For a couple of minutes everyone at last night’s party was watching or half-listening to CNN’s Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin do Times Square commentary, and suddenly a reporter was mentioning Rush Limbaugh being in the hospital, and somebody yelled out, “Is he dead?” This was a gathering of Fairfield County lefites, okay, but no one was drunk, and the fantasy did seem agreeable for a second or two.
It’s true — something in me wanted to hear “yeah, he’s gone.” I’m just being honest. The world might be a less fearful and blustery place without him, or at least until the next Limbaugh (just as bloated and blowhardy but younger) comes along. Honestly? If Frank Langella were to knock on my front door and hand me a wooden-box device with a red button on top and tell me that if I pushed the button Limbaugh would immediately die and no one would ever be the wiser, I might give the matter some thought.