Charlie Sheen

You know that scene in Benjamin Button where Brad Pitt flexes his old man baby muscles in front of a mirror? The picture above is what it would look like if a brown headed, methed out Dennis the Menace tried to distract his dealer from seeing the stolen 8-ball stuffed in his chonies by reenacting that scene. I mean, can one have toddler meth hair, because that's exactly what Charlie Sheen has. (I'm choosing to ignore the coke-eyed warlock cock in his pants. It's always too early for that).

After 4,000 mad bitches (Who only have themselves to blame!!) ran the warlock and his goddesses out of Detroit, Charlie Sheen retooled (emphasis on tool) his Violent Torpedo of Truth show for Chicago last night. Charlie dropped his opening act, axed Simon Rex's rap and instead gave the audience 90-minutes of a Q&A with some interviewer which ended in Charlie taking off his shirt and reading a poem. The Hollywood Reporter says that only 5% of the audience walked out and not one BOO was heard. It sounds to me like the Chicago audience knew they were about to be hit by a slow moving train driven by a brain damaged warlock, so they did they the smart thing by numbing themselves with enough mind-altering substances to put out a Lohan. If you're going to suffer, you might as well be fucked up while doing so. The highlights from THR:

Sheen's goddesses -- Rachel Oberlin and Natalie Kenly-- give each other a fast kiss onstage and then quickly exit.

A fan yelled "Trainwreck!" and Sheen responded, "Go back to Detroit, dude."

Sheen asks the crowd: "Is it me or is it like a Cambodian outhouse in a heat wave up here?"

Sheen praised George Clooney as "fucking cool, so cool he's a fucking robot."

Sheen said he discovered the Internet and crack on the same night and then gave former Vice President Al Gore credit for inventing both.

Sheen asked a female audience member to remove her shirt. She demurred -- but a man described by various Twitter users as "fat" complied -- prompting Sheen to remove his own shirt and exchange it with the audience member.

The Chicago audience even gave Charlie a standing ovation at the end of the show. But I doubt that standing o was for Charlie. The only way they could keep from weeping into their open hands for using their hard earned money to pay for some shit they watched on UStream weeks ago was to stand up and clap.

And just for record keeping purposes, I WOULD NOT (Okay, maybe I would, but only if a blank check made out to cash was involved).

Charlie Sheen's "Torpedo of Truth" launched in Detroit last night and quickly turned around and bombed right in his dilapidated crackhouse hot place of a face. People who paid anywhere from $80 to $600+ for a ticket must be rubbing Cortizone on their wallets this morning, because they were violently dry fucked by a fraudulent warlock who put on a shit show that was so disastrous he made everyone wish they were watching an episode of Two and a Half Men instead. It sounds like the only way it could've been worse is if Julie Taymor pushed a flying Spider-Man from the rafters.

Entertainment Weekly was there and according to them, there was already shit in the toilet before the show even started. The comic that opened the show BITCH BOO BOMBED so hard that Charlie had to come out and tell his followers to give the dude a chance. They didn't and the tap-dancing clown from the Apollo was ready to catch a flight from NYC to pull that bitch off the stage, but the comic went on his own. What followed after that was a rambling mess full of random movie clips, kissing goddesses, Charlie repeating his catchphrases over and over again. Here's a piece from EW's timeline:

9:20 — People start booing Sheen. Not playing around, but actually booing him. Sheen yells, “I already got your money, dude!”

9:23 — We are watching video of Charlie Sheen playing Call of Duty.

9:35 — The show has become a padded and disjointed mess. Sheen plays an old short film he made called RPG starring a young Johnny Depp but the audience gets frustrated and starts booing. Sheen stops the video and says, “Okay, so RPG was a bomb. Tonight is an experiment.” One is reminded of Torpedo of Truth’s subtitle on the marquee outside: “Defeat is not an option.”

