I can feel a tiny spark of empathy for his loved ones, because it’s hard losing a family member. Other than that, I can’t feel much either. He hurt a lot of people, and brainwashed even more into hateful patterns of thought. And now he can’t do that any more. I feel like I should be more sympathetic, because cancer is a fucking curse from hell. And sometimes I’ll feel sad for the wasted potential for good a person could have done, sadness they didn’t choose a better path. But… not this time. I saw the news and thought, huh, there it is.
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When this came up on my phone, my instinctive response was “yeeesss!” I don’t normally react that way, even for terrible people. But it just came out.
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I feel about the same as I would if dump died. Or McTurtle. Or any of those other right wing bastards.
YAYYYY!
I must be a bad person. But they’ve hurt SO MANY PEOPLE.
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Honestly, I feel much the same for my brother. What’s bubbling up right now is remembering the nineties and having to constantly code-switch for him (he moved to the town I lived in, moved in with me, got a job in my workplace, etc). Not to mention the literally Rush Limbaugh-driven code switching that I had to do through that decade and ever since, and the peacekeeping I got tired of doing.
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It’s about fucking time. There are no statues of him anywhere, are there?
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Cancer don’t care, it’s just doin’ its thang, just like every other organism. And I don’t think cancer killed my mom - I think the chemo did.
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Most people have some awkward phase that they went through as a kid, then later look back and cringe, or laugh, or feel glad that they learned from it what not to do. I never really thought about that for myself - as a teen I listened to metal and punk and rebelled and dressed weird, etc., but that has never seemed awkward or anything. It’s fitting, still feels right.
Now I know what my awkward phase was, the thing I did as a kid that’s embarrassing. I had almost forgotten. For me, it was listening to that guy and being interested and amused by his rants. I even read his book. So today’s news brought that embarrassing past to light, but also sealed it, and made me realize just how long ago that was.
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In the summer of 1993 I interned at a socially responsible screen printing business in Minneapolis. It was dirty, cluttered and under-funded. They printed lots of pro-union and pro-pride posters and t-shirts. I was there to prepae camera-ready artwork using Letraset type and rubylith, and then shooting it in the darkroom. I earned a grand total of $50. I enjoyed that summer.
Anyway, the guy who did the screen printing was a curious person. He looked like a skinhead who rode a motorcycle: black boots, black t-shirt, close-cut black hair. Smoked. He never laughed, but he would giggle a lot while showing all of his upper teeth. That kind of guy. He was always nice to me.
Most of the time I worked in the small, cluttered office with the manager sitting behind me. He was very thin, taciturn and very chill. He might have been Rastafarian. I didn’t know of such things in those days. Talk of the Nation from NPR would be on the manager’s radio. But when I would do work in the main space where the printing was done, the printer would always have Rush Limbaugh on. I could never tell if he was listening ironically. It was a strange place to hear Rush Limbaugh.
Pretty soon Rush got to me. He was always warning of impending disaster. He was like John Wayne getting his listeners to circle the wagons. I think my infatuation with Rush lasted about two weeks. It eventually dawned on me that everyday on his show it was the same thing: we are right, they are wrong. It made me feel good to be one of the “right” people, but the monsters Rush was fighting against never actually materialized.
So that was my summer brush with Rush. On the other hand, I continued listening to Talk of the Nation until it was cancelled 20 years later.
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Fred Clark nailing WHY it is appropriate to speak ill of the dead sometimes:
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Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.
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Honoring him with a $1 donut coupon sounds about right.
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At first I thought this was tongue-in-cheek like the Trump Burger we saw on a menu in 2017 at a Bank Street restaurant in Ottawa, ON; because why not honour the cancer death of someone who made his money on the hate and resentment of a frightful percentage of American rubes than selling denatured flour, hydrogenated fat and sugar to feed poison to millions. But that is where I came in (to the United States): pondering for 20 minutes if the photo of someone doing a ‘mudslide’ to another on ‘christiangallery.com’ was a scatological poke in the eye at US Puritanism, or if it were shudder published with nary a tongue-in-cheek, self-mocking thought.
Signed, Cancer Widow
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It’s about bloody fucking time.
Okay, who’s next in this particular dead pool? Kissinger?
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Why do bad guys always wait till their 90’s to drop dead?
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He’s not technically dead. He merely ran out of mustache dye.
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Yeah, because Rudy stole it from him for his scalp.
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Florida maaaaaan… I want to be,
a Florida maaaaaaan…
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