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."

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Astute commune readers or other mythological creatures might have noticed the long sustained absence of new material over the past couple of weeks. It was the first time since 2001, the year I got my first checkbook and rented commune office space, that we've taken an extended absence from news reportage. I apologize, but it couldn't be helped, as everyone here had lost their minds.

That might be a possible exaggeration. Lefty the commune mail clerk seemed perfectly within her normal rationale, but she was particularly grumpy on the ride to the Funsational Summer Corporate Retreat and Motivational Seminar, on the commune bus, also known as the Damned Bus. Everyone was in a not so good mood, which is to say no one was in a good mood, but it was yet another of my kind concessions to brother Gay to make the commune a more profitable experience over the long haul.

Despite the silly name, Gay did NOT have fun at the Retreat. Sure, he had a ball when the clowns were doing their thing, and the white college Republican rap troupe broke it down for us, and I could see him really moved by motivational speaker Slick Hodges. But then came the group therapy session, where we attempted to learn about our own personalities in the work place, outside of the actual work place, and the hard bitter truth ran right into his sweet spots.

We tried a dandy trust exercise, where we split into groups and, blindfolded, had to put up a tent. It ended in a lot of pain for Gay, who found a tent post painfully inserted somewhere, only partially, thank God, by one or more of his teammates. Ted Ted is the angriest and most outspoken, so the obvious suspect, but he lacks the physical strength to force a tent post into the human body, while Stigmata Spent had the sheer muscle to do it—but still, someone had to hold him down. Despite the animosity toward my brother, and the fact they didn't get the tent set up, the session leader still had to admit they showed impressive teamwork in the endeavor.

As always, role-playing followed, and without going into much detail, let's just say it soon degenerated into everyone doing their Gay Bagel impersonations. My favorite was Ivana Folger-Balzac's, which consists of wagging a finger and yelling gibberish like "Habba habba habba! Habba ha!" Which is not to discredit humorless Shabozz Wertham, who puts on a pointy white hat and straightens his tie while saying, in a very Gay voice, "About time for my weekly cross-burning!" That brings down the house. Oh, and then there's—well, perhaps I should return to my earlier policy of less description. Gay wasn't very happy with this therapy, and the session leader scolded us, saying we should role-play more than one person to do it right.

To our great surprise, it did help us realize our problems—Gay. The unlicensed psychology student conducting the therapy sessions suggested we feel pressure from Gay to do well, and Gay confirmed it, interrupting the student and making her cry. Many of the staffers complained about the new weekly schedule, saying it was more work than they were used to—one story or column a week is taxing the talents of my crew, and they long for the old days of the semi-weekly schedule. Actually, they long for the days of childhood when they could eat popsicles and screw around all summer, but I'm powerless about that. But the semi-weekly thing I could do something about.

So the rift is wider and more pissed-off-filled than ever between Gay and I, since I broke our deal and put the commune back on its semi-weekly format. But anything to make my staff happier. It is important I mention that, in the end, I'm glad Gay came aboard here at the commune. Before they hated me, or Raoul Dunkin, or Ramrod Hurley, and all the back-stabbing, bad-mouthing, and vandalism really started to pull our family apart. But now I'm on the inside with it all—we've united against a common enemy, my brother. And they've got a point, of course, he really is a dick.

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I'm sure I will take a lot of flack for this, or fleck, as well as flecktones, but someone has got to stand and state the morally obvious: This big-time Survivor show does nothing but glorify the lifestyle of desert island castaways.

Not that glorifying this depraved lifestyle is anything new. There have always been exploitative movies like The Blue Lagoon, Return to the Blue Lagoon, Castaway (1987) and Cast Away (2000), as well as trashy novels like Robinson Crusoe. I have always hoped the resurgence of this abnormal lifestyle in the media would fade away again as quickly as it sprang up. But now that it returns as a fairly successful T.V. show, it's time somebody took a stand. Are we supposed to sit back and do nothing while our children are encouraged to accept this as a normal lifestyle? While these people are portrayed as heroes by the ignorant, money-hungry media? I'm not going to do that. I have six children, three of my own, and I will teach them the difference between right and wrong. And stranding yourself on a desert island is wrong.

I'm sure some of you bleeding hearts will argue with me that these people are victims, that nobody sets out to strand themselves on a desert island. Let's not be naïve, people. People on desert islands are no more victims than drug abusers or people with A.I.D.S. You know there are certain things in your lifestyle that invite harm and danger to you, like using drugs, sharing needles, or sailing a boat through a record-setting storm. Babying people like this is not going to change anything, they need tough love.

You know what they say: "Give a man a fish, he eats today, or possibly tomorrow, if the fish lasts that long; teach a man to fish and he eats everyday, as long as you give him a rod and bait." Get it? Then please explain it to me, since I'm a little foggy on it.

My point is that while I want to be an accepting, all-forgiving person, it's easier to be angry and vengeful and curse what I don't understand. Would you rather be firm now and explain to your kid what's right and what's wrong, or have them out in the middle of ocean braving a storm of epic proportions? Having the wind and rain slam them overboard, where they must grab onto debris and float amidst choppy waves until they pass out and wake up on a beach? Then find them years later either naked or with only a goofy little loincloth and a full length beard to cover their private parts? And God forbid someone of the opposite sex is the only other survivor, no telling what kind of porn movie fantasies will be happening on that uncharted desert island.

We're all adults, we know how the real world works. It's not all millionaires, movie stars and the rest in this desert island fantasy the kids work up in their heads. The real world is hunger, loneliness, and extreme sunburn. We as Americans have to reject this lifestyle altogether rather than let it worm its way into the fabric of our society as a modern legend, like the cowboy.

Good luck to you in your personal efforts to thwart the image of the happy, well-adjusted castaway in society. I would suggest forming a group against this sort of thing, but only on the condition I get to be leader. After all, I did write this column and bring it to your attention, right? It's about time somebody made me leader of something. Otherwise it wouldn't be worth leaving the cabin.

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