Alright, everyone, it really pains me to say this but... I think its time.
Now hold on', before you start cryin', we all knew this day would come eventually. Poor ol' boy... I know y'all have noticed it. He's been slowin' down fast these last few years and, well I hate to say it but... his mind is finally starting to go. Now believe me, I sure do know how dear he's been to us. We had him since he was just a youngin'! Gee, remember how cute he was? Always cheerin' us up with that goofy nature of his, always there when we needed him but... well, look, it's gotten to the point where it would be more humane just to do it. Just to put him out of his misery. It's gotten to the point that he's just indiscriminately eating his own vomit and watery excrement, so far gone into his own mental deterioration that he... how do I put it? He's chasin' after Buicks even though he don't got a leg to stand on. So there, I said it. I stand by my decision, however hard it may be.

It's finally time we put Charlie Sheen down.

"Most of the time—and this includes naps—I'm an F-18, bro, and I will destroy you in the air, and I will deploy my ordnance to the ground."

Ok, reader, I want to clarify that I don't discredit Sheen's history of theatrical success. He's a wonderfully versatile actor. He's had some performances that have left me weeping, snot faced and everything, in the cinema, begging for an encore. I mean who can forget his brilliance in masterpieces like "Predator: The Concert"" or "All Dogs Go to Heaven 2"? But let's be real here... if he got a wand from Ollivander's, its twin would have been given to Mel Gibson. Get what I'm sayin'? The dude is batshit insane.

Just in case you don't believe me, or god-forbid you're one of those poor people who likes "Two and a Half Men" (or as my Mommy calls it 'someone who has a boo-boo on the brain'), let me give you a pretty holistic look at Sheen's psychology:

-He shot his first fiance "by accident".

-He's been hospitalized for injecting cocaine into his bloodstream.

-He's created a line of electronic cigarettes with (creepily enough) his face on them.

-He believes the 9/11 attacks were fake, and that the Twin Towers and the Pentagon were really blown up by the government.

-Ok, not only does he believe that, but in 2009 he published a transcript wherein he has an imaginary conversation with Obama, and basically kicks his ass and proves 9/11 was a conspiracy.

-He's now going on a nationwide tour to speak gibberish in front of paying audiences in major cities for a couple hours. It's called "My Violent Torpedo of Truth/Defeat is Not An Option".

-He grew up with Sean Penn.

I was going to use the rest of this space to like, say something insightful or shit like that, maybe about how America now not only keeps the crazies in employment but also the untalented crazies in employment. Maybe I would say something like, we should work towards de-emphasizing the importance of actors and shitty pop-stars because our media's unhealthy preoccupation with them seems vaguely reminiscent of sacrificial idol worshipping, but instead of physically burning our tender young 12-year-old virgin girls we mentally, irrevocably burn them with exposure to assholes like Lil' Wayne and porn-star-fuckin' Charlie Sheen. Maybe I would point out that our unquestioning, unending consumption of awful television programming - unbalanced by anything literary - has caused our generation to psychologically internalize "big words" like "stringent" or "eunuch" to be pretentious or irritating.

"Lil Wayne, wathcoo drinkin'?"

"What the fuck does it look like, the blood of virgins, bitch!"

Lul but that'd just be a bitch rant. Additional quotes by Charlie Sheen would be funnier:

                                                  "I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen."

                 "I don't have a tuxedo that fits anymore because my chest and my biceps are too big."

"I have to tell them that last night was a shameful train wreck filled with blind cuddly puppies."

"I'm dealing with fools and trolls and soft targets. It's just strafing runs in my underwear before my first cup of coffee. I don't have time for these clowns."

S'more funny quotes:

http://www.collegehumor.com/article/6439058/charlie-sheen-vs-ron-burgundy-who-said-it

Today I used my rockin' hot bod to get free food, and it was totally awesome.

Wait, before you make any assumptions about this incident I think I should lay out the circumstance: It was this vanilla milkshake-like drink... really sweet and well churned. They serve it with mixed ice coffee sometimes and oh my god is it good. I think it's made with whole milk and everything... so just remember that.

Anyway what was I saying about the part where I whorishly advertised my feminine guile to get this treat for free? Oh yeah. It was rad as hell. Who would have believed that I,the face of neo-feminism, the menstrual monster herself, would willingly pout my lips at the moment of truth if it meant somebody would hand me free stuff? Not this girl, that's fer sure. The only problem is as I later sat salaciously sucking down my shake, charged by my instance of manipulative prowess I stopped to wonder: Shit. How is my morality going to fuck this up for me? Inevitably that nagging voice, the old crone of inherent disapproval, is going to squawk in my ear like that hag teacher from the Disney show Recess, reminding me that if I enjoy this too much I will forever be a deplorable slut… Goddamn Recess.

"You little skank."

So like, that kinda got me thinking. It got me wishing I guess... wishing for the old times. I remembered reading about how, in the past, woman were never faced with a conflict of character because god knows the risotto wasn't going to wait for you to reach a decision that didn't compromise your individuality. They lived pleasant lives uncomplicated by the phrases "I'm in charge," or "Here's my opinion," or "No I don't know how to darn socks." That must've been so nice… never having to question whether to use your sexuality for purely personal gain, because a buxom figure was probably our gender's best natural resource. And there must've been something oddly comforting living at such a time. Imagine: Hubby's out doing grown-up things like keeping steady employment and perusing the local strip clubs. Junior, our pride and joy, is smart as a whip and possibly a closeted homosexual who's slowly destroying his life by self medicating with these chipper new things called "anti-depressants". And me?  Well I stay at home, delighting in the work of a housewife: I tidy, I chat on the phone, all the while keeping a souffle in the literal oven and a baby in the figurative one. What a life! Yes, I dream of domesticity. Just like that chick from Little Shop of Horrors all I want is my own pastel-colored abode in 1950's suburbia, where I can go about in ignorant splendor, not having to deal with the increasing number of ethical dilemmas that face this generation. Freedom from all that depressing shit, y'know? Imagine how much nicer it could be if instead of wondering "How am I going to go about doing something productive for this piece of shit world?" I just wondered "Wow, Mrs. Miller seems in a lot better mood since she got that lobotomy!" Hell yeah, that would be baller.

I WANT IT.

So I guess it all comes back to whether or not I felt too guilty to finish that milkshake, right? Well obviously I finished it. Just 'cause I lack self respect doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to say "no" to free jank. :]

-R