9:40 — Sheen says he’s going to “Tell some stories about crack. I figured Detroit was a good place to tell some crack stories.” This comment, not surprisingly, does not go over well. “Show of hands who here has tried crack?” Very few people raise their hand. “I don’t do crack anymore, but this is a good f—ing night to do some crack.” The audience boos.

9:43 — Sheen tells the audience, “You paid your hard-earned money without knowing what this show was about.” He asks if people have any questions. A girl from the audience asks for his best pornstar story. Sheen doesn’t want to tell that one. He’s starts telling a story about getting his car stolen — he says the story involves crack — but nobody wants to hear it. Another woman asks for a hug. He gives it to her and that’s nice — pretty much the whole audience could use one at this point.

9:50 — The show appears to be almost over. More padding, rap tributes to Sheen from YouTube. He plays a video that intercuts his 20/20 interview with new footage of him being obnoxious to Andrea Canning. It’s amusing at first, but drags on too long.

10:03 — The show is now an unmitigated disaster. There’s a fairly steady stream of people leaving early. Attendee Chris Acchione, a self-described Sheen fan who traveled all the way from Toronto for the show, says his entire mezzanine row walked out. “He’s making a fool of himself,” he says. “Is there a bigger loser in the world? He’ll be [begging] Chuck Lorre for his job back by the end of the week.”

What's the opposite of winning again?

The best part? The grand finale in this empty crack pipe disaster was SIMON FUCKING REX rapping over a "song" Charlie recorded with Snoop Dogg. When your finale is Simon Rex rapping and not remaking a scene from his Sebastian days, you know you've got a bomb that even Jeremy Renner would run from.

There's clips on MSNBC and ONTD if that's what you need to see this morning. The moral of the story is, before buying tickets for any show ask yourself first: "Can I see this for free on public transportation at 4 in the morning?" If the answer is "yes," then put your credit card back between your cleavage and go ride public transportation at 4 in the morning instead.

And somebody should check on Chuck Lorre, because he's probably choking on the non-stop laughs out of his mouth.

Let's not focus on the fact that Rob Lowe's hair is giving me flashes of Justin Bieber's sophomore mop. Let's redirect on our energy on the fact that it's been a while since we've seen Rob Lowe's nipples and barely there patch of chest fur in a magazine. So take off your pants and get your horny out like it's the night before the Democratic National Convention. But Rob isn't only on the cover of Vanity Fair so that you can get reacquainted with his happy trail and bust out a reunited scoot on this picture. Ro Blow is also peddling an autobiography called "Stories I Only Tell My Friends." Rob read a few passages for VF's podcast and included a couple of stories about shooting The Outsiders with Tom Cruise and Charlie Sheen. And guess what? Our Tommy Girl was always as methodical as a serial killing robot with OCD. From Vanity Fair:

During the first round of auditions in Los Angeles, Lowe writes of meeting Tom Cruise, then a houseguest of the Sheens: “He’s open, friendly, funny, and has an almost robotic, bloodless focus and an intensity that I’ve never encountered before.” In New York for the second round of auditions, Lowe finds that Cruise is “already showing traits that will make him famous; he’s zeroed in like a laser.” “We check into the Plaza Hotel. I am taken aback at the luxury and spectacle of the lobby…. The front desk tells us we will be sharing rooms,” Lowe writes of the actors’ arrival in the Big Apple. “In a flash, Cruise is on the phone to his agent, Paula Wagner. ‘Paula, they are making us share,’ he says…. The rest of us are staggering around like happy goofs….. ‘O.K., then. Thank you very much,’ he says like a 50-year-old businessman getting off the phone with his stockbroker. ‘Paula says it’s fine.’ ”

Lowe remembers hanging out with Cruise and the other actors in a gymnasium on set, when Patrick Swayze—who, Lowe writes, “makes Tom Cruise look lobotomized”—“begins to teach us a standing backflip…. When it comes to flips, I’m a pussy. I don’t flip. I don’t even dive into a pool—straight cannonball for me…. No, thanks. Cruise, not surprisingly, is all over it. ‘How about this!’ he says, almost pulling it off without even being spotted. He wipes out, but tries it again immediately.”

