I Really Hate Adverbs
But I like irony.
“Don’t worry about the election. Trump is not going to win. I made fucking sure of that . . . hahaha.”
- Dr. Eric Coomer, King v. Whitmer, First Amended Complaint, Case No. 20-CV-13134 (2020)
Background
On November 3, 2020, State Farm Arena in Atlanta experienced a localized plumbing issue (a toilet overflow), which prompted election officials to halt ballot counting around 10:00 pm, and request the departure of poll watchers and media. Officials stated counting would resume the following morning.
Surveillance footage shows personnel remained within the arena accessing vote tabulation systems until after 1:00 AM. They operated without supervision from authorized observers.
The discrepancy between the official statement and continued operations raised questions regarding transparency and oversight. These events, and similar alleged breakdowns across the country, spawned lawsuits that challenged the outcome of the 2020 presidential election. A notable characteristic of some of these complaints was frequent reliance on adverbial modification for emphasis—a rhetorical strategy prioritizing descriptive intensity over substantive proof.
This hints at a basic quandary: when claims are based on subjective interpretation overloaded with qualifiers, can they hold up to scrutiny if presented as absolute truth? A sample of these legal proceedings offer a compelling illustration. To understand how this works—and how it fails—we need a framework.
Datum to Conceptualization to Encoding to Written Word
Overreliance on adverbs is vagueness masquerading as specificity and erodes meaning. There is no escaping style. Word choice is foundational for conveying meaning in asynchronous communication. Authors lock their translation of, or encoding of, abstract thought into text. A reader’s accurate comprehension of this encoding, and in turn understanding the source abstract thought, turns on the writing’s fidelity, precision, and rhetorical quality.
However, overreliance implies a lack of skill or craft on the part of the author, a sort of unconscious incompetence that leads to incomplete, mistaken, or weak encoding. But what of the consciously competent author? From a rhetorical perspective, the strategic use of adverbs is a necessary tool of language, one of the uncountable devices to encode abstract thought.
Imagine a quadrant diagram, with axis un/conscious and in/competence, that categorizes authors. A reasonable assumption is the consciously competent and unconsciously competent authors have honed their skill, craft, and voice. The former is aware of and understands good writing and demonstrates it with effort and concentration; where the latter creates with instinct.
Competent authors synergize content and rhetoric to articulate abstractions with fidelity and precision. They know content built on misstatements forfeits its claim to meaning. Similarly, factual information, or cogent arguments, can be undermined by compromised rhetoric.
Hence, the proliferation of adverbs with flawed content fill the remaining two quadrants. The unconsciously incompetent author populates one naturally, they simply do not know better. But what of the consciously incompetent author? The skilled writer who deliberately prowls the boundary between plausible and absurd? Dubious claims skillfully described with weaponized rhetoric: the strategically awful use of adverbs.
“I must apologize for Wimp Lo. He is an idiot. We have purposely trained him wrong, as a joke.”
- Master Tang, Kung Pow: Enter the Fist (2002)
The United States Districct Court, Northern Distrcoit of Georgia, received a complaint in 2000, shortly after the presidential election (yes, that was the spelling). Several days later, a similar complaint was filed in the Eastern District of Michigan. Lawyers wrote the complaints, of course; and these lawyers were admitted to practice law in federal court. Almost every U.S. state requires a law degree to be admitted to practice; and a law degree requires an undergraduate degree.
For a moment, concede all lawyers are consciously competent authors. Counsel Sidney Powell (cough) succame to conspiracy theories and was among many lawyers who together filed the these and additional complaints alleging “massive election fraud.” She became the face of the “kraken suits,” the name given by observers, when she announced the suits “release the kraken” against the fraudsters that would conspire to put President Biden in the Oval Office over Trump. But, did Powell successfully unleash her claims upon the intended targets, or did the mythical beast recoil and consume its summoner in a wave of professional censure? Adverb usage provides insight.
Intensifiers Weaken Claims: Louder Truthiness
One “fundamentally troubling, insidious, and egregious” use of adverbs is appealing to emotion in place of providing facts. “Especially egregious” is the use of modifiers as cloaked causation for a claim. The kraken lawsuits alleged defendants’ “old-fashioned ballot-stuffing” flipped the outcome of the 2020 presidential election.
