“Thank you for speaking with me, Ms. Daniels.”

“Call me Stormy, Coop.”

“Don’t call me Coop, Stormy.”

“Lap dance?”

“Not right now. Now, Stormy, you allege that you had a sexual relationship with Donald Trump, who is now the President, 12 years ago.”

“Yes. We met at a golf tournament in Lake Tahoe. There were celebrities all over the place. Kelsey Grammar was unconscious in a hedge. Charles Barkley was shirtless and standing on the Blackjack table singing Lynyrd Skynyrd songs.”

“Sweet Home Alabama?”

“No. Deep cuts. King Charles loves the southern-fired boogie.”

“And that’s where you met the President?”

“It was so romantic. He was slapping his son in public when our eyes locked.”

“Which son?”

“The ugly one.”

“You’ll need to be more specific.”

“The stupid, ugly one.”

“Still don’t know which you’re talking about.”

“It was one of them. He whimpered away and Donald had me brought to his table.”

“What did you two talk about?”

“He talked about himself.”

“Sounds right.”

“Then he started showing me magazines with his picture on the cover. But, like, weird magazines. Cat Fancy. Linoleum Losers.”

“Linoleum Losers?”

“It’s just pictures of kitchen floors from the 80’s. And columns by Andrew Sullivan.”

“Jesus.”

“And, so, I’m a sassy gal so I say to him, “Donald, if you don’t stop talking about yourself, I’m gonna spank you with those magazines.”

“Okay.”

“Except I didn’t get to the last part of the sentence. When I said ‘spank,’ he stood up and pantsed himself in the middle of the restaurant. Leaned over the table, the whole bit. And he’s muttering. ‘Roll it up real tight. Reeeeeeeeel tight.'”

“And what did you do?”

“I spanked him, of course. Besides, Charles Barkley was egging me on.”

“Then what?”

“We went up to his room and he used the bathroom. Heard a lot of grunting, can’t lie to you. When he came out, he was wearing a garment that wasn’t quite a robe, and not a kimono, but definitely not a coat.”

“It’s called a toppermost.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Move on.”

“So, we sat on the bed and I thought he was gonna make a move, but we watched shark documentaries for two hours. He kept pointing to sharks on the screen and saying, “That one’s gay. Gay shark. I can tell when sharks are gay.’ When I got home, I called my friend Lisa who’s a veterinarian; she said sharks couldn’t be gay. But Donald was very sure about it, so I don’t know who to believe.”

“And then you had sex.”

“I laid there while sex happened. And afterwards…well, I just don’t know where the Filet-O-Fishes came from, but there they were. He must have had them secreted within the bedclothes or something. He kept trying to feed me, but it’s just not romantic to feed someone a Filet-O-Fish. It’s not like chocolate-covered strawberries or whatever.”

“No, not romantic.”

“He kept dripping the tartar sauce on my boobs.”

“Not romantic at all. Now, this was right after the birth of his son. Did he mention that, or his wife at all?”

“He did.”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘Fuck them.’ Wait, he did try to show me a picture of his newborn, but it was the Gerber Baby. It was literally a wrapper torn from the jar. I pretended like I believed him to be polite, and then he tried shoving the Filet-O-Fish back in my mouth. So I left and found Charles Barkley’s room. That man is a walking party.”

“What happened with your relationship with Trump after that?”

“He would call me all the time. ‘Turn on Discovery Channel, the sharks are gay again.’ That sort of thing. He said he was gonna buy me a condo, he said he was gonna get me on The Apprentice, he said he was gonna make me Secretary of the Interior. Men and their promises.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Mm-hmm. Let’s fast forward to 2015. Donald Trump is running for President and people are clamoring for your story. How did the media find out that you and he had had an affair?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly discreet about it. I used to play his phone calls on the set for everyone. I had a tee-shirt that said Ask Me About Donald Trump’s Dick. It was gonna get out eventually.”

“And you turned down the offers in favor of $130,000 to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement. Why is that?”

“I was threatened. A large man in a trenchcoat approached me in a parking lot and began telling me all about Richard Nixon’s crimes. So I said, ‘What?’ And he was like, ‘Oh, sorry. Wrong person,’ and walked to a different level of the lot. Then another large man in a trenchcoat approached and threatened to eat my children. He gave me a note written in torn-out letters from magazines. I have no idea who the author could have been.”

“Can you tell us what the note said?”

“Yes. ‘There was no sexual collusion! All of this is a Bitch Hunt and why aren’t we talking about Bill Clinton and his many, many rapes? Sad!’ But it wasn’t signed, so–like I said–I have no idea who wrote it.”

“No idea.”

“None whatsoever.