Tommy is even careful about how he spends his ass orgasms!!! Tommy called up Paula to make sure that he was in fact sharing a fancy hotel room with a bunch of hot pieces of man meat. Once Paula confirmed this by transmitting an updated patch into his hard-drive through the phone lines, Tommy then allowed himself to bust a butt nut in his Underoos.

Now that we've gotten that TG tidbit out of the way, you can go back to gazing into Rob Lowe's nips. No one is looking so go ahead and brush Rob's pixel nips with your eyelashes. If someone does catch you, just tell them that you're using your God given natural dusters to dust your monitor.

The block in hell reserved exclusively for pug murderers just got a Charlie Sheen nameplate bonded to the bars of one of its cells, because TMZ is saying that a wrinkly faced dog is snoring in heaven thanks to the ash-fisted alley cat troll. Charlie Sheen spewed out this Tweet earlier this morning after his ex-wife Denise Richards refused to hand over the pug that was living at a house. It's not that Denise is afraid the tiger blood in Charlie's system will take over and he'll eat the face off her pug. Denise is afraid that her pug will die of malnourishment after weeks of trying to survive on cigarette butts, shower water stuck between the tiles and old crack rock residue. This is what allegedly happened to Denise's other pug. Yeah, I'm not even done telling this story and it's already getting 5 out of 5 sad pugs:

When Denise and Charlie split up, she let him take care of her 2 pugs so that their daughters could play with them at his house during visits. The pugs were doing okay until Charlie's chandelier-murdering breakout at the Plaza hotel. Shortly after that, Denise started hearing that her pugs weren't being fed and were in a bad way. Denise rescued her dogs from Charlie, but sadly one died of malnourishment. And now Charlie wants the other pug to be the mascot of his tour bus, so he wants it back. Denise isn't going to let that happen.

Julian Sands is the only warlock in my eyes, and he wears specially made silk gloves when he pets a pug out of fear that he'll be too rough with it. And Charlie Sheen let one die a slow painful death?! If this is true, who in Satan's cunt hell does he think he is? Ina Garten?!

I could sprain my finger tips from writing all the things that should happen to Charlie Sheen, but instead I'll just say that I hope he comes back as one of Parasite Hilton's dogs in his next life.

While Charlie Sheen is getting ready to mount his mercury surfboard to sprinkle brain seeds of ridiculousness all over the country (and Haiti), CBS president Les Moonves (aka Mister Chenbot) is contemplating tucking his tail in to beg the jester of the warlock kingdom to come back to Two and a Half Men. With a $100 million lawsuit from Charlie and the possibility of losing one of the most successful shows on TV hanging on to his back, Les is thinking that he should just drink the tiger blood-flavored Kool Aid. Yeah, because swallowing your pride isn't so bad if it means you'll shit out millions of dollars.

A source tells Radar that Les has held several meetings with executives about CBS about asking Warner Bros. TV to rehire Charlie. The source went on to say this mess, "Moonves wants to get the show back on the air. He's all for it. He says certain people need to forget anything and everything Charlie's done recently and just move on with the business at hand. The core issue is, as he put it, the volatile relationship between Charlie Sheen and Chuck Lorre. He believes that if CBS and Warner Bros. TV honchos can find a way to get Chuck and Charlie to speak again, cooler heads will prevail."

Kellogg's asking Charlie Sheen to be the new face of Frosted Flakes is a greater possibility than Chuck Lorre taking him back. But if this is true, then it won't end well. Charlie's ego is already a pulsating mound of self-entitlement that is about to explode any second, so even the sight of Les Moonves on his knees will trigger its eruption. Sheen lava (aka warlock smegma and crack syrup) will cover the streets and "winning" will become the only word in all of our vocabularies. So if Les Moonves wants a warlock on TAAHM, he better hire Julian Sands instead.

