Rush High Colonics

The mountains visit me every morning; salty pine from the inlet teases and disappears up city canyons as I walk to work. Different routine this morning, as I let FM shoo the constant stream of consciousness out into the ether for fresh air and playtime.

Limbaugh is first in, and I – the sober minded listener who can separate rhetoric from reasoning – am sure to come away edified from listening to different opinions.

How naive.

The self inflated polemics reach through the earbuds, bloody fingernails looking for fuel that is both its sustenance as well as its raison d’etre– conflict. I fill the need, and in minutes am reduced to incoherence as I rail quixotic against everything Rushter stands for.

As his verbal emetic flushes my system and fades to a shadow twinge in my GI tract, I ponder how I can fully discharge the effluent he has released. Letters? Grassroots organizing?

The choice is as simple as it is effective, and as I leave the washroom I think of the money that could be made offering Rush high colonics to the millions of Dittoheads out there – shameless capitalism that would ironically make papa Rush prouder than ever.