The intended audience of a legitimate lawsuit—judge, opposing counsel, others in the legal field—relies on analytical skill and self-awareness to parse and contemplate the veracity of a complaint. Facts support allegations, intensity does not. A plaintiff does not “establish[] a violation. . .” clearly. The adverb adds nothing material. In fact, it detracts by begging the question, which is a telltale sign of a flawed argument; and attempts to shock the reader into belief.
The former argues with circular reasoning. An argument by assertion, where a claim is true because it is obviously true. A reader then asks, if it is true, why is it true? If it is clearly true, what facts make it clear that the facts make it true? The manner of establishing a claim is not a substitute for establishment via substance.
Likewise, the latter strives to bypass a reader’s critical thought and hijack their emotional state. It demands belief without basis in fact; it tells the reader there is no use in fact-checking, because it is a waste of valuable mental effort. Instead, believe and trust the author, and join them in anger, outrage, and disgust through affiliative loyalty.
Experienced counsel, the consciously competent author, is attempting to manipulate the reader and direct their response with purposeful incompetence. Experienced counsel is aware the claim lacks legitimacy. It is a calculated act of political performance. An unsophisticated reader, or one susceptible to cognitive bias, is more likely to accept this performance because the court system provides a veneer of legitimacy, as opposed to the performative art that is cable news punditry.
However, intensifiers are necessary in writing. Precision in manner or degree, timing and frequency, or place. The kraken suits’ intensity pushed absolute certainty of a claim with sophistry, not the factual precision of the defendants’ actions. In the spice rack of language, adverbs are cinnamon; they add warmth and depth to the dish. Using too much oversaturates the senses. Never mind adding it to the wrong dish, such as here in the kraken suits. Instead of emphasizing content, misuse of intensifiers turned these complaints into the purple prose of the legal world.
Therefore, it is absolutely, undeniably crucial—indeed, fundamentally essential—to resist the temptation of overly dramatic emphasis. At best, purposely and callously attacking readers with wholly overwhelming intensity helps an author meet a college thesis word count requirement; at worst, it trivially and impeccably makes a judge’s job at imposing sanctions effortlessly, instinctively, and laughably easier.
Redundancy and Contradiction: The Illusion of Thoroughness.
Ultimately, redundancy and outright contradictory writing persistently restates a point differently; and sometimes asserts conflicting ideas; or even awkwardly says the same thing and negates a previous claim, which may seemingly be harmless filler that may not be detrimentally crucial to an argument; but also could strongly imply a weakly developed argument or a diffidently hesitant author. In this context, adverbs, particularly to a higher degree than other modifiers, are a blatantly insidious problem sometimes frequently found in poorly written prose.
Legal writing—arguably all writing—aims for unambiguous precision. Statutes, contracts, and court filings must convey specific intent without leaving room for misinterpretation. Redundancy does not add to that precision; it dilutes it. Each repetition introduces a potential point of interpretive divergence; a space where a clever opponent can sow doubt, or an impartial reviewer can get lost in flawed logic.
What information does the author impart by claiming the “scheme and artifice to defraud was [to] illegally and fraudulently manipulat[e] the vote count”? It of course claims someone committed fraud. But the sentence circularly and tautologically defines its own terms by employing adverbs that essentially, totally, and wholly, mean the exact same thing as the verbs they modify. Effectively and needlessly saying that a fraud was committed fraudulently, which is an illegal crime.
Likewise, contradiction actively destroys the logical of a claim, rendering it vulnerable to immediate dismissal. Self-sabotage in as little as two words. One kraken example is “virtually invisible.” Although a petty critique, the phrase is a foundational example of contradiction by way of negating an absolute. Further, a lesson and warning regarding hyperbole in legal writing. Something is either visible or it is invisible. If visible, modifiers or intensifiers add precision to the adjective. However, an object—or in this case, evidence of fraud—cannot be more or less invisible than other invisible evidence.
Beyond explicit negation, contradiction by adverb is also a form of hedging. One kraken affiant claimed 98% of a batch of ballots were for President Biden. A grandiose claim and strong statistical evidence of potential fraud. However, the witness’s sworn statement instead hedged with “approximately” 98%. The core problem lies in the jarring juxtaposition of “approximately” and “98%.” “Approximately” signifies a lack of precision, an acknowledgement that the figure is not exact. It implies a range, a margin of error. However, 98% is a remarkably precise and astonishingly high number when the range is zero to one-hundred percent. A serious claim packaged with plausible deniability.
