Limbaugh Insists Media Playing Up 'White Drug Addict' Angle

harming conservative hard-ass Rush Limbaugh is angry with the American media's harping on his admission of painkiller abuse this week, claiming the focus on his addiction stems from the media's attempt to promote a white Republican drug addict.

Limbaugh answered accusations from reporters with his trademark, "You know how liberals are…" before launching into his defense. Addressing reporters by telephone from a minimum-security rehab facility, the talk show host and political pundit, irrelevantly 52, claimed the story was exaggerated.

"You know how liberals are. They run the media, of course, we all know this, and there's nothing they love more than bringing down white people. They were behind such evil as the Clinton presidency, the success of Donovan McNabb, and my leaving ESPN. Though, frankly, those SportsCenter guys were starting to get on my nerves," announced Rush, following quickly with the proclamation he had lost 5 pounds during the statement alone.

The revelation of illegal substance abuse, or let's say misappropriation of not-quite-legal pep pills, come at a bad time for Limbaugh, who quit sports network ESPN after statements he made about the unearned success of quarterback Donovan McNabb sparked controversy. The media, the tubby conservative claimed, engineered his exit by blowing his words out of proportion, stupid as they might be, and they were trying to further humiliate him by taking his usage of thousands of Oxycontin and Lorcet pills over the years out of context.

"You know how liberals are," said the husky speed addict.

"Common sense allows us to put things into perspective. These are prescription pills, they're just not prescribed to me. It's not like I'm doing blow or shooting heroin into my eyeballs. I'm not some ghetto crackhead. I'm a popular Republican talk show host, and the media loves to see conservative white guys get the book thrown at them for trivial infractions. If I was not famous and just a regular white guy, like a federal judge or CEO of a major multinational, I would just have this reduced to a fine and no one would care. But because I'm outspoken and everyone knows me and I'm always right, the liberal media wants to stick it to me, just to erase stereotypes."

Limbaugh, a former fat man now in a modestly chunky man's body, did not find much support with former colleagues at ESPN following the leak of the investigation.

"We are all shocked, it's as best as we can put it," said ESPN spokesperson Robert Fulgham. "We hired Rush three weeks ago. Knowing his history of working in talk radio and making light of liberals, democrats, feminists,
radicals, and basically all non-white people, we thought him to be a terrific sports analyst and commentator who would make broadcasts more lively. The last thing any of us at ESPN ever expected was this kind of insensitivity. When it comes to a quarterback in the year 2003, color is simply not an issue."

Fulgham was politely reminded the issue at hand was actually concerning Limbaugh's use of prescription pills before continuing.

"Oh, yeah," said Fulgham. "Everybody knew he was a big fat pill popper. Did you think he was exercising to kick that ass into shape? C'mon. He would chew handfuls of hydrocone in between five or six Baby Ruths. He had intravenous
coffee intake. It's not really a secret if you work with the guy. You don't want to get me started on those SportsCenter guys and what they do around the place."

Media Plugs CIA Leak

French Protestors Politely Riot

Australian Al-Qaeda’s Accent Makes “Osama Bin Laden” Sound Hilarious

Use of Term “Gaydar” Most Effective Means of Telling Someone’s Gay

Sir, let the truth ring out from mountaintop to mountaintop, and the desperate vagrant valleys between those mountaintops, too: Some secrets are better left secrets.

A few weeks ago my brother, Gay, made some snide comments about me, and as you might guess, I railed against them and called him a liar. And he is a liar, he's the first to not admit it, but he insisted these particular claims of his were accurate. Since he's a liar, that would have been enough to convince me they weren't true. But he produced pictures, which complicated the matter.

With my resident Chief Debunker Gordon Chumway on hand, I proved the photos were not faked. But were we faked? Replaced with gullible fools who could no longer tell the difference between fakes or legitimate pictures? It seemed possible, and Gordon and I argued with each other, going in circles until we accidentally went back in time, changed history, and erased the existence of our favorite commune correspondent Penny Priddy. This was getting us nowhere. I sought ought professional help.

My usual hypno-regression therapist, Dakota, put me to the ultimate test, and scoured my brain to find deeply repressed memories. And what she found was the worst of all possible conclusions: For a short time, I was a member of the College Republicans.

Oh, hideous fate, readers! It's far worse than the uncovered repressed memories of my multiple molestations by celebrities and alien abductions. In fact, those occasionally gave my life some meaning. But this…! Sir, I have been duped or railroaded or convinced with sheer logic to join nearly every political organization over the years. I have had flirtations with the Democratic party on numerous occasions, and a nasty dry hump with the Green Party throughout the 1990s; I have supported Libertarians, Anarchists, Communists, Eco- and Social-focused parties over the years. I am a proud Sandwich-Socialist, leading back to the grand old days when I invented the party. But a Republican? I shudder to think.

