Monday, February 28

Sorry, Charlie, but you're icky

You know, back in the day, I had quite the crush on Charlie Sheen. I had a poster up in my room, read all the little articles, kept all the pictures, and saw all the movies. Anything and everything involving him and his face, I wanted a part of. My god, I paid money to see The Chase in the theater. I used to think that, if only he had me in his life, I would be enough for him that he'd stay away from his cheerleader hookers and booze. This was, of course, before news of all the porn stars and harder drugs became known. I was repulsed enough just that he had his hookers dress up like cheerleaders. An offense, at that time, to be sure.
Crushes as severe as mine never really go away completely. Sure, the "love" for the crush-ee fades, but the inherent interest in what that person has going on in their life always remains. So, all these years, I've had a passing interest in every article, story and news bit on Charlie Sheen. I'm not proud if that, but shit, I tell you guys everything.
But most definitely, my interest in Sheen lately has been more of the train-wreck variety. I find myself physically cringing whenever I see him on television, as well as wiping at my eyes before I read any articles on him, just so I'm sure the words are coming across clearly. No joke, Sheen is on a crazy train, which has no depot in sight. He's ass over teacup insane with his own importance, and needs to have his head put in check. The shit he's throwing around out there, on national television, no less, is beyond anyone's psycho delusions.
I find myself completely and totally done hearing about and from him, and hoping that CBS and the production company actually do cancel his show forever. (That would suck for Jon Cryer, no doubt, but Ducky always lands on his feet.) Sheen has just taken a walk off the map.

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