Dead On Accurate

I just read Arthur Silber's take on the Fred Kaplan Slate piece--it's good--but what really caught my eye was his opening paragraph:

In one of my periodic, thankfully rare spasms of masochistic frenzy, I just listened to a little bit of Rush Limbaugh. I turned it off after about 15 minutes. I can feel brain cells dying as his very angry, pompous bleats drill into my head.

Wow...that's exactly how I feel whenever I either chance upon Rush during forays into the AM dial or grit my teeth in conscious attempts to digest Limbaughian tripe. Exactly.

Maybe there ought to be a term for it.

Like...Limbautomy.