The smoldering ruin called Rush Limbaugh dramatizes one political truism: seemingly impregnable fortresses are most vulnerable to suicidal implosions. Despite decades of volcanic vitriol, no outside force had yet penetrated Rush’s propaganda bubble chamber, full of pretend entertainment. No doubt, the fall of the Ditto head Dynasty reflects both the gratuity of Limbaugh’s latest abuse and the wholesomeness of the victim. For the record, Sandra Fluke’s noble decency stared down a serial miscreant. After all, other fringe charlatans haven’t suddenly lost 140 sponsors, nor did some new-found Democratic charge deter Rush’s grotesque buffoonery.
Though the bully pulpit resides in the White House, shifty, snarling bullies still sneer their way to fame and fortune. The historic bully pulpit, a powerful tool for past leaders, has withered, crowded out by bullying puppets that speak for backroom billionaires. When a Limbaugh commandeers 900 stations and spans four presidencies, enough ballast still hoodwinks a shipload of fools, suckers, and bigots.
Though rightwing politicians are doing their best, the prize for broadcast browbeating goes clearly to this master of contempt. Rush is the moral equivalent of a toxic super-fund site. For decades, his career and obscene income depended on one monotonous regime: every day finds some new fury to outdo yesterday’s outrage, feeding on minorities, foreigners, and liberals when women don’t work. The plotline is no mystery: spew forth wanton abuse, express incredulity anyone would take offense, then muddy the waters and cap off with the pained grievance of the professional victim. Sarah Palin learned from a master.
After this latest fiasco, Rush was true to form, blaming everyone but himself with false apologies and crude indirection: "Against my own instincts, against my own knowledge, against everything that ...