Franken Al, Różne
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LIES
(And the Lying Liars Who Tell Them)
A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right
AI Franken
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Although I wrote this book in a spirit of dispassionate inquiry, I cannot expect my
critics to respond in kind. My right-wing detractors will undoubtedly tell you that I'm an "ob-
noxious prick—a "smug asshole," and a "clear and present threat to our national security." I
will not stoop to dignify such calumny with a response, except to say that Condoleezza Rice
should watch her mouth.
More imaginative critics might charge that, "like Newt Gingrich, [I] had an affair
with a Supreme Court justice." This kind of attack, which is totally irrelevant to the political
content of this book, exposes how desperate my enemies have become. As the great Joseph
Welch said to Joe McCarthy, "Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left
no sense of decency?"
Unlike Senator McCarthy and his intellectual heirs, Ann Coulter and Howard Stern, I
do
have a sense of decency. And that is why I've decided to reveal a "dirty little secret" about
this book that my critics are too lazy and stupid to figure out on their own. I acknowledge—
no, I
proudly
acknowledge—that I did not write this book alone.
No author ever writes a book entirely by himself. That would be impossible. Just ask
Dennis Rodman or John Updike. Like making a movie or building a long suspension bridge,
writing a book is very much a team effort. And that is why I think it's important to state
clearly, right up front, the methodology used to research this book, and to give credit to the
ragtag bunch of Harvard misfits I've come to affectionately call TeamFranken.
It all started when Harvard's Kennedy School of Government asked me to serve as a
fellow at its Shorenstein Center on the Press, Politics, and Public Policy. After my varied and
celebrated career in television, movies, publishing, and the lucrative world of corporate
speaking, being a fellow at Harvard seemed, frankly, like a step down.
I couldn't think of anything less appealing than molding the minds of tomorrow's
leaders, unless it was spending fireside evenings sipping sherry with great minds at the Fac-
ulty Club. Yawn.
To my surprise and delight, though, all Harvard wanted me to do was show up every
once in a while and write something about something. That gave me an idea.
"Would it be okay if I wrote a scathingly partisan attack on the right-wing media and
the Bush administration?"
"No problem," Harvard said absentmindedly.
"Count me in," I replied. "From now on call me ‘Professor Franken.’”
"No," Harvard said, "you're not a professor. But you can run a study group on the
topic of your choosing."
"Great," I said. "I've got the perfect topic: Write My Son's Harvard College Applica-
tion Essay."
"No," they said. "Harvard students already know how to write successful Harvard ap-
plications, Al. We want you to teach them something new."
Harvard was right where I wanted it. "How about if the topic is: How to Research My
Book?"
"Sure," Harvard said. "Most of our professors teach that course. Why, in the Bio-
chemistry department, most of the graduate level courses are-"
Harvard was boring me. "I gotta run, Harvard. Thanks."
From among the seven hundred students who applied for my study group, I chose
fourteen intellectual heavyweights. Some undergraduates, some from the prestigious Ken-
nedy School of Government, and one from the Harvard School of Dentistry, just in case. This
was TeamFranken. Like the X-Men, each had his own special power. And each had a story.
There was Bridger McGaw, a Gore campaign veteran still sore from getting burned in
Florida. Madhu Chugh, with a mind as insatiable as her name is unpronounceable. Emmy
Berning, an ultra-feminist with a stunning resume-and a figure to match. Ben Kane and Ben
Wikler, "the Bens," TeamFranken's gay gladiators, whose fierce love for each other fueled
their ceaseless advocacy of justice for gays, lesbians, the transgendered, bisexuals, and man-
on-dog enthusiasts, such as Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum. And the rest.
There were fourteen in all. Tough, smart, and deeply committed to coming to my
Cambridge apartment once a week to eat a delicious hot meal cooked by my wife, Franni.
I felt like I had fourteen children. My fourteen Harvard research assistants. And like
every good parent, I loved each in a different way. Some I loved like the irrepressibly mis-
chievous child who doesn't do his homework. Others I loved like the good, deserving child
who does all of his homework, mows the lawn, and ghostwrites the chapters. And still others
I loved "more" than the rest, the way a parent secretly chooses favorites and undermines the
self-confidence of the others.
No, I wasn't a perfect leader. But what counts for me, and I hope for you, the reader, is that
this book brings to a new level the politics of personal destruction that have come to define
our era. Because with fourteen researchers, I could do something that my targets seem inca-
pable of doing-get my facts straight. Nothing highlighted the need for painstaking research
and factchecking more than the hiring process itself, which I had conducted on the basis of
hearsay and guesswork. For example, the "Bens" turned out not to be gay. And one, Owen,
wasn't even named Ben.
Thanks to TeamFranken, you can rest assured that almost every fact in this book is
correct. Either that, or it's a joke. If you think you've found something that rings untrue,
you've probably just missed a hilarious joke, and should blame yourself rather than me or
TeamFranken.
Enjoy.
INTRODUCTION
God chose me to write this book.
Just the fact that you are reading this is proof not just of God's existence, but also of
His/Her/Its beneficence. That's right. I am not certain of God's precise gender. But I am cer-
tain that He/She/It chose me to write this book.
This isn't hubris. I'm not saying this in an egotistical way. God didn't choose me be-
cause I'm the greatest writer who ever lived. That was William Shakespeare, whose work I
have a passing familiarity with. No. I just happened to be the right vessel at the right time. If
something in this book makes you laugh, it was God's joke. If something makes you think,
it's because God had a good point to make.
The reason I know God chose me is because God spoke to me personally.
God began our conversation by clearing something up. Some of George W Bush's
friends say that Bush believes God called him to be president during these times of trial. But
God told me that He/She/It had actually chosen Al Gore by making sure that Gore won the
popular vote and, God thought, the electoral college. THAT WORKED FOR EVERYONE
ELSE," God said.
"What about Tilden?" I asked, referring to the 1876 debacle. "QUIET!" God snapped.
God was angry.
God said that after 9/11, George W Bush squandered a unique moment of national
unity. That instead of rallying the country around a program of mutual purpose and sacrifice,
Bush cynically used the tragedy to solidify his political power and pursue an agenda that pan-
ders to his base and serves the interests of his corporate backers.
God told me that Bush squandered a $4.6 trillion surplus and is plunging us into defi-
cits as far as God can see. And that Bush squandered another surplus. The surplus of good-
will from the rest of the world that he had inherited from Bill Clinton.
And this was pissing God off.
He/She/It was right. But it sounded like a lot of work. "Look, God, I'm flattered, but I
think you got the wrong guy. The kind of book you're talking about would require months of
research."
And God Said, "LET THERE BE GOOGLE. AND LET THERE BE LEXISNEXIS."
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