If Martha Stewart ends up going to trial for insider trading, I'll have to
have a crash transsexual operation and seek immediate employment with Bear
Stearns. Since I'll be a seriously hot woman, the dicks at the firm will
want me to start immediately. Who knows, maybe I'll even get down on my
knees and suck a couple of sexual harassment settlements out of them before
I finish my master plan. That is to commit gross insider trading or massive
fraud so that I can be sent to Club Fed and have Martha as my prison bitch.
I think she'd be just adorable in that role. As my prison bitch, she can
learn the appropriate level of pleasure necessary to take my mind off the
incessant boredom that so pervades life in the clink. She can hoe my rows
and plant pretty flowers there. I can fist her after lights out and show
her the way to life as a less anal individual. She can carry my cigs and
say, "Yes, boss," to all of my whims. I can teach her the error of her
ways. It's a reformatory story made in heaven.
The trick of the whole thing will be to time the operation and job
execution with Martha's trial and sentencing. The maven will never cop a
plea, which means another one of those damn O.J. trials without the sex,
drugs, and Kato. The most appealing and sexy thing about the trial will be
either the choice of décor used to hide the hideous losses Martha caused
other ImClone investors or her uber-WASP domme look while she sits next to
her lawyer, feigning innocence and purity. Regardless, it will be
abominably long and miserably histrionic event at some point (which will
most likely be during Martha's testimony when she gets nailed by a
government lawyer for lying). But that's okay. Every day and dollar she
wastes on her own crucifixion gets my newly-installed pussy closer to
healing and my newly-fluffed resume closer to being accepted by a major
brokerage house.
I'll get some additional healing/fluffing time during Martha's appeal. The
appeal is guaranteed because the housewife-cum-omnimedia maven ranks right
up there with Bill Gates when it comes to losing anything. The appellate
process will take about another year, at which point the appeals court will
hand down the bad news: "Ms. Stewart, your cell is ready." I plan on making
full use of this time to insinuate myself into the Corporate Retirement
Group of the firm where I end up working. This will take two or three
blowjobs and possibly a fuck or four spread out among the senior partners of
that group. This may not get me anywhere at first, but when I eventually
reveal that I'm 1) a lesbian and 2) a former MAN, and 3) fully planning on
touting our sexual relationship to all of their golf buddies, I'm sure my
promotion to President of C.R.G. will be guaranteed. If you doubt this,
just remember how fast Bob Livingston vacated the House of Representatives
when his dominatrix threatened to tell all.
Once I'm in control of the Corporate Retirement Group, I'll have access to
billions and billions of dollars with which I can buy whatever stocks strike
my fancy. Because the captains of those companies will want me to buy large
chunks of their shares, they'll gladly wine, dine, and 69 me into those
purchases. Men are notoriously loose-lipped just after they've cum, and I
will exploit this to it's fullest by having them reveal to me just how good
their companies really are. A shuffle here, a shuffle there, and WHAMMO,
I've sold a hundred million in stocks and turned a very illegal profit for
my clients! The only thing to do at that point will be to name names and
genders. It'll be the most delicious scandal to ever hit the vapid,
lackadaisical lives of those poor brokers.
By this time I will have garnered a lot of press and thus elevated myself
to the celebrity plane that brings personal invitations to the Harvey Pitt
Suite of the Justice Department. They'll have to make an example of me, but
the whole transsexual thing will give them an incentive to keep my immoral
and unethical twat off the cover of as many media outlets as possible.
Therein lies my leverage for a deal: Send me to Club Martha. By then the
dear maven should be getting her prison thighs under her (or someone else's
around her). But look out, Martha. There's going to be a new bitch in
town, and you will belong to me!
I've been so giddy lately with the anticipation of our little love nest on
Cell Block D. It'll be the brightest, best-smelling and most aesthetically
pleasing room in the whole wing. Coordinated colors sent in by Martha's
legion of unshakably faithful devotees. Flowers. Throws. Pillows.
Potpourri. My continuous orgasmic screams filling the air, Martha toiling
endlessly to make our home a model example of the possibilities afoot in the
American Penal System. At a federal prison, no less!
So, do you think that's the happy ending to my twisted little plot? That's
because you're only seeing the obvious picture. Look a little deeper and
you'll see Martha's full conversion to my under-heel slave. Since I will
have tailored my crimes to fit her sentence, our release will be
near-simultaneous. At that point I will graduate to the zenith of
transsexual treachery-a house in Martha's Vineyard with a loaded blonde babe
as my all-too-willing sugar mommy. It's the perfect win-win situation. I
get her to give me head the whole time we're in the clink, and I get taken
care of for the rest of my life. So what happens when Martha's wrinkled
twat no longer does it for me? I'll do what any other nefarious American in
my high heels would do: write a tell-all book and live off the interest.
God Bless America, and our fine criminal justice system!
