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Busted: Another oligarch-fellating cuck of Trump World.
Roger Stone was actually the runner-up for the “Worst Cuckold” 2018 SUZY award, the winner being Stone’s longtime partner-in-slime, Paul Manafort. But that was before the self-described “dirty trickster” with Tricky Dick tattooed between his shoulder blades (“the only guy with a dick in front and in back”), got busted.
The charges are juicy, silly and yet seriously messed up (like Roger): lying before Congress, witness tampering, making death threats (against political comedian Randy Credico) and dog threats (against Credico’s beloved Bianca), guzzling too many White Russians (in every sense of the term) and committing other smirking, atrociously spelled, quasi-obstructionist indiscretions in connection with the Mueller probe that may or may not add up to “collusion,” but certainly appear to have pissed off the Independent Counsel, and not in a sexy way.
Though the raid—a pre-dawn, CNN-televised, SWAT-like assault on the 66-year-old Republican operative’s Florida home conducted by FBI agents who were not even getting paid (since Trump had not yet caved on the Wall)—was pretty sexy, or at least showy.
Stoned Circus of Public Disgrace
Indeed, it was an excessive, flamboyant drama worthy of one of Stone’s excessive, flamboyant outfits. Though the “Prince of Darkness” emerged sedately attired in a navy polo shirt, perhaps after being strip-searched and tickle-tortured while being made to “watch an entire SWAT team of hung studs” gangbang his hotwife—or so went the Twitter talk.
The circus on the steps of the Fort Lauderdale courthouse wasn’t quite that wild, but it was pretty surreal. A noisy, well-dressed mob surrounded the accused, holding their cell phones high whilst chanting “Lock HIM up!” like some sort of Bizarro-World reverse Trump rally with the high heel on the other foot.
After posting his $250,000 bail, “the boastful black prince of Republican sleaze” came out swinging (literally), throwing up his arms and wiggling his little digits in Nixon’s V for Victory sign, his belly peeking out from under his shirt, cheered by the smattering of supporters, including his giggling bow-tied lawyer, among the much larger, braying hordes of haters.
Everybody must get Stoned (to his credit, Roger’s long supported cannabis decriminalization).
The accused appeared nervous, to be sure, and for a moment, even a raging soldier of the Resistance might feel some bonoboesque empathy for a fellow frightened human, this doddering white-haired dweeb whose beloved wife and dogs had just been terrorized by the FBI.
Then that nano-second of empathetic humanity passed, and there was Stone Cold Roger, totally tuned into his “moment” and totally turned on by all the megawatt attention as he squawked out that old, pathetic, pernicious maxim, “the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.”
And before we could truly empathize, the cackling “agent of chaos” was lording it over us, or desperately trying to, reveling in the multi-media glory of owning the news cycle with proud Jokeresque villainy and his very personal “public disgrace” (yes, there’s a fetish for that).
Ironically, this was followed almost immediately by Trumpty Dumpty’s Fall off his Wall, an even more resounding public disgrace. After all his ragingly impotent fire and fury, the Great Orange Satan suddenly caved, falling to his knees like a submissive slaveboy under the almost bonoboesque high heel of Speaker Pelosi. Though really it was thanks to the courageous collective “prank” of La Guardia airport’s unpaid air traffic controllers calling in “sick,” as other fed-upfederal workers mounted protests that could not be ignored.
#GoBonobos for the power of labor—and withholding it to make your point!
Dirty Tricks for Tricky Dick
Back to Stone who never utilized his “dirty tricks” for labor, let alone the poor, but always for the one percent that lined his cashmere bespoke-suited pockets. Interestingly, he performed his first known political dirty trick for the benefit of Presidential candidate John F. Kennedy (whom the Stone family supported in 1960 as good Catholics) when, at the age of eight, little Roger told his classmates that Nixon would make them go to school on Saturdays just before a mock election in his elementary school. The kids voted overwhelmingly for JFK, and little Roger learned that making stuff up wins elections.
Fast forward to the Electoral Dysfunction of 2016, and you wonder if that’s how Stone gets one of his other nicknames, the “Trump Whisperer.”
Back in 1972, apparently now willing to work Saturdays, as well as exploit his talent for elaborate, barely legal masquerades, nineteen-year-old George Washington University drop-out Roger Stone went to work for his hero, President Richard Milhouse Nixon.
