I don’t quite know what it is about overpaid, narcissistic, self-righteous trainwrecks like Charlie Sheen that give me such a hard on. Maybe its the idea that one day I, too, will be able to so completely divorce myself from reality that I will actually be able to use phrases like ‘fire-breathing fists’ and ‘rockstar from mars’ without being ironic. Maybe I just like imagining what it must feel like to sleep on mountains of blow so large they have their own drifts. I like thinking that he swims through them like Scrooge McDuck.
I fully believe that the sheer amount of cash he has dropped on hookers and drugs earns him an honorary induction to the Hall of Pred. However, we all know predation is not a trinket to be handed out on a whim- we’ll let Sheen’s own words speak for him:
“I am on a drug, it’s called ‘Charlie Sheen.’ It’s not available because if you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body.”
“Clearly I have defeated this earthworm with my words – imagine what I would have done with my fire-breathing fists.”
“CBS picked a fight with a warlock.”
“I have tiger’s blood and Adonis DNA.”
“I’m tired of pretending like I’m not special – Like I’m not a bitchin rockstar from Mars!”
“You can’t process me with a normal brain!”
“AA is a broken down fool that was a plagiarist.”
“I’m sorry man, I got magic and I got poetry in my fingertips.”
“I have spent I think close to the last decade effortlessly and magically converting your tin cans into gold!”
“I’m tired of pretending my life isn’t perfect and bitching and winning every second!”
…me too, Charlie, me too. We await the foregone conclusions that will be your forays in political activism and auto-biographical authorship with bated breath.