opular radio talk-show host and notorious blowhard Rush Limbaugh was recently revealed to be in the terminal stages of losing the ability to perform any normal human function but talk. Very soon, Mr. Limbaugh will exist solely for the purpose of flapping his purplish, rubbery lips and belching out enormous amounts of miasmatic wind over the nation's airwaves.

"It's the absolute worst tragedy involving a large Nazi gasbag since the explosion of the Hindenburg," said Limbaugh's personal physician, Dr. H. Himmler. "Oh, the humanity, the humanity, the inanity…"

Dr. Himmler's colleague, Dr. J. Mengele, echoed the sentiment, saying that it is "natural for muscles that aren't used to atrophy, but we've never seen a case as advanced as this one in such a short time."

Apparently the only thing keeping Limbaugh, who was declared brain-dead in the late 1980's, alive is the constant motion of his jaw and tongue. "Well, yes, he is an opinionated fellow, there's no doubt about that," said his personal assistant, a Mr. A. Speer. "He likes to let everyone around him know what he thinks. I believe that's what's kept him going all these years, even though he can't walk, eat, scratch his ass, shit, fuck or smoke a cigar without assistance. Still, you've got to give him credit for such single-minded devotion to doing what he does best." Upon saying that, Mr. Speer rapidly retreated to the back of Limbaugh's expansive chair with a bucket and a large handful of wet paper towels. "Christ, here he goes again, all over his goddamned self," he was heard to mutter.

When asked for comment, Limbaugh replied, "What? Huh? Did you say something? I can't hear a blessed thing! What?"

recent poll has shown that, in the wake of the September 11 flight attendant's brunch gone bad, a vast majority of Americans would be willing to give up many of their Constitutional rights for a guarantee of some measure of safety and security and the chance to "sleep one full night without worrying about some goat-herder's son with bad breath slamming a loaded passenger jet into my apartment building," as one anonymous respondent put it.

Apparently, many citizens feel that a strong police state and the complete suspension of the Bill of Rights is the only way to keep terrorist activity from destroying our precious way of life. Among the rights that people polled would willingly give up are the right to privacy in their homes and persons, the right to avoid wiretaps and other electronic eavesdropping, and the right to be free from unreasonable search and seizure. There was initially some debate on the issue of whether Americans would give up the right to "supersize" their fast-food meals, but that has been tabled at the present time.

Said respondent Connie Bologna, who identified herself as a professional escort for generous gentlemen, "I'd be happy to have about five or six strapping young law enforcement officers handcuff me spread-eagle to an iron cot and give me a full body-cavity search with their nightsticks or batons or billy clubs or whatever you call them. Absolutely. If it helps stop these terroristical attacks, I'm all for it. Where do I sign up?"

Another poll respondent, diva Ladyboy Smacky, commented, "You mean let the police get their hands all up in my stuff? Honey, that happens anyway. But if it means saving our country, well, just let me get my lube first. And fix my makeup, mm-hmm."

Added Bologna, "Oh, yeah, uh huh, honey, I heard the hell out of that!"

The poll was conducted at the Motherlode Bar on Post Street in San Francisco, and has a five percent margin for error, considering that tired queen Charlene and her boyfriend Ray participated, and everyone knows they lie about everything and never answer a question seriously. When it was suggested that the patrons of the Lush Lounge across the street also be polled, Ms. Smacky sniffed, "Who cares what those bitches think? Honey, I'd have to go find a rat just to give a rat's ass."

Growing up with snowflake, one learned to drink their sap in the morning. There was no time for globe-girdling as we chased the bears though the jungle of oil refineries, then were eaten like pudding by Lyndon B. Johnson. "Let's get away from the sea!" I remember thinking. Robin sails home to tell the tale. "May this car bring you happiness," he begins. "It's rotunda is all you expect Japan to be. The sky is our home. The earth is our winding path. As the wheel spins, the pot forms clarified butter." Robin always speaks of butter as a mother would. He's prone to dream of beautiful maiden cats and lovely lands. He hates the sea. He says snowflake is too heavy for most tree limbs to support. Once again, he is right. Get a shovel.

You will find yourself at war with the sea. Try again later.

º Last Column: Fortune 4
º more columns