Meanwhile, while promoting his new movie with Emilio Estevez, Martin Sheen was asked by The Telegraph if he thinks faith can heal the crazy in Charlie's system:

I ask Martin Sheen if he believes that faith could help Charlie through his problems. 'Faith can help all of us,’ he replies briskly. 'Addiction is the dark side. It’s a reflection of despair. And it’s fed by all the other negativity.’

Does Charlie listen to his father? 'Every now and then,’ Sheen says. 'Depends on whether it’s a moment of clarity for him. I can’t determine that for him. You know, Charlie’s 45 years old. He’s not a kid. Emotionally he still is. Because when you’re addicted, you don’t grow emotionally. So when you get clean and sober you’re starting at the moment you started using drugs or alcohol. You’re emotionally crippled.

'But I know what hell he’s living in. I’ve had psychotic episodes in public. One of them was on camera – the opening scene of Apocalypse Now. So I know what Charlie is going through. And when you do something like that, that is out of control, that’s the most difficult thing. You have to have courage.’ As he says this, Sheen, usually so vibrant and engaging, seems to slump inwards.

And I was totally with Martin about "Faith" until I realized he's talking about the belief and not the George Michael song.

Charlie Sheen's "My Violent Torpedo of Truth" (which is what White Oprah calls a bottle of vodka) tour sold out Radio City Music Hall TWICE and is on its way to selling every single ticket on every single one of its 21 dates. Hos just can't get enough of seeing a half-melted bobble head abuse the word "winning" over and over again. I can hate all I want, but Charlie Sheen is the one letting a warlock cackle as his hooker fund fills with mountains of cash.

TMZ is saying that Charlie's contract with Live Nation states that he gets 85% of all profits from ticket sales. That doesn't include any cash Charlie will make from hosting after parties and selling merchandise like jars of tiger menstrual fluid and crack pipes shaped like Chuck Lorre's head. TMZ estimates that Charlie will make a minimum of $250,000 for each show, which means his final take will be around $7 million.

Ain't that a bitch. There's dozens of homeless crackhead hobos in NYC who wear coats made of scabies, socks made of fungus and regularly spit out insane conspiracy sonnets to the masses. Yet, all they get is a few turned down eyelids and maybe a Canadian quarter. Where the hell is their "Crazy Hobos of Comedy" national tour?! We seriously need to speak to the person in charge, because this shit ain't right.

In a piece for the Huffington Post, Alec Baldwin writes about how he was basically shanked in the back and thrown out of the Jack Ryan movies by a beady-eyed, insecure studio executive who wanted to put a bigger box office star (see: Ben Affleck) in the role. Because of this experience, Alec has taken Charlie Sheen into the back room, sat him on a plastic crate and given him a "Trust me, I Know" speech. Basically, Alec is spitting a whole lot of realness into Charlie's face. Alec's advice to Charlie is to drop the lawsuit and lick on some troll nuts to get his job back. Take it, Alec:

You can't win. Really. You can't. When executives at studios and networks move up to the highest ranks, they are given a book. The book is called How to Handle Actors. And one principle held dear in that book is that no actor is greater than the show itself when the show is a hit. And, in that regard, they are often right. Add to that the fact that the actor who is torturing their diseased egos is a drug-addled, porn star-squiring, near-Joycean Internet ranter, and they really want you to go.

Granted, it didn't get real until you insulted them. And your suit may have real grounds.

But you know what you should do? Take a nap. Get a shower. Call Chuck. Go on Letterman and make an apology. Write a huge check to the B'Nai Brith. And then beg for your job back. Your fans demand it. You will never win because when you are as big a douchebag as some of these guys are, they have no choice but to snuff you. (Do you secretly want to get snuffed? So you can go back and make movies?)