Of course, adverbs and the words they modify are not isolated entities; they contribute to the meaning of the substantive content. The witness’s statement includes a preceding adverbial phrase, adding another layer of obfuscation: “by my estimate in observing [this batch of] ballots, approximately. . . .” Notwithstanding the juxtaposition, “approximately 98%” appears as an objective measure; however, that measurement comes from an estimate, which comes from an observation. The affiant did not handle the ballots, they observed; they did not tally votes, they estimated. The adverbial phrase contradicts the precision just as the roughness of “approximately” negates precision.
The punchline, though, is the subsequent sentence. The affiant claims 98% of votes went to President Biden for the shock value. The claim is buried under two layers of hedging; therefore, shock preserved. Then, they testify “only [] two of these ballots [were] votes for [Trump].” The only unqualified objective evidence claimed within a paragraph of 57 words.
The ultimate irony is that the paragraph, so meticulously deployed to conceal the precise number of ballots, is mathematically unaware that two ballots for Trump instinctively dictates approximately 98 ballots for President Biden. But implying 98% of all ballots is sexier than 98 ballots out of a sample of 100. Regardless, a keen reader deconstructs this claim; they take note of strategic placement of the, 1) global qualifier; 2) precision masked by a vague modifier; and 3) tailing sentence that submerges the single concrete assertion. This is anchoring.
The strategic use of biases, such as anchoring, to make a claim costs an author credibility, because instead of backing up a claim with evidence, they attempt to obfuscate and manipulate. A Sophist’s Gambit of legal writing. A consciously incompetent tactician understands this erodes a legal reader’s trust, and yet purposely employs it.
With this example, given the source of the claim is an affidavit, it is likely that counsel engaged in rhetorical conditioning to craft the testimony to fit a narrative. This represents another exploitation of the legal system’s veneer of legitimacy to, first, avoid sanctionable conduct (via the cautious adverbial hedges); and second, to ensure the unsophisticated reader remembers the shocking anchor (“98% constituted votes for [President] Biden”). Not the sole objective datum, small sample size, or all other concealed qualifications behind the shocking claim.
So, as every legal scholar knows, 99% of all allegations in a complaint are hedged when the scholar sets aside all unqualified assertions, and that makes for a poor lawsuit.
Other Unqualified Assertions of Pure, Trivial Illogic.
The problems with adverbial excess extend beyond simply weakening claims through over-intensification or creating internal contradictions. They manifest in more subtle, yet equally damaging, ways that undermine the integrity of legal argument, and reveal a troubling rhetorical strategy.
One common tactic is leveraging temporal proximity to manufacture causation where none exists. Events unfold in sequence; that is inherent to time’s passage. However, simply stating that one event “immediately” followed or “shortly thereafter” occurred does not establish a causal link—a but-for or if-then relationship where one event necessitates the other. To imply a coordinated scheme based solely on timing is fallacious; contrary to the aphorism correlation does not equal causation. The world rarely operates on such precise triggers; attributing conspiratorial intent based on natural timing is often an unwarranted leap in logic. A legitimate claim requires demonstrating how and why one event led to another—not merely that they happened close together.
Similarly, adverbs frequently serve to launder qualifications—or lack thereof—of pseudo-expert witnesses offering sworn testimony. An affiant might be described as speaking authoritatively or providing an unquestionable analysis without any explicit explanation of why their opinion carries weight. This is not about legitimate bolstering of credibility; it is about using adverbial puffery to create the impression of expertise where none has been demonstrated, relying on the reader to fill in the gaps with unwarranted trust.
This effect is amplified by the unfortunate tendency toward mixed registers: blending pseudo-academic phrasing with colloquialisms, legal jargon, or even outright idioms. While a strategically placed bit of plain language can clarify complex ideas, indiscriminate use creates “sound bytes” more suited to cable news than court filings. The goal is not precision or understanding; it is memorability—and often, manipulation—at the expense of accuracy. These stylistic choices erode legitimate adverbial usage by associating them with flimsy rhetoric rather than sound argument.
Finally, the inescapable escalation trap. If everything is deemed “egregious,” “systematic,” or “blatant,” those terms become meaningless. The rhetorical force dissipates as it is spread too thinly across every assertion. Butter scraped over too much bread, as Bilbo says. An author trapped in this cycle loses the ability to highlight genuinely concerning facts because they have already exhausted their descriptive power on every minor detail. The result is not emphasis; it is apathy – and ultimately, dismissal by any reader accustomed to logical discourse.