Not that I deny the horrible truth. Dakota has never led me astray on repressed memories before. Besides, if I dwell on it too long, I'm worried I will eradicate other commune staffers, and we're overworked as it is. No, I believe it's true, especially considering the context it was all placed in. The mid 1950s, attending an ivy league school I'm court-ordered not to name-drop anymore, just off on my own from my father and my unhappy childhood. I had sworn off the smoked buffalo meat business and had my permanent falling out with dear old dad. I needed belonging, conformity. I needed ascots and blazers with emblems and golf courses and yachting clubs. The small stipend father sent to me was enough to make me a rich young man, and I found solace in the inbred classes. And, much to my regret, I did like Ike.

To make it clear, this is not who I am. It's who I was at one time. I fell out of the good graces of the well-to-do by the time the 1960s started, and I found my true calling in developing ghost divining equipment. I rejected father's money and made my own living working in various odd jobs and odd journalistic magazines, like The American Journal of Sand and Bi-Curious. Somewhere, in the midst of making my old life, I must have repressed the old one.

And frankly, I was happy with things the way they are. If anyone provides a re-repression therapy service, please contact these offices immediately.

º Last Column: Roughed Up by an Angel
º more columns

Dear commune:

I couldn't be more disappointed with the commune. Well, I suppose I could, if you were to say something bad about that charming young man from that show Jag. But right now I'm very upset as it is. My dog will no longer "go" on the commune. For the past few months Mumps was quite a good little dog, but ever since you started running those awful stories about terrorism he just can't make his business on the commune. What do you have to say for yourselves?

Ezra Gallworth
Tupelo, Mississippi


Dear Ezra:

We're fascinated with the idea of your dog taking a dump on a monitor with a digitized picture of Sampson L. Hartwig on it. But we're unable to help at all, we don't make the news, at least not much of it, we only report it. Terrorism has never been conducive to gastro-intestinal health, as studies at Johns Hopkins and Omar Bricks' Fourth of July parties has often revealed.

Perhaps you should let your dog out to make on the lawn once in a while, you grizzled old fossil. Or stop feeding him that dust-covered bowl of breath mints that's been on your coffee table since Eisenhower's inaugural address. Thanks for writing and may your life alert beeper continue to function properly for many hours to come.

the commune

---

Dear commune:

I am extremely upset with the commune and your "This Space For Rent" column. Each week a parade of idiots are allowed to express their bizarre and insipid opinions, and for what? No, seriously, what? How much does it cost? It's downright offensive.

Maybe I could understand better if I didn't know about the case of my cousin, Nestor. Again and again Nestor has petitioned to present a column on illiteracy for your web publication and each week, even after he has presented you with a check for the "This Space For Rent" fee, he is turned away. Obviously the commune is not quite the freedom- loving news source they present themselves as.

You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves, and I mean more so. Don't count on me to be checking out the commune anymore.

"Weak Hat" Tim McGee
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania


Dear "Weak Hat":

We at the commune remember your cousin Nestor quite well. It's difficult to forget the man who gets lodged in the revolving door of your office each week. Nestor has been here several times, yes, and we have continuously told him he is welcome to present a column on illiteracy to us for the commune to print. Our refusal to publish his column has nothing to do with his "for" opinion on illiteracy and everything to do with the fact we can't publish strange markings or rips in notebook paper as they do not actually comprise a "column" per se.

Also, though Nestor has written us several checks, we are unable to cash any of them since he cannot sign them, make them out to anybody, specify any monetary amount, nor does he actually have a checking account. Checks are also not allowed to be written on Charmen toilet paper, to the best of our knowledge.

Please find whatever hole in the fence your cousin is escaping through and block it off. Our revolving door can only take so much. Thanks for writing.

the commune

---

Dear commune:

I had a dream last night and you were a real asshole.

We were out fishing in this boat, and I was using turkey and cheese for bait and you were using a small tactical missile. Then, without warning, you ate me whole without chewing. What was that about? I thought we were friends.

The rest of the dream went on for a few hours, at least it seemed like a few hours, but I don't really know much about it because I was inside your stomach and it was very dark. I think I heard Faye Dunaway's voice but I don't know for sure.

What a cock-basket you are.


Miles M. Coltrane
Harlan, New Hampshire


Dear Miles:

How strange it is you're basically a supporting player in your own dream. Perhaps you should seek professional help for the long list of issues you have, then come back to us and complain about our dreamlife alter-egoes.

the commune

---

Editor's Note: the commune is not responsible for the national shortage of cool bands, blame terrorism if it makes you feel punchy. All our letters are tested for biological contagions, then we score them on Cosmo's "Ten Ways to Satisfy Your Man" quiz.

º Last Column: Volume 8
º more columns