COOKIES IN CHAINS: The Martha Stewart Story
Now that the Martha Stewart verdict has been handed down, news anchors can finally turn their attention to covering more important issues. Namely, what kind of hot, panty-revealing girl-girl action can a prissy Connecticut blonde hope to encounter in prison?
For minor stories like the illegitimate invasion of a sovereign nation or administration ineptitude bringing the country to the brink of economic collapse, simply repeating the day’s talking points will suffice. But in the Stewart case, the public deserves nothing less than the unvarnished truth, the kind one finds after a pleasant autumn afternoon stripping down that rustic flea market footstool to bring out the natural beauty of the fruitwood. Wolf Blitzer rolls up his sleeves and starts rubbing …
[WOLF] BLITZER: [W]ill she have any privacy at all? Will she have her own room? Will she be able to shower by herself? When she goes to the facilities, what’s it like?
Will this hotly anticipated girl-girl prison action be sizzling or merely turbo-hot? Does it help the intensity if the “fresh meat” is particularly affluent and little uptight? Prissy, even? Famous? When, and how, will she encounter women who, you know, can’t wait to jump her?
[KAREN] BOND (ex-prisoner): She will have a room. It won’t be private. She’ll probably share it with one to three other prisoners. The showers have shower stalls, much like in a gym. It’s not an open area where everybody just showers together. Same for the rest rooms. That’s the only place you have any privacy. It’s not a place where you’re going to do much in private; that’s for sure.
But nothing’s really happening yet to cover, so let’s have a little vicarious action.
BLITZER: There’s a sense out there she’ll be serving with other white crime prisoners, that it’s probably not going to be a dangerous environment. But you had a very dangerous experience.
BOND: Well, that’s true. The white-collar criminals only make up about six, seven percent of a whole federal prison population. So the other 90-some percent of the prisoners in the federal prison camps would be probably drug crimes for the most part. …
BLITZER: Who did this to you? One individual or a group?
BOND: It started with one individual, and then she had a couple helpers.
BLITZER: Why did they go after you?
BOND: They don’t like white-collar criminals in prisons. They resent their position in society. They resent their education, and they just in general know that they will never rise to that level. And you know, they want to bring the white-collar person down and make them understand that they are just a prison number. …
At Faux, O’Really O’Reilly shares the insights he learned at the Roger Corman Institute of Psychoanalysis, where he astounded fellow practitioners like Dr. Charles Quackhammer with his pioneering work on the pathology of B-Movie Delinquency in the Adult Female:
[BILL] O’REILLY: … Now you told us that you believe she fell in with the wrong crowd. What’s that? What kind of crowd do you think she fell in with?
[FRANK] KOSTYRA [Stewart’s brother]: I don’t think I stated that, did i?
O’REILLY: I have it in the pre-interview with you.
KOSTYRA: Oh, pre-interview. No. I thought that – I think that what the question was is that I believe her defense, her attorneys failed to recognize who her real peers were. …
O’REILLY: But she did live a fairly sophisticated, ran with a pretty sophisticated set in Connecticut and in Eastern Long Island out in the Hamptons.
KOSTYRA: Sure, she worked up to that. And that’s what she wanted to do. And you know, why not go with the people that you want to be with? But that’s not her peers.
O’REILLY: That’s right.
KOSTYRA: The peers are the Norman Rockwell people.
O’REILLY: Well, let me submit this to you. Let me submit this to you, Frank. I think she lost her way because she abandoned her roots. She got rich and famous, started hanging with the swells, got in the with the Waksals and weasels of the world, and this is what happened. That if she had stayed with roots, as you just stated, it never would have happened. Am I wrong?
KOSTYRA: I couldn’t answer that because I don’t know.
O’REILLY: No, you never thought about that?
KOSTYRA: No, that’s a lot of supposition, I believe.
O’REILLY: Yes, I’m good at that. I make suppositions.
KOSTYRA: Do you really?
O’REILLY: But I resist, myself, going with that fast crowd.
I can’t imagine what depraved activities a “fast” Connecticut crowd might get into, so if any visitors can describe them, I’d deeply appreciate it.
UPDATE: Digby has more instances of the media held captive by the chick prison fantasy.
O’REILLY: Well, let me submit this to you. Let me submit this to you, Frank. I think she lost her way because she abandoned her roots. She got rich and famous, started hanging with the swells, got in the with the Waksals and weasels of the world, and this is what happened. That if she had stayed with roots, as you just stated, it never would have happened. Am I wrong?
TRANSLATION: “Martha snubbed me, BILL O’REILLY, when I tried to interview her!!! So now that bitch has it comin’ to her, whatever ‘it’ is!!! Ha ha!!! Ha ha!!! Ha ha!!! (DISSOLVES INTO A FIT OF COUGHING AND LAUGHTER)
The O’Reilly Factor: Where Eisenhower is still president, kids don’t need to “run with a fast crowd” to “get their kicks,” and there’s always a place for a middle-aged straight white man to hang his fedora.
Wow, that actually made me nauseous. No wonder I don’t watch TV anymore. I mean, I know what she did was wrong and all, but I’m not getting the munchkin-land dancing around the dead Wicked Witch vibe that everyone else seems to be enjoying.
God forbid the woman was – *gasp, awe* a perfectionist bitch? Horror of horrors. The glee that some seem to be taking from this is just cringe worthy.
I’m not getting the munchkin-land dancing around the dead Wicked Witch vibe that everyone else seems to be enjoying.
Although I took the satirical approach in my “post, I find the media’s rape-fantasy-as-news approach to Stewart’s potential jail time really alarming. One thing (among many) I really hate about the Bush years is the trashing of progressive feminist accomplishments like fostering a more intelligent and compassionate discussion of sexual assault in media.
The frat-boy mentality that dismisses any victimization as annoying “political correctness” — except their own perceived suffering for having to endure it’s presence on the way to the beer keg — might be morally convenient for someone really low on the evolutionary scale, but it’s intolerable when masquerading as an “in-depth” analysis of a news story.
G*d only knows what they do in those white-wine-and-brie bars down in Danbury. But I’ve heard they have “Lesbian Thursdays” and decorate their Xmas trees with hash pipes.
You didn’t hear that from me.
“O’REILLY: Let me submit this to you, Frank. I think she lost her way because she abandoned her roots…. That if she had stayed with roots, as you just stated…”
The first ellipsis removes one sentence. That’s how long it took O’Reilly to forget that he was the one who said Martha abandoned her roots. One freakin’ sentence!
Now, I don’t want to scare you off the subject completely, but if you’re going to write about hot girl-girl action, could you leave Martha out of it? I mean … eww!
I can’t imagine what depraved activities a “fast” Connecticut crowd might get into, so if any visitors can describe them, I’d deeply appreciate it.
—-
It’s those martinis at the country club that’ll lead you astray–like, maybe, missing your tee-off time.
The worse of all possible outcomes: Martha Stewart(nee Kostyra): The educated Jersey girl.
KOSTYRA: No, that’s a lot of supposition, I believe.
O’REILLY: Yes, I’m good at that. I make suppositions.
KOSTYRA: Do you really?
God, that’s good. I would love to have heard what I imagine to be a note of bemused condescension in Kostyra’s voice; another swell giving parvenu Bill the high hat!
Something like the tone of barrister Archie Leach’s wife Wendy in “A Fish Called Wanda,” responding to Otto’s testy “Don’t call me stupid”:
“Why on earth not?”
As Bob Somerby might say, you can almost feel the heat as Wolf Blitzer rubs his pudgy, pale thighs.