New Huffington Post Column

Rush Limbaugh woke up in a cinderblock cell. We’d set up a heater and humidifier to turn the basement of the building into a sweltering, Central American summer. We watched by hidden camera as he slept off the chloroform. We began to record him once he roused to crawl across the dirty concrete floor and retch into the disgusting, lidless toilet. He wept into his fat hand for a moment, then roared in his desire to do us harm.It was time to begin.We opened the metal door with a slamming insistence. Sam and I had spent an entire afternoon on the installation, making sure it had precisely the right kind of booming clank when open or shut. The Colonel gave orders through a megaphone. Robert sicced the German shepherd on Rush Limbaugh, giving it just enough lead to chase the talk radio king to the back corner of the cell. Sam and I stepped in as soon as as Robert called the dog to heel. Rush blubbered, his face contorted in fear as we approached, masked again, with tasers. “Oh, no,” he moaned, turning. He was trying to get away from us in an eight-by-six foot cell. We shocked him, then shocked him again, and dragged Rush Limbaugh out into the hall.We bound his hands with duct tape, hooded him, and forced him to walk through the plywood maze to disorient him. He gasped for air, fighting to suck oxygen through the burlap. We reached the torture chamber and pulled the hood off so he could take in the tableau we had prepared.He blinked at the light of a single naked bulb. The Colonel sat in a lounge chair with torn fabric. A bucket sat by the end of a six-foot, reinforced wooden ramp. “Waterboarding?” He erupted.“Live your rhetoric, fatass.” The Colonel was the only one of us who would speak to Rush Limbaugh. The rest of us had taped out mouths shut to avoid thoughtless violations of this rule. It was critical that his voice be the only one Limbaugh could hear.Rush Limbaugh protested his poor health as we strapped him down.“Are you saying you fear for your constitution?” The Colonel asked him. “This is not the draft board, you sniveling turd. We won’t excuse you from our service because of hemorrhoids.”“Who are you people?” Rush Limbaugh demanded as we reinforced his bonds with duct tape – which we would later rip from his flesh.“We are fake soldiers,” the Colonel said. He never raised his voice an octave. The cool, smooth flavor of his voice was eerie enough to give me the shivers, too. “Left-coast latté-sipping moonbats. We pal around with terrorist appeasers and plot to install socialism in America.”“Democrats,” Rush Limbaugh spat. He wiggled his head, trying to refuse the blindfold. “Did Nancy Pelosi put you up to this? I always knew that bitch would…”I punched him in the face. The sound and effect were so satisfying that I punched him again, and then again.“Enough,” the Colonel said, assuming the voice of authority.

Dangit, I thought I was on the PTT when I left the above comment! Sorry, Bob…Great op-ed, as always. You’re always more entertaining (and convincing) than the MSM columnists I read.

Just another reason why Bob is my favorite columnist in America right now. We all know these right-wingers are complete hypocrites, but Cesca just demolishes any argument they could possibly have.

That was disturbing Osborne! Also one quibble:”He never raised his voice an octave.”Octaves are pitch not volume, so I hope not. I’m just saying, it’s hard to imagine a torture scenario in which the torturer started talking in falsetto to try and scare someone. Wait did I say hard…I meant hilarious.

Elmystico: the story’s edited now. I was posting bits of rough draft in the PTT and somehow posted this one here by accident. That’s what I get for using Firefox tabs…

Hi webmaster! jtr

Hi webmaster! dek