Dear Dr. Bones,
’Tis memorandumb time again, sir. _¡Habemus reum confitentem!_: "Every time I make that drive, I arrive in Los Angeles smarter than I was when I left home and Rush is the reason. He’s just that good."
So you see, sir, ’tis just as I told you: there really *DO* exist kiddie selfservatives who like bein’ read bedtime stories durin’ the siesta hour. 
To be sure, Bozo here is by way of bein’ a Kiddiemaster himself, and it has been obvious for a long long time that the good Dr. Limbaugh does a whole lot of "show prep" for lesser exponents of whighteousness. ¡Almost as swipeable from as their Drudge is their Rush!  Most wingnutettes an’ wingnuts, however, don’t have any shows to prepare, so I fear this is unlikely to prove the Key to ALL Limblovian mythologies. 
Bozo is clearly not so far above his audience that he is likely to lose touch. "By the time Rush was done, the AP label was exposed as what it is: a symbol of disreputable reportage skewed to support a statist point of view. Literally, I’ll never look at the AP slug the same way again."
For grown-ups capable of criticism, the Limbaugh rush feels a little different. Well before Himself is done--not done for the day, even, but only done prancin’ on some particular hobby-horse--one has started to wonder why Himself must now repeat everythin’ six or seven times instead of only two or three as He used to back in the glory days.
I incline to think this sad decline is mostly the kiddies’ fault--loosely speaking, for of course they mostly did not freedumb themselves down, poor sweet puppies that they are--rather than that of Himself.
Ah, well: "A dittopan is a terrible thing to lose."
P.S. Kiddiemaster Klavan offers Paddy a fine opening to repeat a funny that really does seem more and more _à propos_ evey day: "This is the dawnin’ of the ¡Age of Breitbartius!, ¡¡Age-of-Breitbartius!!, ¡¡¡ Bright BAAAR Tee Yuss !!!
 His freelordship affords at least a little incidental support for your own thesis that bein’ cooped up inside a murder vehicle makes one more susceptible to the Whight Plague.
Nevertheless, the time difficulty remains, sir: most of the self-complacent obesities listenin’ in 1200-1500 hours Eastern must either be (A) rippin’ off their Employin’ Corporations, or else (B) themselves members of the Slacker classes.
 "Excuse me, Freelord Hayek, but do you absolutely insist on the title being The Rush to Drudgery? Our marketing people have asked me to suggest The Call to Thralldom. . . . (( "Or ¿How about A Cravin’ for Klavin’?," jested the pilot. ))
 At long intervals, Himself does suggest that Master Wally Wombschool might trot it all out at Thanksgivin’ dinner or the like, an’ refutate what’s left of sanity and decency in the family. However, for every occasion like that, there are several thousand on which Himself takes a more realistic view of Wombschool Minor, that "rank amateur" who is by no means "a highly trained broadcast specialist."
As part of the general fall-off in quality, Himself has lately taken not only to readin’ aloud to the Family Values Circle like a Victorian papà, but to assurin’ Master Wally an’ (the lovely, but agitprop-talentless) Cindy from Wasilla that He is only kiddin’ when He barks like that, that actually He has the highest respet for His marks an’ dupes. Thus freedumbin’-down marches on: in the good old days, dupes an’ marks used to be bestembright enough to understand the underlyin’ E.I.B. _shtyk_ without havin’ it explained continually. As the kiddies grow obeser an’ the potatoe couches groan beneath ’em, mental activity has fallen off. Or perhaps the dittopans have not changed, but look diminished because of (call it) Dryden’s disease:
Not so the [Ditto heads], who, tired and done,
Stretch’d on their decks like weary oxen lie:
Faint sweats all down their mighty members run;
Vast bulks which little souls but ill supply.
 It cannot be denied, though, that very few critical grown-ups listen to Himself bark. The only sensible remarks on the subject I ever saw come from a Lieberal or Demoncrat were from Comrade Fallows almost twenty years ago, noticing, as I had noticed, that Himself had switched in 1992 from free-lance selfservatism to bein’ a flat-out shill for America’s Otherparty. Since then, the Fœtus Cult (&c. &c.) has been strictly subordinated to scabbin’ for ScroogeBank. Yet one never hears anybody intellectually respectable notice so plain a thing as that Dr. Limbaugh has never to this day managed to really *understand* the AEIdeology. Himself can tell Master Wally an’ Ms. Cindy which team to root for, but as to WHY . . . .