I am Rush Limbaugh, and I am a drug addict -- <font size = "4">The Drunks Bar </font size "4">

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Date Posted: 19:14:15 10/10/03 Fri
Author: Eric
Subject: I am Rush Limbaugh, and I am a drug addict

"Hi. I'm Rush Limbaugh, and I'm an addict," said Limbaugh in the voice so often heard booming from the radio, but now somewhat...weaker. The assembled crowd of thirteen, a strange menagerie, including teen-aged speed freaks, a couple of crack whores, and a gin-soaked encyclopedia salesman, stare at Rush with their tired, yellow eyes. Rush begins to cough as he voices that his addiction has lasted for nearly fifteen years. It is not clear whether he coughs from emotion, or from the thick cloud of cigarette smoke, the finest wisps of which are illuminated by the bright, flickering neon lights.

Rush begins to talk about his back surgery, when he is suddenly startled into silence by Derek, a forty-five-year-old assistant manager at Kinko's, who yells angrily, "Who drank the last of the goddamn coffee and didn't make another pot!?"

Though the question is addressed to all, his menacing eyes are fixed upon urine-soaked Bob, who, brushing aside an errant length of oily, grey hair, ignores this outburst, gives Rush a polite smile and leathery wink, and invites him to go on, saying, "Derek's just a young punk. He's just mad 'cause he's queer." He lets out a loud, smoke-scratched cackle, so intense that he must check his ill-fitting dentures, to be sure the seal, now in place for four days, remains unbroken.

Only a veteran could spot the slight tensing of those actually paying attention as Flo says in a soothing voice, "I know how you feel, Rush. I got hooked on Percodan after my carpal tunnel surgery. I think the real reason, though, was because I was molested by my father in the fifth grade..."

Shawn, vaguely threatening with his purple hair and studded leather jacket, interrupts, "Shit! Do I have to hear every fucking Thursday about every fucking time your old, wrinkled pussy's been touched?"

"Fuck you!" barks Flo, defiantly; but she sinks back into her chair and lights another cigarette, deprived once again, of being able to share with her peers a past that consumes her.

"Come on, man" Jenny, whose body, so skeletal from crack use, shakes incessantly with nervous energy, "Let's just get this fucking meeting over with. And who's leading tonight? Whoever it is, just sign this damned form for my probation officer. If I have to stay here another second, I'll blow my fucking head off. I swear to god I will. Oh, fuck it!" Her plea unanswered, she storms out alone to face the criminal justice system, or the barrel of a gun. Those in attendance could only speculate which.

Rush stares at the lectern, it's veneer chipped and oily from a thousand unwashed hands. The trickle of water can be heard as Derek, making more noise than is required for the task, makes another pot of coffee. A tear forms in Rush's eye, and Tina, with a countenance too horrible to be described, attempts to hand him a kleenex that could most charitably be described as "used." Flo, hoping that this new catharsis will eventually present yet another opportunity to share her own troubled past, asks plaintively, "Hey guys - group hug?" Folding chairs scrap against the scuffed linoleum long-devoid of wax, as shuffling figures approach Rush for a physical affirmation of their common plight.

Rush is awash in emotion. Feeling the love, feeling the touch, and smelling the smells of his new friends. He is no longer alone.

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Replies:

Rush's new tape "Hooked On Pain Pills" -- NKLS Cody, 00:04:16 10/13/03 Mon
Rush at Narcanon -- SM78, 17:01:39 10/16/03 Thu