Editor’s Note: Shivani has offered a fairly unflattering look at author, Toni Natalie, whose book, The Program: Inside the Mind of Keith Raniere and the Rise and Fall of NXIVM, [Grand Central Publishing] has elicited some criticism of Natalie’s character and raised questions about her veracity, by those who know her true life story.
It has also raised questions about why Grand Central Publishing did not vet her book prior to publishing it.
Some who have been mentioned in the book have told Frank Report that her stories about them have been fabricated. They have made a convincing case.
[In fairness to Toni, the passages about me [Frank Parlato] are mostly accurate with one notable exception. I’ll get to that in a later post.]
Shivani’s article is in response to K.R. Claviger’s, Toni Natalie Is Really, Really, Really Pretty – Just Ask Her wherein Claviger points out that Natalie, in her book, repeatedly describes herself as pretty and quotes others who say she is pretty.
You can’t read the book without getting the impression that Toni thinks she is pretty and thinks that others think so too.
To explain the references below to Keith Raniere’s “meaty thumbs”, it comes from Toni’s book.
In his post, Claviger quoted from Natalie’s book, [as Keith was holding Toni’s hands he was] “rubbing his meaty thumb into the contours of my palm, surveying my life line, my love line, my fate line… He gazed deep into my eyes, and I met his gaze—his bright blues burning into my greens. ‘You have lovely eyes’, he said matter-of-factly”.
Claviger went on to write of this passage: “And ‘Yes’, dear Frank Report readers, I did laugh out loud when I read what shall forever be known as ‘the meaty thumb passage’.”
Shivani’s opinions are her own and do not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editors of the Frank Report.
By Shivani
K.R. Claviger, a snippet of one of your marvelous lines, “One night when he [Keith Raniere] was visiting her in her Best Western hotel room…” had me in stitches out on the patio. That tidbit kind of says it all.
Parked, like a sorry ass, in a Best Western, while her new boyfriend lives with three of his real and more significant other wimmens, all of whom are shrunken and seemed to have stopped menstruating. How appetizing. The OGs are supposed to go trawling for his teenage selections, and Toni doesn’t have any cute little girls?
How uncool is that for such a stark raving ‘bee-you-tee’?
All this is getting too sexy, as Toni sits on her thumb and rotates four or five nights out of seven! While Meaty Thumb dawdles and splits his time, doing his gosh darndest to share the abuse. Gawd how erotic.
But why stop there, when this ‘laydee’ promoted herself to such altitudes of self-help? She found her way dauntlessly and left her husband and their little boy for a meaty thumbful of cum, a fat-faced, 5’5″ woodchuck with a hairdo like a backup singer from Herman’s Hermits?
Keith Raniere when he was with Toni Natalie – and had her and her son on low calories diets.
Getting it on, bébé.
She was experiment #35 amongst Keithie-Weethie’s second-stringer mature gals. Toni joined a troop of spitting camels who never wore deodorant and had to rent her own condo, all for love of the great Flabturb, her Vanguard, ya know.
But this is not about the meaty thumb. This is all about, could it be, it is! All about “miss piggy’s CONTOURS.”
As the two specimens stroked each other’s cloven hooves and grunted gutturally in mutual self-admiration until the thrill was gone. I dunno who wrote Toni’s novelette for her, but she might find new autobiographical life writing porn and making imitation gangsta gestures in front of multiple prisons. Strike a pose.
It wasn’t fair to make fun of a myopic orangutan’s hairdo without offering a similar review of Natalie’s hairdressing skillz, while taking in her profile photo below, where she gazes at her harem master like an epicurean raptor.
For hers is the exact same coiffure that I used to see while gazing down from balconies into the predawn streets of Mumbai. That was when the immense city rats, considerably larger than fatass American house cats, would be getting ready to go to bed for the day. These gigantic rats all wore their head fur exactly like Toni’s in her profile shot, with unruly, casual sprigs of hairiness matted down the sides of their faces, for a youthful look. It was fascinating how vigorous and sporty they looked, but they bullied each other and were uncouth.
From Toni to woodchucks, to camels, to piggies, too myopic orangutans, to raptors, to rats and we must have at least one old goat before we get back, as is adamantly required by Toni, to Toni.
Another tiny indignity, like a finale, a Tchaikovsky death scene starring Toni, of course, with stage settings and notes she needs to memorize before dress rehearsal. She has to stop being too flummoxed. Toni must learn how to respond to semi-blindness more on cue.
Acute myopia has a way of looking outward into a miasma of vagueness. Yet very often that nearsighted way of looking appears to someone looking into its gaze to be quite hypnotically focused upon him or her.
It can be terribly enticing.
But alas. Myopics are more likely to be just kind of staring, not bothering to try using their elongated eye muscles to contract or to focus, ’cause they won’t. Those kind of eyes can be almost unseeing but can look omnipresent. Happy Halloween though, Toni. It was all you, all of the time.
Perhaps try to settle the fuck down now. Everybody got the naked telegram.
Even though Toni might’ve been peeing with eagerness while in the courtroom and doing the old “look at me” jiggle and eyelash batting/ hair-tossing like a nanny goat in heat, what was the point?
Raniere, her ex, her dimestore conboy, her bisexual Albany std and HPV Rasputin, probably just saw a batch of fuzzy people. Aphrodite Natalie is no spring chicken, either. She ought to know that he prefers to unzip younger veal coulottes, not to work up a sweat tugging off some old lady’s underpants.
Hey, maybe that’s how come Natalie co-wrote her spiritually-advanced memoir, as a way of gracefully accepting her passage into the resurrection of Deep Throat, the new age dowager queen of overstocked and expired cosmetics, hard work and Best Western hotel booty, um, bee-you-tee.
Toni Natalie is triumphant – with Keith Raniere in prison and with her new book – she has a lot to feel happy about. But some are unhappy because they claim she dishonestly portrayed them in her book.
