Frank Luntz Gives a Blow Job:
Republican strategist and linguistic manipulator Frank Luntz was still sad as he sat across from the Rude Pundit in a suite at the Soho House in New York City. As Luntz revealed in an interview with Slate's Molly Ball, he, the master of political sloganeering and road-tester of phrases like "death tax," the man who got filthy rich by making the vicious savagery of right-wing policies sound like they were wisdom from Grandpa instead of decadent exploitations of fear and ignorance by his even wealthier benefactors, thinks politics has made people too divided.
And he blames the most obvious person. No, you cruel bastards. Not himself, but the true enemy, Barack Obama. Frank Luntz, the man who had ruined the electorate and set them at each other's throats, said that "Obama had ruined the electorate, set them at each other's throats, and there was no way to turn back." He described the rabble as beyond his ability to twist them. Of American voters, the man who imposed opinions on the nation said, "They want to impose their opinions rather than express them...And they're picking up their leads from here in Washington."
He looked doughy and sloe-eyed at the Rude Pundit, exhaustedly slurring, "The people are thinking now. They are not being told what to think. They want...stuff. They want...I don't know how to put it."
"A return on their investment?" the Rude Pundit offered.
"That's a polite way of putting it," Luntz responded. "I'd say they were 'takers.'"
"Of course you would."
Luntz repeated what he had told Ball, "You should not expect a handout...You should not even expect a safety net. When my house burns down, I should not go to the government to rebuild it. I should have the savings, and if I don't, my neighbors should pitch in for me, because I would do that for them."
"Neighbors don't invest in each other, Frankie. They pay taxes. They invest in Uncle Sam. And sometimes they need to cash that in," said the Rude Pundit. "What the hell is government except an organized way for a state or city or even a nation of neighbors to pitch in?"
"Fuck you." Luntz began to weep, big, heaving weeps that jostled his shoulders and made his man-boobs jiggle. "It's all lost."
The Rude Pundit stood up and put his finger on Luntz's chin. "You know what'll make you feel better? Lemme put my dick in your mouth."
Luntz did not turn away, but he looked concerned. "What...that's just for you."
"No, it's what you need."
"I'm not saying 'no.' I just don't follow."
The Rude Pundit sighed at having to explain the obvious. "Look, Frankie boy, you're used to using that mouth of your to satiate the animal urges of conservatives. Some piggish Republican wants to cut food stamps so that he can lower taxes on rich fucks. You tell him to start calling the U.S. a 'Food Stamp Nation' and shame the needy. When they want to cut or privatize Medicare or Social Security, you say, 'Strengthen and save.' They put out their hard dicks and you go down on 'em until they feel good. You're a cocksucker, my friend, and a gleeful swallower. What other purpose do you have in this world. So?" The Rude Pundit gestured down. "If you're good at something, why stop?"
Luntz took a moment, of course. A man who has plummeted so far in his own estimation has to realize who he is at some point. The Rude Pundit thought he saw a hint of a smile on Frank Luntz's face as he reached for the zipper.
Yeah, Frank Luntz, who owns two mansions and has an apartment in New York City, who has a million dollar sneaker collection, may be having an existential crisis, but he can still suck a dick like a Hoover set on deep pile. The guy'll be just fine.
