If you’re the kind of guy who tunes into Rush Limbaugh for insight on women, there’s a pretty good chance you haven’t gotten laid in quite awhile, and it’s a virtual certainty that except for the millions he’s paid each year to say stupid stuff for stupid people, ol’ Rushbo wouldn’t have ever had much of a sex life, either. Except for all that money, Limbaugh wouldn’t have been able to fly to places like the Dominican Republic, loaded down with Viagra and cash for hookers among the intended conquests for this blubber-bound babe magnet. When Rush rushes into the arms of women who find him irresistible, he’s not used to hearing them refuse his sexual advances, whether they’re among his bevy of trophy wives, or the credit-card courtesans he seduces with cash. But for that cash, Mr. Limbaugh probably would be about as horny and as self-servicing as so many of the aging truckers, frustrated commuters, and divorced dimwits who turn to him for insight into everything from economics to race to what women really mean when they say “no.”
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