E Jean Carroll has accused at least 6 men of sexual assault or rape

I knew she was something of a serial accuser but I got into a Twitter argument with someone who said she had only accused Trump. So I went and found her diary of grievances and good God. Either E. Jean Carroll is the most unfortunate woman alive to run into so many rapists in her life....or she's a looney nut job who makes shite up. Definitely one of the two.



We'll start with 8 year old James who shoved a stick or a rock up her tinkle place

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James was 7 and a half or 8, a bloodthirsty, beautiful, relentless boy. He ordered everyone around, even the older kids. To me he said, “I’m going to shove this up you again.”

We’d played this game before. Our families had gone on a camping trip to Pokagon State Park, and I learned that an object could be shoved up the place where I tinkled. I don’t remember now what it was, probably a stick, or maybe a rock. It felt like being cut with a knife. I remember I bled.

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No worries for James though, she doesn't blame him because he was raped too.

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I am not putting him on the Most Hideous Men of My Life List — whether he belongs there is for him to decide. It is his uncles, his father, his grandfather who belong on such a list.

He was raped by his grandfather. He was raped by his uncles. He was beaten by his father. My mother told me the stories much later. When James was 6, he was taken away from his father and given to a rich couple, Arthur and Evelyn

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Now we jump forward to girl scout camp at age 12 and Creepy Cam the waterfront director was on deck

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After they put the papier-mâché crown on my head, the cape on my shoulders, and give me the baton covered in Reynolds Wrap, Old Cam, No. 6 on the Most Hideous Men of My Life List, the waterfront director, takes me out in a boat and runs his hands under my shirt and up my shorts.

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On we go to college where she was riding in a car with a guy whose name she can't remember, when suddenly he tried to rape her at knife point

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Youuuuuuuu liiiitttttttttllllllllllll prrrrrrrrrrrrik teeeeeeeeeeez,” he says.
he lunges from the car and bolts his arms around me. We crash, like felled trees, to the ground. He pushes my sweatshirt up to my neck.He is holding my wrists with both his hands, and, before I can react, he changes his hold to one hand and, with his free hand, pulls a knife out of his back pocket.Get off!” I say.

“I am gonna get off,” he whispers.

He lets go of both of my wrists for two seconds to open the knife, and I roll out from under him and run.

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Wow! That happened! So anyway, now she's in Chicago for her first real job and wouldn't you know it, her boss sticks his hand between her legs in her car and then chases her like prey to her hotel room..

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Two or three blocks from my place, my boss runs a red light, stomps the brakes, skids to a halt, and, jabbering about “that count” or “a count” or “all count,” jams his hand between my legs so hard I bang my head into the dashboard trying to protect myself. I open the car door and bound into the traffic.as I am about to turn in to the Hotel Eastgate, I look back and see him weaving toward me in a drunken trot. I remember that his legs look menacingly short. I run into the empty hotel lobby. Spurt past the desk. No manager in sight. Check the elevators. Decide to take the stairs two at a time. Hit the second floor. Feeling for the room key in my jacket pocket, I run down the hall, and as I try to put the key in the door, my boss catches me from behind and clamps his teeth on the nape of my neck. I kick backward at his shins, manage to get the key to work, jab a backward elbow into his ribs, squeeze into my room, and push, push, push the door closed.

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Tragic. Unfortunately, next she'd run into predator Les Moonves

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he steps into the elevator behind me and, his pants bursting with demands, goes at me like an octopus. I don’t know how many apertures and openings you possess, Reader, but Moonves, with his arms squirming and poking and goosing and scooping and pricking and prodding and jabbing, is looking for fissures I don’t even know I own, and — by God! — I am not certain that even if I pull off one of his arms it won’t crawl after me and attack me in my hotel bed. Hell, I am thrilled I escape before he expels his ink

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And then there's the worst man she's ever met....Donald J. Trump. But you've heard that totally real story and don't you dare say it isn't true lest you defame this totally credible victim of life long sexual abuse.