XtremeSpeakFreely

I know there are a lot of people out there who are upset about some of the things I've been saying on my radio program lately. My comments about the situation in Haiti have hurt and angered many Americans who genuinely care about the plight of the Haitian people, and that hurt and anger will likely never go away. Many of you are probably wondering, "What would compel a human being to say things like that?" Well, here's your answer: I am a very bad person. And, to tell you the truth, I don't really want to be alive anymore.

Try to look at it from my point of view. I have no reason to live. In my 59 years, I've made millions of dollars, built a veritable media empire, and accomplished virtually everything that a man of my limited imagination and worldview could possibly accomplish. And yet, at this point, in no way could you refer to what I'm doing as "living," exactly. I just sort of exist. I derive no real pleasure from life. Oh, sure, I talk a big game about what a golf nut I am and how much I enjoy the taste of a fine cigar, but it's all s***. Complete and utter s***.

I don't enjoy that stuff. I don't enjoy anything. I don't even want to be here. The sadness and regret I feel every waking hour of my life is absolutely unbearable. I am a miserable pig and I do not want to exist.

The irony is that, even if I did die, the hell I would surely be sent to could not possibly be any worse than the bottomless pool of excrement I already paddle around in like some demented, s***-covered walrus. In fact, every time I hear my voice coming through the headphones I nearly gag, and I think, "What the F*** am I doing?" Why would I say that Michael J. Fox is faking his Parkinson's symptoms? Why would I find it funny to play a song called "Barack the Magic Negro"? Why would I tell people not to give aid to Haiti?

What the F*** is wrong with me?

I live in constant terror and that terror informs my every word, thought, and action.

See, the thing is, I honestly cannot control the bilious hatred and filth that oozes out of my mouth. I want to—believe me, I want to—but I can't. And every time I speak, a tiny voice inside my head is screaming, "Stop talking, you stupid, insensitive prick. JUST STOP FUCKING TALKING. All you do is spread hate and fear, and the world would be a better place without you, you worthless, amoral, dick F***."

What I should really do is just commit suicide. I have this little Sunday ritual I started around the time I publicly compared the torture at Abu Ghraib to a fraternity prank, where I climb into my Jacuzzi and put a gun in my mouth. But I can never work up the guts to pull the trigger. A few times I came close to overdosing on prescription pain pills, but my goddamn doctors were always there to save me. If I had any sense, I would just hole myself up in a Red Roof Inn with a case of Jack Daniel's and slowly drink myself into the gaping maw of death itself.

But what can I say? I guess I'm just too much of a fat F*** pussy to follow through.

You know what? I wish someone would just kill me. I'm serious. Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Oh my God, how can you say such a thing? You can't print that in a newspaper!" But see, I don't care anymore. I've cried my tears. I've battled my demons, and I've lost. It's over. It's all over. The only thing left for me to do now is just go away. Have I even once contributed a single ounce of good to humanity? Put me out of my misery. I wouldn't make a fuss. I wouldn't even humiliate myself by saying goodbye. For the first time in my odious, pitiful life, I'd accept my fate with quiet dignity.

Then I wouldn't have to live with my wretched, wretched self. Oh, the release.

I've imagined my death a thousand times over, and it's always the same. In my mind's eye, a serene setting comes into view. I see a funeral procession driving down some small-town Main Street in Nowheresville, U.S.A. On one side of the street, a collection of sycophants and morons are paying their respects in subliterate, sanctimonious tones. Meanwhile, on the other side of the street, I can just make out the faint image of a young boy, his brow furrowed in confusion, clutching the hand of his father. "Who is that man, Daddy?" he asks as the hearse containing my bloated, lifeless body rolls by. "Who is that person they speak of?" The father will then lower his head and say, "There, my son, go the remains of Rush Hudson Limbaugh, the most abominable lump of festering dog s*** in the history of American broadcasting. May the likes of him never again soil or tarnish the greatness of our fair country."

Please forgive me, everyone. I am so sorry.

I'm not a Rush fan but I fail to find the humor for the same reasons Charlie mentioned. Although I believe the self loving entertainer persona Rush adopts on air isn't the real Rush. I think the most real moments I have seen (no not the on his own show choking up moments) is when he was being interviewed on the Tonight Show taking about women and dating. I'll try to link a Youtube later if I'm not too lazy. Three failed marriages usually means something is seriously feked up. Maybe Rush has to pretend he loves himself, because nobody else will.

A very wealthy man in the USA can expect to get a divorce every few years because the whores that marry them only want the money and our courts let them have it so the lawyer and judge can get their share.

Have you been a victim of that?

Why do rich men have lower divorce rates?

Lack of money seems to be a bigger threat to the marriages of the rich. Credit crunch raises divorce rate for America's superwealthy

I divorced my ex 18 years ago and took 100%. I raised my children alone and haven't played the marriage game anymore. When I want a woman, I just go for a visit (no outright whores)... I'm free and happy.

Lucky escape for her... I bet.

She's a drug user now and has nothing, her children don't even want to be around her.

But you remain on good terms right? No hard feelings and both of you are free and happy. Total Hollywood feel good ending. Sweet.

She's a drug user now and has nothing, her children don't even want to be around her.

Ya..,. but still... a lucky escape.... form YOU.

Maybe if my nose only came up to her shoulder she wouldn't have had any fear.

he pissed me off so I knocked his Joo ass over.

Should've had your date do it.

asian guys are usually short, that must be dengy there on the left...

Dengy is 6'3" and a svelte 310lbs.

Last time it was 6'2" was it? Are you on steroids? That weight ain't too bad for height.