Young Roger performed a few dirty tricks for Tricky Dick, including donating money to Pete McCloskey, one of Nixon’s rivals, under false pretensest hat were then used to smear McCloskey’s campaign. Tellingly, Stone refused his Republican boss’ original request that he pretend to represent the Gay Liberation Movement, preferring to pose as a member of the Young Socialist Alliance, to do the dirty work. Gay Liberation must have felt “too close to home” for young Stone, who (in this sex therapist’s not-so-humble opinion) was probably wrestling with his own bisexual proclivities that he later seems to have resolved through various types of swinging, kink and cuckoldry, though it damaged his Republican bona fidesto the point of being fired from the Bob Dole campaign in 1996.
Stone’s now openly “libertine” lifestyle may at least partially explain why, in the uproar following his flashy arrest, the Nixon Foundation felt the need to sprinkle salt on his wounds, calling him but a “junior scheduler” as opposed to a “campaign advisor.” As tweeted by former FBI agent and Tiger Mom, Asha Rangappa, “when the Nixon Foundation is disowning you, you done hit rock bottom.”
Scheduler, fixer or dirty trickster, Stone stayed close to Nixon after he resigned, arranging for journalists to visit the disgraced former President. This overlapped with his evolving friendship with Donald Trump, ignited in 1979 through their mutual mentor, Roy Cohn, that ruthless, malicious hypocrite’s hypocrite. It also provides an unnerving cultural link, like a free-flowing river of sleaze, between Watergate and the Trump Crime Family.
Yippy for the Rich
Roger Stone didn’t invent or even codify the cult of political dirty tricks. Give that to Machiavelli. Nevertheless, the arrogant “agent provocateur” did contribute to infusing the dark arts of dirty tricksterism with the psychedelic spin of the “swinging” sixties and seventies—still evident in his taste for Mad Hatter millinery and fairy tale suits.
In a way, young Roger Stone pranking on behalf of Nixon was the flip side (or “evil twin”) of Abbie Hoffman and the Yippies. Both were anarchistic tricksters during an era that was, in many ways, as tempestuous as the Trumpocalypse. Of course, Hoffman, Paul Krassner and the Chicago Eight’s antiwar and anti-Wall Street pranks were performed to expose the hypocrisy of the “establishment” for the benefit of the people. Yes, Abby also did it to feed his hungry ego, his desire for bonoboesque pleasures (that we all actually deserve, but don’t usually get) and everyone’s love of a good laugh, but still, We the People were at least supposed to be the beneficiaries.
In contrast, Roger’s pranks have always been designed to fool people for the benefit of the worst, greediest, most destructive members of the American establishment, which (he hopes) would include himself. They also tend to incite angry incels and quasi-Nazi hotheads, like Stone’s Proud Boy buddies, to come out swinging… their fists and guns.
Roger Stone talks a lot, and Mueller’s dramatic arrest has provided the biggest soapbox for nonstop Stoned yammering to date. If you can make it through the boasts, threats and lies, you’ll find the rest makes no sense. For instance, he says he admires Nixon because “he never quit.” Um… Nixon resigned.
But making sense, like truth, is not important to Roger Stoned or sober, as it never was for his longtime partner and fellow cuckold, Paul Manafort. Both men are dandies, Manafort with his $15,000 ostrich jacketand Stone with his top hats and goggle specs (effectively parodied on SNL by another relic of the 70s, Steve Martin). For the dandy, appearance counts much more than meaning or integrity, and any attention (even public humiliation) is better than no attention. Of utmost importance to the dandy is style and, in media parlance, “optics.”
Now Stone is trying his “dark prince” darnedest to spin the optics of his raid, saying it was worse than bin Laden (who was shot dead in his raid) while blithely calling the indictment “fatally flawed.” Bring on the hate! Nixon may have quit, but Roger’s getting Stoned on it. And he’s coming out swinging.
As longtime associate Howard Fineman tweets, “Now in a sense he gets to BE Nixon, a dream come true.” This elicited an avalanche of agony and anger from Fineman’s liberal followers, one of whom insisted that Howard not just “reprint a lifelong liar and disinfo specialists talking points [sic].”
