inside her in record time) and nobody notices, no alarms ring, business goes on as usual. I’ve loitered outside enough women’s change rooms waiting for my wife to try armloads of swimwear, lingerie, and other clothing to know that there’s always a guard monitoring who and what goes into and comes out of these places, if for no other reason than to discourage shoplifters. Donald Trump raping someone isn’t likely to go unnoticed. Not even at Bergdorf’s.


Trump denies having ever met Carroll or knowing who she was; however, Carroll provided a photograph of her and her then-husband with Trump in 1987 at an NBC party where Trump knew her better half. There is no evidence or witness testimony indicating that he actually knew or met Carroll.


Carroll also alleged that, in the mid-1990s, media executive Les Moonves sexually assaulted her in an elevator after she had interviewed him for a story. Moonves denied the allegation. The ‘90’s’ are safely in the past, enough so that anyone can accuse anyone of almost anything without verification, yet still garner sufficient attention to make the lie worthwhile. If I were to suggest, for instance, that my own grandmother was raped in a department story change room by Theodore Roosevelt in 1906, who would believe it? Yeah. Nobody.


This is an accusation of rape that would never hold up in any court of law, anywhere. Yet, it has so-far generated more attention around President Trump on social media than almost any other issue, which is exactly the kind of exposure the Narcissist-in-Chief craves. So, I asked my lawyer son a hypothetical question. If an ordinary Canadian woman were to accuse an ordinary Canadian man of having raped her in a Walmart women's change room in 1995, or maybe it was 96, would it hold up in court in 2019? Would prosecutors even bring a charge?


"No way, Dad."


Could it be that E. Jean Carroll is in the pay of the White House?


To download sample chapters from my novels and short story collections, as well as a few freebees, please visit my website at www.francescorizzuto.com

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