Uncle!

As if we're not all sick-to-fucking-death of Charlie Sheen, now I see a photo of him wearing a San Francisco Giants cap.

Okay, Asshole, now it's personal!

Seriously, this is the second time I'm posting some prose on Charlie Sheen-Gate and that's probably three posts too many.  This saga jumped the shark weeks ago and it's best for all concerned to finally and unequivocably "shaddap."

The frenzy is so fraught with ridiculousness and improbability that it's easy to forget the most important piece of the ensuing tragedy.  Charlie Sheen is a man who is mentally deranged.  He and his manic-depressive bi-polar personality are careening down a Hollywood Hill road and he will be lucky if he comes out in the same mangled fashion that Montgomery Clift wound up in after his car accident in 1956.

Let's face it, when Charlie comes off this monstrous high, the inevitable low will be devastating and tragic.  Somebody will die very soon.  Perhaps Charlie.  Or maybe he will kill one of those two boxes of rocks that he is sleeping with in his Sherman Oaks compound.  When a gurney with a body in a plastic bag is wheeled out, what will all these media assholes feel? 

Likely nothing.

Are the whores at CNN, TMZ, ABC, NBC, and the like watching the same thing I am?  The utter destruction of a human being.  Have you seen the photos of this jerk?  He's 45, but looking 65.  You don't get to age this badly by downing St. Joseph's Aspirin with a half-gallon of chocolate milk.  Have you listened to the Charles Manson-like rants about tiger blood and adonis DNA?

Folks, this is not an act.  Trust me.  From all his work on the screen, I can tell you that Charlie Sheen is a pretty lousy actor.  He couldn't conjure this insanity up if it wasn't as perilously real as it is.  Heck, he is the worst actor of the cast on "Two and a Half Men."  He uses a cannon to deliver a punchline when a cap pistol will suffice.

And there are more histrionics pelting our senses.  The "woe is me" about the future of the sitcom in question.

Puh-leze! 

Does anybody really, really care whether "Two and a Half Men" continues?  The show is admittedly in its final seasons anyway.  There are more than enough episodes available for syndication reruns.  And, frankly, the show is a pale vision of what it used to be.  The humor has grown sophomoric and downright vile. 

Yes, there are 200 crew member shlubs now out of work, but they'll wind up on their feet.  No worries either for co-stars Jon Cryer, Conchata Farrell, and Holland Taylor.  They're all solid pros who will work again soon and undoubtedly, if administered sodium pentathol, would admit that they are delighted their days with Mr. Sheen are now in their respective rear view mirrors.

Equally as laughable is Charlie's claim that show runner Chuck "Don't Call Me Chiam" Lorre told him that production couldn't resume because there were no scripts.  I doubt Lorre even said that.  Any one even remotely associated with television sitcom production knows that scripts are planned, outlined, and commissioned long before they hit the stage.  Heck, they were supposed to go back to work this week.  I highly doubt that the producers were waiting until Sunday night to have a script ready for the Monday morning table read.  I wonder if Charlie actually realizes how stupid that sounded.  I am guessing that there was a script for this week's filming and he probably tossed it underneath one of the two porn star-filled beds he is using at home.

Moot point.  Warner Brothers fired him yesterday.

And, speaking of which, how about all the media reporting on those kids living up in that Babylon-like gated community overlooking the San Fernando Valley?  Instead of giving endless airtime to Charlie's quotable quotes about how these children were living in a loving home albeit one filled with sex, drugs, and booze, how about tracking down some family court judge that would help to get those urchins extricated from this mess of a life that is ahead of them.

Shame on Howard Stern, too, who interviewed Charlie at length and mostly focused on the two porn "goddesses" he is banging in shifts.  Talk about hypocrisy?  Howard's just a normal version of Charlie---married to a soft porn star who may or may not have passed third grade arithmetic.  Stern went as far to offer Charlie a weekly show on one of the Sirius-XM channels he manages.  Oh, great.  Just what we need.  Howard, please think with your head and not your scrotum.

Meanwhile, some sleazy internet company grabs Charlie to do an on-line talk show for an hour.  It looked worse than a cable access show taped in your cousin's basement.  Charlie is surrounded by a bunch of leeches and parasites that only Hollywood can conjure up.  More passengers for the gravy train that will ride it as long as possible.  They will be the first ones off when it cools.  With friends like this, who needs terrorists???

But, wait, there's more.  The real and most qualified idiots here happen to be...you.  And you.  And you.  And me.  Hell, I've only devoted two blog pieces to Charlie Sheen.  Some of you have adopted this tragedy as your personal mantras.  After Charlie's demented catchphrase of "winning" caught on, how many times did I see somebody use it on their Facebook walls?  It was funny the first twenty times.  It was a lead sinker the next two hundred times. 

Meanwhile, Sheen is now on Twitter and experienced the highest volume of activity ever recorded on that site.  Hello?  Does anybody really, really, really care what this maniac is saying?  Do you have that much time to waste as you follow his rantings?  And how will you occupy your days when Charlie Sheen is dead next week, next month, or next year?  You should plan now because that obituary has no doubt already been drafted at the Hollywood Reporter.

The sadness of Sheen-gate resides in so many places and on so many levels.  And we don't even know the worst of it yet.  Because, if this is truly what fascinates America, we are indeed...

LOSING!

Dinner last night:  Baked rigatoni and meatballs.