Escape from New York

I'd call it the house that hate built, or the penthouse more accurately. It's one of Rush Limbaugh's abodes, on 5th avenue in New York with spectacular views across Central Park and a paneled Library. It has frescoes on the ceilings, antique furniture and a few sets of leather bound matched sets of books that look like they were bought by the yard rather than for the content. Perhaps there's a gilt edged Ayn Rand volume or two.

It's not that Rush really wants to move, but increasing real estate taxes are -- well, just so Marxist that it's, you know, a matter of principal. It's enough that he tips the doorman on Christmas and he shouldn't have to be taxed like some ordinary peasant.

I supposed he'll have to rough it at his obscenely huge oceanfront estate in Palm Beach, as cold as it is these days (it has nothing to do with climate change) in Florida. It has it's own charms and on a good day, you can plink at the Haitians floating offshore on styrofoam rafts.

At fourteen million bucks plus tax, it's just waiting for some Trotskyite Castro sympathizer to move in and share the wealth with those Liberal New Yorkers. I'd offer him no more than twelve though. It's a buyers market now that Obama caused the housing bubble and the credit crunch.