“This is what’s so funny,” Kitty said pointing at her phone. “The Viagra Rape Squad. Here’s what happened.”
Kitty took a seat, and told the tale, “It was December, 1998. London, as you said. This is from a two page story in the December 20th edition of the News of the World.”
Madonna interrupted, “Not exactly a beacon of journalistic integrity. It was Murdoch’s most scurrilous rag. The Sunday sister of the daily Sun. Vile trash targeted at mouth breathers. It died a spectacular, scandalous death about ten years ago, when they rigtly got crucified for hacking people’s computers and phones.”
“Oh, I know,” Kitty said, “but listen anyway. It’s so good. I’m going to call the victim Bill for now, just trust me on it for a minute. Here’s the headline:
Man raped by Viagra girls is a sick hoaxer. He staged 3-in-a-bed sex con after getting pal to tie him up
Now, here’s the story:
The screaming man who said he was chained to a hotel bed, force-fed Viagra and raped by two sex-mad blondes can today be exposed by the News of the World.
All Britain knew him just as a handsome young businessman, after reports of his ordeal hit the headlines.
But the TRURTH is he’s a scruffy furniture mover called Bill. And the Viagra attack that became the talk of every office Christmas party was an elaborate HOAX to cash in on interviews about his fate.
The 34 year old conman believed he could earn a small fortune by spilling every detail of the attack that destroyed my life. And he didn’t care if hours of police time were wasted in the process.
The scam began in the evening. Bill and a pal spent the night drinking in southwest London before booking a shabby room under a false name at the budget New Aquarius Hotel close to London’s Earl’s Court. They paid in untraceable cash. The pair chose the place specifically because it didn’t have closed-circuit TV cameras covering the doorway. That way, Bill knew police wouldn’t be able to get pictures of the supposed blondes bringing him back to the hotel.
Once inside the room, Bill’s accomplice chained his arms and legs to a single bed using four sets of chains and six padlocks. He then gagged Bill’s mouth with sticky tape to add more drama to the scene that would later confront stunned police officers.
After planting two Viagra pills, an empty bottle of vodka and a sex aid next to the bed, Bill’s friend slipped out unnoticed in the dead of the night. As he left the room he stuck a sticker on the door bearing the words, Viagra Rape Squad Strikes Again.
The following morning at 11 a.m. a chambermaid heard terrified Bill’s muffled yelps for help as he tried to wriggle free from his chains – apparently in a state of panic.
The hotel manager called the police after Bill said he had been raped by a pair of blondes who had picked him up in a nightclub and chained him to the bed.
Five officers rushed to the scene and found Bill naked except for e white T-shirt. He was begging to be cut free and made a very convincing victim.
After spouting his accusations of false imprisonment and rape, he gave police a fictitious name – Gary Urda.
But he refused to reveal his address, saying his pregnant girlfriend would kill him if the story ever got out.
Miss Kaboodle stopped to take a drink of water, and Madge jumped in. “That’s rigt. It all turned out to be a hoax.”
Kitty laughed, “It was! Bill faked the whole thing. He gives his side of the story on his blog, and I absolutely believe him. He did it to make money, money, money. He faked the rape, pretending to be the victim, but there were two girls, wearing blond wigs, in on it with him. Then HE tried to sell the story to the press.”
“I will bet anything Max Clifford was involved,” Madge laughed.
“He was! That’s exactly who Bill went to, to sell the story.”
“Max was vile rich white trash. He used to have a large photo of him and OJ Simpson laughing their idiot heads off rigt above his desk.”
“Yes, he did! Bill says so, too. He said he was repulsed by Clifford, but he knew that he was the ticket to the payday.”
“And Bill got Max to sell his exclusive interview to News of the World.”
“And he did.”
“How much was Bill getting?”
“Twenty five thousand pounds.”
“Not bad. But, if so, Max was getting at least fifty from News of the World.”
“So funny! That’s exactly what Bill says in his blog. But before he got the cheque, someone who knew sold him out. The story broke the week before in The Sun and the Daily Sport, and it spread across the country, and around the world. If there had been social media back then, everyone n the world would have heard about it. So good! Everyone on Fleet Street was trying to find the victim.”
“And that’s when Bill showed up at Max’s door,” Madonna laughed.
“Exactly. There are a few brilliant cons within the big con in this story. It’s a Russian doll of grifting. Anyway, Bill had recruited a news whore to help him with the hoax. But the news whore recruited a friend of his, a freelancer, without telling Bill. The freelancer was supposed to be the one to discover the story and feed it into the press, to get the whole thing started. But Bill didn’t like, or trust the freelancer, so he cut him out of the hoax. But the freelancer was at the News of the World’s Christmas party the week before the paper was going to splash Bill’s exclusive interview on page one.”
“And the freelancer, no doubt an alcoholic, found out that News of the World had the exclusive interview, and sold Bill out.”
“Exactly what happened, according to Bill.”
Lance asked, “What makes you so sure Bill isn’t spinning the real story?”
Kitty squealed with delight, and answered, “Because Bill is Brian Godzilla Salmi!”
“The guy who wrote Riff n Raff?” Madonna asked.
“None other,” said Kitty
“That’s hilarious. I bet he has a million stories to tell. I want to meet him.” Madge grinned.
“Me too!” said Kitty. “Me too!”