“Um, hey, guys, remember how it’s been, like, almost two whole weeks since I kept you awake until the middle of the night, freaked out your pets, and made you sit in a dank basement for fear of being sucked out of your house by a tornado?  LET’S DO THAT AGAIN.”
– GOD.

Just kidding.  There’s no god.  There are destructive weather patterns, though, and I’m pretty sick of tornado warnings by now.  I suppose it’s better that I’m closer to home.  Tonight was supposed to be a “Seriously, This Is Some Bullshit” happy hour for some of the people in my department (ahem, the cool kids), but one of them couldn’t get a babysitter and another one had to work until 9pm and nobody could drink in Soulard because Mardi Gras is tomorrow and it’s fucking insane.  So we rescheduled.  I’m at home now and should stick around until the really nasty stuff blows away, and after that I’m going to Brennan’s to drink beers and watch Tombstone.  It’s for The Val Kilmer Project so it’s practically work, and drunk-tweeting is a certainty.

I posted a heads up about it on The Val Kilmer Project’s Facebook page, and almost immediately received a reply:

Which is totally understandable.  Although I never fell in dudelove with Tombstone during my formative years, I have enough movie love affairs to resent anyone taking the piss out of them (lookit me, everyone, I’m talking British!).  So I said:

Which, as you can see, went over well.  And I wasn’t kidding, either.  The Little Corner of Moron may be full of idiots, but we do have taste.

Speaking of taste.

Charlie Sheen.  Fucking hell, Charlie Sheen.

You know he’s an insane crackhead, right?  Okay.  That’s what I thought.  You know what’s up.  You’re not one of those weirdos who want us all to stop talking about Charlie Sheen because it’s mean or something.  Right?

Come on, Bleeding Hearts of the Internet.  Can’t you find something better to do, like scrapbooking or kitten gif collecting or contributing to M.A.D.D.?  Can’t you do something other than shit on the people who are shitting on Charlie Sheen?

Yeah, I know he’s a drug addict.  I know he’s insane.  I know he’s in a very dire situation and that he’s going to die.  But…

So what?

Charlie Sheen has money.  Charlie Sheen has resources.  Charlie Sheen is not some poor, helpless, disadvantaged nobody who can disappear down a crackpipe with no one in the world noticing.  Charlie Sheen is a grownup who is well aware of what he’s doing, and he doesn’t care. When someone has the ability to control themselves and instead chooses to ruin their own life in such a ridiculously spectacular fashion, I have the right to sit back and enjoy the ride, goddammit

To anyone blaming the news media for paying attention to Charlie Sheen when far worse things are happening in the world: yeah, no shit.  The only people on earth who consider Charlie Sheen to be the most important issue in the world are the ones who watch E! News exclusively.  And really, isn’t it much better when those people aren’t involved in greater politics?

To anyone disparaging my interest in Charlie Sheen by alleging that I am “part of the problem”: I disagree.  In fact, by not being a crack dealer or a prostitute, I have effectively removed myself from consideration as part of Charlie Sheen’s problem.  Let’s get real – Charlie Sheen isn’t doing this for my benefit.  He’s doing it for the crack rock, and the “goddesses” that come with it.

And don’t whine to me about how Charlie Sheen has young kids.  Yeah, it’s terrible for a child to lose a parent, and no doubt those kids are going to be a little fucked over all this in the future.  But first you should know that no father is better than a crackhead father, and second you should remember that WOMEN NEED TO STOP MARRYING CHARLIE SHEEN.

God, I am so sick of hearing bitches cry about Charlie Sheen.  I honestly cannot imagine a scenario in which marrying (or fucking, or touching, or breathing the same air as) Charlie Sheen would seem appealing to me.  And I’ve been broke, okay?  I’ve had $30 to my name and an eviction warning in my hand, and even then, I would not for a million dollars have married Charlie Sheen.  And forget about procreating with him.  This gene pool is polluted enough, keeping my womb on lockdown is doing the world a favor.  Although, I suppose if a woman is dumb enough to marry Charlie Sheen, she’s probably never been implanted with any sort of longterm birth control.  Hey, I have an idea.  The first stupid Internet broad to get “can’t is the cancer of happen” tattooed on her ribcage gets paid in IUDs, okay?

And THIS:

I snagged a screenshot from Dlisted (it’s only an image so don’t try to play it, plus videos are dicky in WordPress sometimes) because I couldn’t believe how Charlie Sheen looked in it.  Know how he looks?  Or, more accurately, who he looks like? My grandfather.  He looks like my grandfather just before he died.  My grandfather died in his 80s, by the way, of physical complications and dementia brought on by lifelong alcohol abuse.

Anyone who’s been drinking whiskey on a daily basis since the age of 15 is an alcoholic by the time they hit 80, and yes, for some, alcoholism is a disease.  But nobody forced my grandfather to start drinking or continue to drink, even after doctors told him his heart was enlarged, his liver was covered with scar tissue, and that if he got even the smallest cut anywhere on his body, there was a good chance he’d bleed to death.  Nobody made him drink. He chose to.  And as disturbing as that was towards the end, I’ve got to say that it’s still a hell of a lot better than Charlie Sheen.