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By Dr. Frank Luntz

This article is dedicated to the 300 million Americans whose stupidity has made my career possible.

Without you, I’d be poor.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’d like to thank the brilliant Dr. Frank Luntz, for his brilliance.

But seriously, I am awesome. You know the Republican Revolution of 1994? I did that. You know the Contract with America? I wrote that. I’m better than you. I am smarter than you. I have more money, too.

INTRODUCTION

“Always start by quoting a respected historical figure.”

-Winston Churchill

“And don’t forget to throw in a pop culture reference for cretins.”

- Ray Romano, star of “Everybody Loves Raymond.”

Septemberish, 2004: Evil lord, master of my soul and brimstone gadfly, Beelzebub—an angel-turned-devil, political-wonk-to-the-stars—invites two-dozen Hollywood power-players to his Los Angeles home. These are not your run-of-the-mill Hollywood-liberal-elites; they are the cream-of-the-cream-of-the-right-wing-entertainment-industry.

For them, the 2004 election is a knife fight for the spleen of America. They are frazzled by the prospect of John Kerry becoming the first French president. Sylvester Stallone, Charlton Heston, Satan and several lesser Baldwins nervously hover over an appetizing tray of brazed toddler.

“That stale croissant is more of a Skull!” balks Satan. “Call me old-fashioned, but this country needs a Bones!”

“Yo, uh, not for nothing over here,” Stallone interjects. “You mean like that Bush—that he’s like the bones in this, uh, meta-fork or what you call it?”

“Amen!” the Baldwins sing in choir. “We need a metal fork for America—”

“SILENCE!” Satan growls, his eyes are burning embers.

“Ah! What happened? Where am I?” Heston jumps up from the sofa. “I made a poop in my pants.”

We all did. It was a tense situation.

“Okay, this is as good a time as any,” Satan sighs. “Frank, why don’t you begin?”

I’m in attendance to consult them on the power of language in politics. They paid me a lot of money to be here. I like money.

I did my job and George W. Bush won reelection. And now, you’ve been regaled by my mentioning famous names. You’re so stupid.

I’M TOTALLY GAY!

Words that used to jerk, sometimes stop jerking. Take “gay,” for instance: Being gay in the eighteenth century was a lot different than it is now.

The East India Trading Company’s 1756 slogan “I’m Gay for East India’s Seamen!” was a huge marketing coup. But McDonald’s 2003 “i want to make gay love to that hamburger…” internet ad was a huge flop.

The lexicon is always shifting. And effective communicators have to keep up. They have to be with it, cool, and crunk wit’ the homebodies. I know how the kids talk. I am better than you. Word.

Words are my passion. I love them.

If words were a lady—or a smooth twink bottom—I’d ask them out on a date. We’d go to a movie and then a classy restaurant. And when words went to the bathroom, I’d slip them a roofie. Later, I’d bend the lifeless words over the hood of my silver Mercedes and steal their anal virginity—right there in the parking lot, like a pit-bull on steroids.

Fear not, dear reader—I won’t just leave words curled in the fetal position and slathered in my rancid seed! I’d lovingly stuff the limp and violated words into my trunk, and chain them up in my basement dungeon (a gift from my dear friend and mentor, Newt Gingrich).

Remember: It’s not what you say, it’s what people fear!

After several months of brutal torture and constant rape, I’d pimp the reeducated words all over town. Flat on their backs in corporate boardrooms and politicians’ hotel rooms, their tiny serif appendages akimbo, words would finally begin to earn their keep. Dungeon maintenance isn’t cheap you know!

Now those are Words That Jerk!

When words come back with my money, I’ll give them some flowers and they’ll forgive me. They always do. Flowers make everything better. Words—and bitches—always fall for that crap (that’s not sexist, I swear).

BE THE DOUCHEBAG

Notice how I used bold type and the word “be,” as opposed to “try to be” in the above heading? Try is not a word that jerks. Be is. Trying connotes uncertainty and possible failure. But being is a matter of fact.

And you read only bold type—while glazing over the rest—because you’re not smart.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: I had a childhood of privilege just because my family had a maid. But where I grew up, on Main St. in the middle of blue-collar America, it was common for middle class families to employ maids. Maid—the word—doesn’t jerk. You wouldn’t have thought that had I written “housekeeper” or “paid helper” or “penis secretary.”

Thankfully, today we have computers. That old Smith Corona was a cruel and painful mistress.

WHAT I REALLY CARE ABOUT

Fucking the shit out of words and phrases is important. But it’s not the most important thing. The most important thing for effective communication is fucking the shit out of other people with your words. And getting paid for it.

To do this, you have to know which words really get under people’s skin. My polling company has done extensive testing to find those words. Finding the most effective language for a client is both an art and a science. And when that doesn’t work I just make shit up.

JERK STUDIES

When tasked with coming up with a manipulative moniker for the widely popular Inheritance Tax, I tortured a hobo (thanks again, Newt) to see what really scares people.

Remember: It’s not what you say, it’s what people fear...

After a few failures: the Red-Hot-Poker-in-the-Eye Tax, the Electrified-Genitals Tax, the Water-Boarding Tax—I realized I needed more. So, I kidnapped another hobo and made him watch me murder the other one.

And the Death Tax was born.

WORDS THAT JERK IN THE 21^st CENTURY

As any competent scientist will tell you, the biggest threat facing civilization is global climate change. It will be my job to take a lot of money from “Adorable Energy Babies” to convince you that my clients give a rat’s ass about “Green Energy” and that “Alternative Energy Sources” like wind, solar and ethanol are viable.

Wind and solar power is wildly inefficient, and ethanol is retarded—but when I’m done, you’ll love them. You’ll even thank me when your face melts off.

You’re SO dumb.

CONCLUSION

I am better than you.