Rush to poor judgment

If schadenfreude to the point of orgasm were possible, I would certainly have experienced one on Thursday, June 26, 2006. That, of course, was the day I heard on the car radio the words, “Rush Limbaugh detained at Palm Beach Airport.” I considered pulling over to the side of the road, jumping out of the car and dancing around, shouting “Ding dong the Rush is dead,” but settled for a more modest, age-appropriate, and less gay jumping up and down in the seat while singing the first verse only of “Happy Days Are Here Again.” This was too good to be true, I thought. Maybe he had another cargo-load of Oxycontin seized or perhaps something more heavy duty such as cocaine or LSD, and if there is a supreme being, perhaps this time the Bloated Barker of Bellicosity will spend some time in the cooler with some steroid-embellished, psychotic member of the underclass that the Porcine Poobah of Pomposity would like to remain prone and poverty-burdened.

No such luck, but at least this time his predicament was more humiliating, if not incarcerating. Apparently this time, “ladies,” we learned that Rush is, in fact, no “gentleman.” It seems that sometime last month, as “The Great (Big) One” was searching feverishly for salacious satisfaction over the Internet, he stumbled upon an ad from the “hot” little country of The Dominican Republic that promised that no matter how physically grotesque a man was, he could come to this naughty little nation and have all manner of prurient acts performed upon him for a nominal fee. And obviously, Rush was planning to establish himself as a swordsman of renown based on his purchase of two 30-quantity bottles of Viagra, or maybe it’s a matter of being so obsessed with Liberal-bashing, he can only get himself up, so to speak, for his radio show. And so, Rush landed in this unsuspecting banana republic fully cocked and loaded. Here he was, a national celebrity and millionaire ready for action. But somehow, nothing happened, judging from the embarrassing revelation by the authorities that there was only one pill missing from the total 60 pills, so we should conclude from this that his (e)mission failed. Not wanting his dittoing dummkopfs to find out about their manly leader’s worse-than-fatal flaw, Rush had gotten two doctors to list themselves as owners of the prescriptions. Even if this medication is not a controlled drug, it seems a little unethical, at least, for a doctor or patient to do this. If I had played this little game, I’d be writing this on a manual typewriter in a prison library.

Rush has had a series of bad marriages and non-marital relationships. Perhaps this is at the base of it: He can’t include any of his frustrated paramours among his legions of satisfied-but-brain-dead customers. And being an ardent conservative as well as a steadfast heterosexual, it’s of course, totally impossible for him to “stick it to the man.” But unfortunately, it seems he’s unable to “stick it to the woman” either.

Being a typical Liberal do-gooder I will still try to help a person no matter how vile his character and behavior so, Rush, I am offering you this advice, which I know you won’t take because of its source, but it’ll look good on my Hereafter application and resume: Since it seems you may be more turned on by Right-wing politics than female sexiness, I think Ann coulter is your “match made in Heaven.” She appears to get off on blasting away at the Left and she has about as much sexual magnetism as Karl Rove, but with a bit more masculinity (or maybe it’s just the Adam ’s apple). Give her a call. I already have visions of you two married with a son, little Adolph.

Well, good luck, Rush, and, by the way, you may still need the Viagra with Ann. Maybe a half bottle or so. One more suggestion: You might want to consider changing that signature, self-laudatory phrase to “Talent on loan from Pfizer.”