When Is It Written Badly Well?
Having duly considered matters pertaining to adverbial construction—and having engaged in exhaustive contemplation regarding their deleterious effects upon rhetorical precision—we shall now proceed to examine badly written writing and badly well-written writing.
Weak rhetoric, particularly the overreliance on adverbs, is not always a purposeful act. It stems from fundamentally different places within an author—a crucial distinction for understanding the intent and potential harm of the writing.
The Unconsciously Incompetent Author.
This writer genuinely believes in the power of their rhetoric, unaware of its flaws. They operate from a place of conviction, mistaking passion for persuasion. Their writing is characterized by escalating intensity: a belief that louder simply equals truer. They lack a theory of the reader, assuming their arguments will be accepted on face value rather than critically examined. Redundancy arises from a need to constantly reinforce their own conviction, while contradictions are simply overlooked.
This author is not actively trying to deceive; they have convinced themselves of their own narrative and are genuinely baffled when others cannot see it as clearly. Their mistake is not malice, but a fundamental misunderstanding of how communication works, and a failure to recognize the importance of factual grounding alongside emotional appeal. Without a foundation of evidence, their claim collapses under its own weight. A sincere but ultimately self-defeating cascade of hyperbolic claims.
The Consciously Incompetent Author.
This writer weaponizes rhetoric at the expense of truth. They know their arguments are weak, but leverage that weakness strategically. This is the skilled deceiver, wielding a surgical scalpel as a weapon rather than a tool for precision and clarity. They deliberately walk the line between plausibility and absurdity, crafting language designed to resonate with specific audiences while providing deniability against scrutiny.
They understand cognitive biases and exploit them, employing vague qualifiers and mixed registers to simultaneously appeal to emotion and obscure fact. Unlike their unconscious counterpart, they are not trapped by escalating intensity; they carefully calibrate their language to maintain plausible deniability while still stirring desired reactions in targeted groups. This author is not seeking truth; they are seeking influence. They are perfectly willing to sacrifice integrity to achieve it.
The consciously incompetent author operates according to an implicit equation—one designed to maximize the appearance of legitimacy while minimizing actual substance. Consider this:
\[\text{Deception} = {(\text{Emotional Appeal × Pseudo Authority × Masked Precision}) \over (\text{Actual Evidence × Logical Coherence})}\]
This is not about creating balanced argumentation; it is about manipulating perception through calculated imbalance. The goal is to create a complaint that feels convincing on the surface, even if it crumbles under examination. Breaking down how this equation is exploited:
- Maximize the Numerator: Pump up three key components
- Intensifying Adverbs: “Clearly,” “obviously,” “massively” create an illusion of certainty where none exists—injecting emotional force into flimsy claims.
- False Expertise: Citing unqualified experts or selectively quoting reputable sources lends an air of authority without genuine backing.
- Fake Precision: Employing specific numbers coupled with vague qualifiers provides the illusion of rigorous analysis without actual data supporting it.
- Minimize the Denominator: Undermines the foundation of sound reasoning
- Vagueness: Ambiguous phrasing allows for multiple interpretations and shields against direct refutation.
- Hedge Words: “May,” “could,” “potentially” provide plausible deniability when claims inevitably fall apart under scrutiny—allowing retreat without admitting outright falsehoods.
- Contradictory Claims: Internal inconsistencies are either ignored or subtly masked, relying on readers not noticing (or not caring) about logical contradictions within the text itself.
- Causation: Masking of the but-for and if-then relationships, dragging a reader through the causal chain rather than describing its path.
The end result? A document engineered not for truth-seeking but for manipulation via truthiness. One that relies on exploiting vulnerabilities in how people process information rather than presenting a compelling case based on facts and logic. It prioritizes seeming legitimate over being legitimate. The consciously incompetent author’s prayer:
That argument isn’t weak.
And if it is, my phrasing wasn’t intended to mislead.
And if it misled, it’s simply a matter of interpretation.
And if interpretation reveals a flaw, the reader is biased.
And if the reader is unbiased, their comprehension is lacking.
And if they comprehend fully, they choose to misunderstand.
And for the other readers, they serve my ends.
In the Alternative
Or Sidney Powell and her team are a bunch of idiots.