...You Ain't Gonna Make It With Anyone Anyhoo

As I've mentioned before, I've been quite surprised by just how "normal" things are here in Shanghai. I'm able to access the internet easily and without apparent restrictions. I get my daily dose of biased news coverage by watching the BBC in my hotel. ESPN is also available. I could eat lunch at McDonalds or Pizza Hut if I so wished. Or grab a cup of Joe at Starbucks. If you don't like the local beer you can get a Budweiser, Corona, or Heineken almost anywhere. All the comforts of home. Even talk radio.

Yes, talk radio. And it should really come as no surprise to learn that the king of the talk radio market in China is none other than Hugh Hewitt.

Yes, Hugh Hewitt. Apparently the Chinese authorities are well aware of Hugh's moderate, inoffensive political views (he was after all a self-proclaimed "Gerald Ford Guy") and consider his show harmless enough to allow it to be broadcast openly. It's not live of course due to the time differences. And I believe that the signal is being pirated (Intellectual property piracy in China? Imagine that...) so Shanghai is not officially considered part of the far flung Hewitt empire of affiliates.

But Hugh is huge here. And I don't just mean the larger than life images of Hugh's face that are ubiquitous throughout the city. You almost can't go anywhere here without running into Hugh's goofy mug staring down at you vacantly. Big Brother is watching you. And he's wearing Dockers.

It's really a bit frightening, this cult of personality that has sprung up around the bland, gray haired shock jock. It's rare to find people on the street without a copy of In But Not Of (Hugh's little white book) tucked under their arm. Hugh's influence has even spawned the formation of a group fanatically dedicated to the clumsy talk show host and his pedestrian way of life. These Gray Guards will stop at nothing, excepting an open bag of Cheetos in the street, to see Hugh's blurred vision of a utopian future realized. They sing stale folks songs as they march (tripping often over their own feet) into the public squares, holding aloft portraits of their beloved leader, and demanding retribution for the latest outrages against the people perpetrated by the counterrevolutionary running dogs at Fraters Libertas (derisively referred to as the 'Gang of Four').

But I am not afraid. Yea, though I walk through the valley of Hugh's pot bellied shadow, I will fear no evil: for Ralphie art with me; his glasses and his hockey stick they comfort me. When Ralphie is with me, who can be against me?

I suppose these foppish followers of the ultimate fair weather fan mean well. They all want to change the world. But when you go carrying pictures of Chairman Hugh...