From what many have documented as the late comedian Bill Hicks' last ever show. The majority of his Rush Limbaugh routine would highly likely be considered problematic (rewind from my starting point if you dare), so I skipped to him talking about how his father was into Rush. It reflects many of my feelings today.
I stopped looking for a new Dad years after mine passed away. My father and I got along better as he grew older and mellowed out before I ever did. Though we couldn't be more different from each other, we reconciled on many things before he passed away--as much as two human beings could while one is dying of cancer and the other is a total wreck over it. Overall, I'd like to think he was more proud than disappointed over me in the end.
As I keep moving on, I'm glad I never felt the need need to acquire an omega level uber Dad to yell at me and let me know he's ashamed of me well into my forties.
That's one of the worst revisions older people have made over the last few years of Trump: that all this country and the world needs is an abusive, unapologetic deadbeat dad yelling at us all the time and trying to make us cry.
Rush Limbaugh is dead. He died too late. His hateful rhetoric kept him going. To paraphrase Garth Ennis, he hated us all the way out the door. Also, he lived long enough to be canonized by other terrible people and affect a state of grace that is well beyond the grasp of less privileged men. Little league scoundrels wish they could time such a departure atop their swill pile looking so clean.
Anyone who is mourning Rush Limbaugh is lying. Anyone with a sense of honesty will be mourning his legacy.