The ballad of Tamara Anne Moonier has reached its final stanza, prosecution-wise.
In February, R. Scott Moxley reported how Moonier alleged that she was kidnapped then gang-raped at gunpoint by six men. Doing so allowed her to claim $1,850 in state victim compensation funds. The men, who faced life behind bars if found guilty, were never in fact charged. Why not? Because they willingly surrendered the sex-tape they made of the incident, which included the following gems:
Male: I took your fucking pants down and started fucking you.
Moonier: You sure did!
Male: You liked it, didn't you?
Moonier: Of course! [Laughs.] Did you?
Male: Fuck, yeah!
Moonier: All right then.
Male: You give good head.
Moonier: Thank you. I told you I've watched lots of movies.
To one guy unable to get an erection, Moonier said, “You're fucking pathetic. You can't get it up. Forget it.”
Males: She loves this shit [sex].
Moonier: Yeah, I do. Uhhhhh. Very nice!
Male: How's my dick feeling?
Moonier: Your dick goes great, babe!
Male: You know I'm a slut?
Moonier: Among other things.
Moonier: Well, you obviously knew I was!
Male: Fuck, yeah!
Moonier: How could you tell?
Moonier faced up to 44 months in prison. However, she ended up copping a guilty plea, reducing her sentence reduced to 360 days. Her charges included felony grand theft, perjury, presenting a false claim to the state and the misdemeaner counts of making a false report and liar liar pants on fire.
Though she would have sent her six sex partners to life in prison, she didn't even get a year behind bars. Her explanation for her behavior? Bipolar disorder and depression. “I've changed my life,” Moonier said. “I take my medicine. I never believed I had an illness until this happened. I'm very, very sorry.”
Call me crazy (and many do), but from my experience, bipolar disorder tends to make you either very happy or very sad. It does not make you take it six ways from Sunday from a bunch of strangers, implicate them in an armed rape, then steal taxpayer dollars to aid in your work toward movin' on up.
And forgive me–but with the bipolar disorder, that raises the total number of poles in this story to eight.