Welcome to another episode of This Fucking Guy, the series where we pick one fucking guy who has made America worse and explain why they suck.

I'm Aaron Ryan, host of Crooked Media's Hysteria Podcast.

And I'm Alyssa Master Monaco, the other host of Crooked Media's hysteria podcast.

Happy 2026, everybody.

We're kicking off the year with a real piece of shit.

Former piece of shit. No, he

didn't improve as a person. He died. We're talking about Rush Limbaugh today, folks. Now, before you

raise your hackles about celebrating a death, just sit tight, because if you're not familiar with

a sort of death celebrating Limbaugh did on the regular, by the end of this episode, you'll be fox trotting across Limbaugh's grave

like you're in the Dancing with the Stars finals.

Cruelty and proud stupidity are Rush Limbaugh's legacy.

Everything we're about to say about him today was hard-earned by him before he died of a disease he gave himself.

Rush Hudson-Limbaud the 3rd was born on January 12, 1951 in Cape Giraudo, Missouri.

His first name Rush was a family name originally given to his grandfather in order to

honor the maiden name of another family member, Edna Rush.

Wait a minute. Rush Limbaugh was named after a check. He sure was,

as was his dad and his grandpa. Little Rush was born into a prominent Republican Missouri family.

Now, this was before the Republican Party's only political aim was owning the libs, a turn that

actually can be partially attributed to Rush Limbaugh. Rush's grandpa was a big deal,

a lawyer, state representative, and at one point, Eisenhower's ambassador to India, a historian who dug

into Grandpa Rush's past found that he seemed like a legitimately okay guy, like a pillar of the

community who cared about things like philanthropy. Rush the first, lived to be 104 years old, and was still practicing

...