ROGER STONE

The Political Cockroach

Roger Stone is the political cockroach that survived Nixon, Reagan, Bush, Trump, and the FBI, and still struts around like he invented corruption. He didn’t invent it, he just monetized it. He’s a Nixon tramp stamp with legs, a man whose career could be summarized as fifty years of turning democracy into a sideshow, and then selling tickets to his own mugshot. He calls his newsletter Stone Cold Truth when the only truth about him is that if you shake his résumé too hard, felony charges fall out like dandruff.

The man’s greatest television moment wasn’t a triumphant interview or a brilliant strategy session — it was a pre-dawn FBI raid on January 25, 2019, complete with tactical vests, helicopters, and news cameras rolling. He didn’t just get arrested; he got arrested like it was a season finale. Watching Roger Stone led away in cuffs was the closest America has come to experiencing karmic justice in syndication.

Then came the trial, and the jury that wasn’t buying his “I’m just a colorful character” schtick. Guilty on seven counts — obstruction, five counts of lying to Congress, and witness tampering. That’s not political persecution, that’s the law saying “sit down, clown.” He lied to Congress like it was a side hustle, and when caught, he tried to turn it into a First Amendment art project. A jury of regular citizens looked at Roger Stone and said, “You’re full of shit.” That verdict is his legacy.

But Roger doesn’t stop at perjury; he goes for intimidation, too. When he posted a photo of Judge Amy Berman Jackson with crosshairs hovering near her head, it wasn’t satire, it wasn’t edgy, it was menacing. Then he backpedaled and claimed it was all a big misunderstanding. Accidentally posting a target on a federal judge is like accidentally waving your dick in the courtroom — you don’t get to claim “oops.”

And the Mueller filings? They caught him sniffing around Guccifer 2.0 and WikiLeaks, bragging that he had inside knowledge of stolen documents. He wasn’t a strategist — he was a desperate man in a bad suit, trying to insert himself into history like a wannabe spy who’d lost the manual.

By the time he was sentenced to 40 months, you could practically see the sweat rolling off his Nixon tattoo. But Trump swooped in with a commutation and then a pardon, like a mafia boss tossing his favorite goon a free pass. Stone didn’t beat the system; the system bent over backwards because he kept his mouth shut.

The Justice Department melted down around his sentencing. Prosecutors resigned, watchdogs filed reports, and the whole saga stank of political favoritism. Stone was the epicenter of a scandal where the rule of law got traded for loyalty points.

And here’s the rub: he’s sitting so close to us on the Rising List that we can practically feel the draft off his Nixon tramp stamp. That proximity isn’t flattering — it’s revolting. Nobody wants to share a chart with the most notorious ratfucker in American politics, but here we are, forced to breathe the same digital air until enough of you hit subscribe and push us higher.

So let’s make this clear: Roger, since you’re hawking “Stone Cold Truth” like it’s a tattoo-parlor special, tell us — which part of your body has Trump’s mug permanently inked on it? The forearm, the calf, or the secret place? Don’t bother lying — you’ve already been convicted of that

Because the colder, harder truth is this: Roger Stone isn’t just corrupt. He’s pathetic. The last puff of smoke from Watergate, drifting through history until the wind finally blows his ashes away.

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