Liberal outrage is raging,as is the tendency, perhaps a bit hyperbolically, to pin the blame on Stone for all thing’s Trump and terrible in our world. “He is,” longtime New York Democratic strategist George Arzt said, “the wicked seed who has poisoned the tree of democracy.”
Trump himself tweeted something incoherently sympathetic about “border coyotes, drug dealers and human traffickers (being) treated better” a few hours before his own public disgrace scene in the Rose Garden. But most are staying away from the old grifter like he’s infected with a highly contagious case of Russian Fever, or like his Depends are Wikileaking. Even the makers of Netflix’ “Get Me Roger Stone” expressed astonishment that a veteran of Watergate would text death threats, even if “jokes,” to a government witness.
Nydia, Stone’s wife and swinging lover of almost three decades, remains notably supportive. Political cuckolds are all over the news, and as a sex therapist and couples counselor specializing in helping couples enjoy swinging, cuckolding and other kinds of kink, I’m always interested in their spouses, and Nydia Bertran Stone seems to enjoy her “insatiable” hotwife position in Stone’s well-documented kinky sex life, buttressed by his own ads in magazines like Swing Fever, some paid for on Nydia’s credit card.
Roger the Cuck-Calling Cuckold
Certainly, Nydia Stone sounds a lot happier than Kathleen Manafort, Paul Manafort’s long-suffering wife. As I detail in “Cucks, Cuckolding and Campaign Management,” Manafort and Stone share a fondness not just for servicing dickheaded dictators, but also actual dicks. Nothing wrong with that; the dicks, that is, not the dictators. Moreover, being old-fashioned married men and trying (to their credit) not to cheat (well, until Paul Manafort got caught in that torrid affair), they also involved their wives. Manafort’s daughters’ leaked texts indicate that Père Manafort forced, or at least coerced Kathleen into the interracial cuckold gangbangs he craved. This sort of behavior is what earned Manafort the “Worst Cuckold of the year SUZY award; though I still wonder why Kathleen, if truly forced into sex acts she found odious, faithfully attended most of Paul’s court appearances.
There’s no wondering with Nydia. Sure, she’s on the payroll, but she genuinely seems to enjoy all the swinging, cuckolding and other erotic adventures for which Roger gets Stoned—that is pilloried—by both Puritanical MSM and snarky social media, almost as much as for his political “dark arts.” Back to my not-so-humble sex therapist’s opinion: There’s nothing “dark” or wrong with cuckolding or swinging when it’s done among consenting adults, as (so far) seems to have been the case with the Stones.
Then again, it’s pretty hypocritical and just plain revolting for a self-professed “libertine” like Roger Stone, who enjoys his sexual freedom without shame (though with that penchant for public disgrace), to use his “dark arts” on behalf of politicians who are actively working with the Religious Right to take away people’s (especially women’s) sexual and reproductive freedom, throwing us back into a truly “dark” age of sexual repression.
Stoned Roger makes a swinging circus of his own hypocrisy, calling his enemies “cucks,” even though he’s a self-confessed cuckold. It’s demoralizing to witness, especially for those of us who are just trying to have a nice kinky, maybe even swinging sex life without doing too much damage to the earth.
I may share Roger’s Stoned love of whimsical hats, merry pranks and erotic adventures, but I much prefer Yippies to Yuppies, and Roger is the very worst kind of Yuppie.
I still feel that twinge of bonoboesque empathy for the old man being raided, partly because it reminds me of when I was raided by a swarm of armed LAPD bellowing “SWAT” before forcing their way into my studio, terrorizing everyone, then calming down to simply harass us for a while, after which they left without charging us with anything. There was no legal reason for them to be there, let alone stick around for a couple hours, so I sued them for infringement of my Fourth Amendment rights and won a good settlement (thanks LAPD!), but only after being chided by the abusive and Puritanical Judge Manuel Real (now in his nineties and still “abusing his power”) for not being more grateful that these out-of-line cops had merely harassed and not killed me.
Considering how many innocent humans, mostly people of color, have been murdered in police raids a lot rougher than Roger Stone’s, mean old Manny Real had a point.
And at that point, my bonoboesqueempathy dissolves into abject nausea, and I scream, like I’m in a bad-acid-trip dream, “Get Me AWAY from Roger Stone!”