a detailed account from one of his fellow patients :D
The new Admission comes in. Everyone at Mercy Drug Treatment stops what they're doing. The cokeheads quit their card game. The heroin-laced male prostitutes stop sleeping on the couch. And me, sitting in my easy chair, wearing flip-flops over white socks and a green gown, I turn away from the World Series.
The Admission is as big as a house and as pale as the morning clouds that used to hang over the fields on which I played, before the addictions took control. He looks at each of us. He laughs, brash, as if he knows everyone is listening.
"Well, if this ain't liberal-commie heaven. Name's McLimbaugh -- R.P. McLimbaugh. Now, who's got the drugs?"
http://atlanta.creativeloafing.com/news_rocketscience.html