Thursday, 3 March 2011

Arise: Sir Charlie Sheen

Words cannot describe how much of an epic legend Charlie Sheen has become in a fortnight. I'd fucking knight the fella and name a leisure centre after him:

The Sir Charlie Sheen Leisure Centre,
54 Caincrack Cresent,

Sheen says "I'm tired of pretending I'm not special. I'm tired I'm pretending I'm not bitching a total fricken rockstar from mars". Aptly put Mr Sheen, you are indeed special and nobody can deny you are bitching a total fricken rockstar from mars - how foolish of us to presume otherwise. He then went on to mention "Yeah, I am on a drug, it's called CHARLIE SHEEN! It's not available cos if you try it you will die, your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body". (I've always wondered why my gran went madder than a gaggle of rabid geese when she polished the oak table in the front room, they need to put some warnings on that shit.) This came in the same statement of intent that he is going to sue CBS for $300 million following the firm booting him off his show. Outrageous. How dare they sack the man for merely being more buzzing than a kicked hornets nest for 26 hours a day?

I'd quite like to lock up Mr Sheen, Gillian McKeith, Frank Bruno and Kerry Katona in a dungeon with only magic mushrooms, meow meow and buckfast tonic wine as their only rations - wonder who would come out alive? On recent performances, my money's on Sheen. Whilst Bruno brutally raped McKeith for her snatch seasoning and teabag stash, I could see Katona's involuntary twitching rendering her powerless to Sheen's "fire breathing fists". As Bruno stood triumphantly laughing at his new bag of fishy oregano taken from McKeith's redundant corpse, his guard would be down - allowing Sheen to launch his venomous spit into Bruno's eyes, killing him instantly in a hallucinogenic nightmare and ending the melee victorious.

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