I was raised not to speak ill of the dead. It was something that bothered the younger me. I recall asking my mother, “What about Hitler? Is it okay to say bad stuff about him?”

She smiled the smile that was reserved for me saying something amusing and said: “There are exceptions to every rule.”

Rush Limbaugh is one of those exceptions. He was a terrible human being who helped transform conservatism from a respectable philosophy into one focused on owning the libs, especially if they were “uppity” women or Blacks. Cruelty was his calling card and he played it relentlessly. He put the pig in the expression male chauvinist pig. Oink, oink the pig is dead.

Limbaugh’s appalling radio gasbaggery opened the door for obnoxious creeps like Newt Gingrich, Tom DeLay, and Ted Cruz to become national figures. It should not be forgotten that the sainted Poppy Bush relentlessly sucked up to Limbaugh after it became clear that his reelection bid was in “deep doo-doo.” I am not making this up: the former president uttered those insipid words during his doomed 1992 campaign.

Then there’s Donald Trump. One of the best anti-tributes I’ve read was by Jonathan Chait: Rush Limbaugh Taught Republicans To Love An Angry, Racist Bully. Chait described Limbaugh and Pennywise as “almost the same person.”

Rush and Donald were two sides of an obnoxious, racist, sexist coin. They were made for each other. Limbaugh made it possible for a cruel and crude asshole like Trump to seize the national stage and pollute it with his noxious bigotry.

Rush Limbaugh was the worst of the worst. An ugly man who made fun of other people’s looks.  An unfunny man who thought he was hilarious. A satirist who invariably kicked down. He did, however, make a difference. He made the world a smaller and pettier place. The MSM should be ashamed of itself for treating him as anything but a turd to be flushed.

The last word goes to Pink Floyd with a song that predated Limbaugh’s rise but could have been about him:

“Big man, pig man
Ha, ha, charade you are
You well heeled big wheel
Ha, ha, charade you are
And when your hand is on your heart
You’re nearly a good laugh
Almost a joker
With your head down in the pig bin
Saying ‘Keep on digging’
Pig stain on your fat chin
What do you hope to find
Down in the pig mine?
You’re nearly a laugh
You’re nearly a laugh
But you’re really a cry”

UPDATE: Athenae shares her thoughts about the pig’s passing at Dame Magazine.