The Adventures of Betttie | mediaplayer

Thursday

Bettiegate


Our heroine takes on the U.S. Justice Department as she tries to rescue Big Frank from his impending jail time.

My arrival in New York, New York, was timely to say the least. When I reached the final hearing in United States v 39-4-Ever.com, it was not exactly a hotbed of activity. While the collective members of the country’s primary federal criminal investigation and enforcement agency were supposed to be debating whether the world’s best online casino for women on the verge of a Bingo meltdown was used to launder money, actually they were mostly either asleep or sitting around on their ever-widening asses.

As I took my seat, the Deputy General Assistant Attorney Something-or-other was waxing lyrical about how the Federal Wire Act prohibits all forms of U.S. gambling. This was then countered by Hubby #3 who pointed out that it was for this precise reason that we had been forced to move to the Isle of Man to run what we were laughingly calling our business. Well, it certainly wasn’t for the joy of hearing The Bee Gees Stayin’ Alive being played night and day from memorial speakers in the local graveyard, I can tell you. Then Big Frank launched into a long and extremely boring exposition about how the island’s government made it an attractive locale – financially at least – with all kinds of juicy tax breaks. Though, admittedly, to benefit from that meant you had to earn enough to actually pay any tax.

It was round about then that I decided to chip in.

“Look, I’m the wife,” I shouted, “so I have a pretty large stake in the outcome of all this. I also come from a family that firmly believes the word ‘wife’ is not an acronym for ‘Washing, Ironing, Fu– Fornicating, Etc’. No, our voice counts.”

Unfortunately, my voice didn’t count.

Still, after sorting out all that contempt of court nonsense, it was nice to see Wanda, my NYC girlfriend, in the gallery gracing us with her not inconsiderable presence. Also saw that her latest tweet was true – ‘Dear friends, it’s #LMLM Day: Liquid Midface Lift Monday!’ – I don’t know if she wanted to look like someone had taken a Chippendale wing chair and stuffed it behind her mouth, but her cheeks were now so pronounced, every ten minutes or so her neck got tired and she had to rest her face on the seat back in front of her. As you know, diary, I’ve never been too keen about nips and tucks – which all stems from my years with Hubby #2, the rhinoplasty surgeon with the hump removal fetish. Of course, I’ve always wanted to go in for a face lift, but I’m just too damn petrified at what they’ll find underneath.

Anyhow, never one to miss a money-making opportunity, I sold my body as advertising space for the Isle of Man Government. When I sashayed past the cameras with my backless Yves Saint Laurent evening dress and ‘Let’s All Gamble In The Isle of Man’ shoulder tattoo combo, it certainly spiced up the closing argument. I mean, I’m not sure what I had originally planned for Thursday brunch, but bringing down the U.S. Government was not high on the list.

The resulting hoo-ha saw several barked exchanges, a jury punch-up in which the prosecutor lost his toupĂ©, and I ended up compromising my Honour. The New York Time’s headline “Bettiegate Topples Supreme Court, Plaintiff’s Rug, Into Judge’s Lap” was definitely one for the scrapbook.