Talk about meeting cute. For the eventual rom-com, I see Katie Heigl and, once he gains the requisite seventy-five pounds, James Woods. The hijinks write themselves.
Now, if we think about this for a hot second, the ginormous mound of pelf Limbaugh has accumulated through sheer gall, it should chap even the most dedicated libertarian capitalist's hide. True capitalism, as we all know through close reading of Adam Smith is not about creating mere profit, but wealth, things of value which can be utilized by others to innovate and prosper and create yet more value and wealth.
Big Pharma and his smarmy ilk have made their fortunes by generating product with no discernible, intrinsic value, merely recycled talking points that skew reality and play fast and loose with facts. Periodically they rent ghostwriters to compile their choicest schtick as empty-calorie jeremiads for the Walmart cutout-bin set to prop up their living-room milk crates with. It's a pretty good racket.
All that said, I have to admit that after reading Zev Chafets' infamous tongue-job of Limbaugh (now padded into book form, available at your finer True Value hardware stores), the real takeaway for me was how lonely Limbaugh really sounded. Chafets went on and on about the old-school opulence of Limbaugh's Florida estate, a cavernous compound riddled with top-shelf furnishings and a respectable car collection -- inhabited only by Limbaugh and his cat. Just seemed odd, somehow wrong.
Even liars and shills deserve to love and be loved (over and over again in Rusty's case), I suppose, so good luck with it, you crazy kids. No detours to the Dominican Republic this time.