In the summer of 1992, Rush Limbaugh saved me from myself. I was an 18-year-old high school graduate about to begin college, too impatient to wait for adulthood to come to me. So instead, I went in search of it the only way I knew how: by engulfing myself in presidential politics and the fascinating campaigns that summer between Bill Clinton, George Bush and Ross Perot.

Like many idealistic teens, I was at first drawn to the youthful Clinton campaign and Fleetwood Mac’s cheerful command to “Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow.” But then I started listening to Limbaugh and it changed everything. I was working as a delivery driver, so I’d plan my trips at six minutes after the hour so as to not miss a minute of his show — a habit I keep even today. The way he described his belief in conservatism reached out and grabbed me and I’ve been a loyal listener ever since.

So it is not from a place of hatred or misunderstanding that I write this. I’m not a plant from Media Matters. But when it comes to Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump, Limbaugh is a mind-numbing, frustrating hypocrite (with all due respect, of course).