"I'm sorry, man, but I've got magic. I've got poetry in my fingertips. Most of the time—and this includes naps—I'm an F-18, bro. And I will destroy you in the air. I will deploy my ordinance to the ground."
Wait, what? That's not a lead. Who said that? What kind of insane fu—
“—We work for the pope. We murder people ... we are high priests, Vatican assassin warlocks."
What the hell? Who is saying this crazy sh—
"—I am on a drug, it's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available, 'cause if you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body."
Oh Charlie Sheen! It’s you. It’s you and your adorable public relations campaign. That’s right fools and trolls; you heard it here first. Charlie Sheen is running a “Kansas City Shuffle” of a public relations campaign. This is all part of his grand plan.
Five years from now when Charlie is doing body shots off of porn stars on top of a mountain of cash and Columbian snow, you will realize. He duped us. He duped us all. That charming, tiger-blooded warlock ran a recklessly precise media maneuver. A graying Jimmy Fallon will wearily proclaim: “Charlie Sheen not only pulled the wool over our eyes, he banged the sexy shepherd girl who sheared the sheep.” And everyone will cheer. They will not cheer because of a light-up “Applause” sign. They will woot-woot and laugh because Charlie charmed the pants off of them. He broke some hearts and laid waste to his internal organs with drugs unimaginable. But you and everyone else loved him violently for it.
“Can’t is the cancer of happening.”
You’re right, Charlie. So readers, come out on this limb with me. Entertain the idea that this man – like a young Bud Fox – has a plan, and the iron will to carry it out.
For those of you insane people, bros, winners, level 100 warlocks and total bitchin’ rock stars, this should be easy. I know you are with me. If Sheen can sustain this then you people have a mascot. Nay, you have a deity. For everyone unconvinced of Sheen’s charms (i.e. everyone with a conscience), just bear with me. Harbor the same hope I harbor. Believe that there is a little superhero, a little F-18, in each of us. Believe that even the most troubled among us have a dash of the supernatural in them.
Do I think Charlie Sheen really has tiger blood? Do I think he has DNA of the Greek God Adonis? Am I convinced that he cured himself with his mind? No, but I want to think those things. All I need is a little persuading.
“I am battle-tested bayonets, bro.”
Huh? OK, Charlie. You are battle-tested bayonets.
Why does he make all these absurd claims? His life was wild enough before divine genetics entered the conversation. Maybe Charlie is telling the truth. He has been pegged as insane, but I’m not buying it. His erratic is so erratic that it doesn’t seem real. He lives his life like a drunken boxing master: he gives the impression of chaos but it is just a ruse to hide his diabolical plan.
“You’d borrow my brain for five seconds and just be like, ‘dude, can’t handle it, unplug this bastard.’ It fires in a way that is, I don’t know, maybe not from this terrestrial realm.”
I’m not saying that he isn’t crazy. Of course he is. I’m saying that he is channeling his crazy for specific ends.
There is a reason why Sheen is the most buzzing Hollywood topic in years. News about celebrities is sought after, but Sheen’s life has been absurdly accessible.
Do you think that’s an accident? Of course it’s not. Celebrities have entire teams of people assigned to cultivate their image with the media. Publicists, media handlers and spokespeople cluster around their stars and try to put forth positive messages even in the face of wild tabloid crisis.
“It’s just strafing runs in my underwear before my first cup of coffee, because I don’t have time for these clowns.”
Where do you think these people are? Charlie told those clowns to stay the hell at home. He doesn’t have time for them. He told them to stay somewhere out of the way while he completes his ruthless takeover of every media medium.
Where is his pops, Martin, through all this mess? Where is Emilio? How have they both been able to avoid a camera or microphone? It’s because they are in on it. They know exactly what’s up and they are staying out of Charlie’s way too. Let’s be honest, if Martin were not in on this wild venture, he would surely have taken action. He has been confronted with a rebel warlord before in Lieutenant Walter Kurtz. He would just need to imagine himself back on the set of “Apocalypse Now,” and his killer instincts would kick in.
“The only thing I am addicted to right now is winning.”
Alright, Charlie. Let me stop you there. This part no one will believe. Of course they won’t. I don’t believe it either. And why should I? The fact that Sheen’s medicine cabinet looks like Ozzy Osborne’s tour bus does not contradict my theory in the least.
So what if Sheen hasn’t been sober since he started filming “Wall Street?” Nobody in Hollywood is. It snows all year round in that magical town of celebrities. Furthermore, people at the peak of their craft have produced some of their best work under the influence. Jimi Hendrix allegedly consumed hard drugs through his facial pores during performances. Dock Ellis, a former Major League pitcher, threw a no-hitter while under the influence of LSD.
The point is, people at the top of their craft can enjoy success under the wildest of circumstances. Charlie Sheen is no exception. He is making America laugh and giving CBS bragging rights. Can anyone say that Charlie was challenging himself professionally? That show sucks. He had about 17 minutes of airtime every week and made $2 million per show! What a cushy life! Even for a celebrity.
It wasn’t enough for our tiger-blooded friend, however. He was living a rock star lifestyle on a rock star budget but something was missing. He was living excellently and feasting on his “goddesses” and so many substances the DEA had to move to a seven-day workweek. Like Randy Moss in his Raider years, however, he was not flourishing. He was an orchid caught in a thicket of brambles.
It was time to break free. Charlie had had enough of the network TV bullshit. This F-18 needed a chance to blast off.
He has always wanted to be the bad boy. Think back to the surly greaser that Ferris Bueller’s sister ogles in the police station. Sheen never wanted to be a cutesy, PG-13 star. So he needed a chance to break free.
“Resentments are the rocket fuel that live in the tip of my saber.”
Charlie needed an antagonist. He kept stoking the fire with public embarrassments and arrests. Finally, he got the goat of a few people. Chuck Lorre, co-creator of “Two and a Half Men,” shut the show down for the season, putting Sheen and everyone involved out of a job. Now Charlie had someone to attack. The “resentments” he refers to are not real. He knows he created them. But now he does have rocket fuel, and it will propel him to levels even he never imagined.
There is no end in sight for Charlie Sheen. He claims to be sober now, but who knows. What is clear, is that his media hailstorm will not stop until he has the attention of every man, woman and child on planet Earth.
Remember, this is what he wants. Mark Cuban, billionaire and owner of the Dallas Mavericks, has already come to Sheen about a reality show. Who would not watch that at this point? If not that, Sheen will surely get another show soon. Or maybe a movie. There were talks of him making “Major League 3,” which I for one would reserve advanced tickets to. No matter what his next move, Sheen has the world by the balls and he can play all us media consumers like so many violins.
Charlie Sheen ran the most brilliant public relations campaign of all time. During the next few years he will cash in on that and all we will do is sit and watch. We will get a few good laughs along the way.
“I’m tired of pretending I’m not a total bitchin’ rock star from Mars.”
You know what? Boom, there it is. He totally gave it all away. I figured it out. It seems a Martian really has come down and occupied Charlie’s skin. Clearly the alien had to get back to base in just a few months, so he decided to live the ultimate human experience. He definitely achieved that goal. I just wonder how much longer Mr. Martian can keep a steady hand at the controls before all the fuses explode.
