I'm Sorry, Rush Limbaugh

I'm sorry, Rush Limbaugh, for squatting next to Tony's desk and dropping an Abu Ghraib pyramid on the floor. Forgive me, my arthritis is so sweet and so cold.

Lynndie England is sorry, Rush Limbaugh, for draping her underwear on the heads of innocent Baghdad cab drivers imprisoned in mass Blackwater terrorist sweeps. Her cigarette was maybe a little bit inarticulate, but she didn't mean to be incendiary and divisive.

I'm sorry, Rush Limbaugh, for ruling that the Wastebasket Enemy Combatant in the living room was not entitled to any Geneva protections because it is not a prisoner of war and is nothing but a living-room wastebasket. Forgive me, for now I shall follow Common Article 3 of the conventions, which prohibits "mutilation, cruel treatment and torture" and other "outrages upon personal dignity, in particular cheek-rubbing and the retrieval of mint-flavored dental floss from the garbage."

John Yoo is sorry, Rush Limbaugh, for telling the President of the War on Terror in 2001 that he could deploy the military within the United States and could ignore the Bill of Rights in the process of doing so. Forgive him, for the War on Terror turns our wretched earthly existence into a time of voluptuous expectation.

Alan Keyes is sorry, Rush Limbaugh, for threatening the President of the United States. Forgive him: the corpse in his brain, which you were probably saving for breakfast, is delicious, so sweet, and so cold.