Every now and again, a particularly rigid ideologue struts across the public stage. He may merely start out as a brawler or a comic or just a partisan, but eventually, as his awareness of his own ideological purity suffuses him, as the beauty of the eternal truth surrounds him, he doesn’t ever need to look beyond his own head for reality. He knows it all already. He knows it all instantly – in advance. He is the man Edmund Burke warned us about. His name is Rush Limbaugh and Conor Friedersdorf is his faithful, devastating scribe.