Sober up, Charlie. And get back on TV, if it's not too late. This is America. You want to really piss off Chuck and Warner Brothers and CBS? Beg for America's forgiveness. They will give it to you. And then go back. You are a great television star. And you've got the gig. As I learned from closely observing Tony Bennett so I could impersonate him on SNL, this is supposed to be fun.

P.S.... buy Cryer a really nice car.

Alec makes a good point. The point being: Charlie needs to take a fucking shower. Preferably, a shower deep inside the nearest mental hospital, but we'll take what we can get. The thing is, Charlie is insane for ruining a gig that pays $1.2 million an episode. Who the hell ruins that shit? You have to be on the edge of NUTS to screw with your own money.

Charlie's ego is viciously humping on his crazy gene, and until someone turns the hose on those two, bitch is never going to take Alec's advice.

The biggest earthquake in over 100 years hit Japan today causing a tsunami of destruction to sweep through the North. Hundreds are dead. More are injured. Even more are homeless. The videos are horrifying. Japan has declared a nuclear emergency. And a tsunami warning has been issued in dozens of countries. What I'm trying to say here is that who really gives a fuck about Charlie Sheen's stunt queen ass? But this is what I do, so let's go over this insignificant shit. You can strain your anus muscles while trying to push out a care or you can turn my shit off and continue to watch CNN.

Charlie Sheen's warlock remake of Brituation '08 kept humping on the leg of stupid last night when the LAPD showed up to his house on Mulholland after receiving a call that he threatened to shoot himself with a gun. Since hos think that everything Charlie does nowadays is hilarious entertainment, the 911 operator said "#winning" on a loop before realizing that Tony the Tiger's second cousin once removed is not allowed to have guns. The restraining order Brooke Mueller has against Charlie states that the only weapon of mass destruction he's allowed to own is the one in his brain. The cops showed up and scanned the place for any fire arms.

While Charlie and his band of YES men ate hamburgers in the backyard, the cops looked under every bottle of V8 labeled Tiger Blood and behind every Chuck Lorre voodoo doll for guns or bullets. TMZ says they only found a rifle from the 1800s and some bullets. Charlie's lawyer Mike Gross (speaking to the mob of reporters in the picture above) said that the cops didn't find any other guns and no arrests were made. An LAPD officer said this mess to Radar after searching Charlie's octagon:

"Mr. Sheen was very cooperative and he is at home. He is not being arrested. The LAPD has completed their investigation. They will not be releasing their findings."

It's nice of Charlie to pay homage to Brit Brit's breakdown of yore, but he's doing it out of order! It goes: head shaving, umbrella attack and THEN police raid before the 5150. Brush up on your history and try again, Charlie!

And you know that as soon as the cops left, one of Charlie's goddesses queefed out of a gun cabinet.

Charlie Sheen is giving his best "U MAD" face in the picture above when he's really the one who is mad tho. Charlie ain't got shit to do, so of course he's wasting everyone's time by suing Two and a Half Men creator Chuck Lorre and Warner Bros. for not paying him for the 8 episodes they scrapped. Charlie thinks he's a regular Norma Rae, because he's also raising his fist for the cast and crew by including them in the lawsuit.

Charlie's lawyer, Marty Singer, claims in the lawsuit that Chuck Lorre is a manipulator and master liar. Marty claims that Chuck fired Charlie while he was sick and that's a violation of federal laws. The lawsuit also states that Chuck made the decision to chop all 8 episodes long before it was announced. Chuck is apparently tired of Charlie and Two and a Half Men, and wants to move on to other projects. The lawsuit goes on:

"Chuck Lorre, one of the richest men in television who is worth hundreds of millions of dollars, believes himself to be so wealthy and powerful that he can unilaterally decide to take money away from the dedicated cast and crew of the popular television series, 'Two and a Half Men,' in order to serve his own ego and self-interest, and make the star of the Series the scapegoat for Lorre's own conduct."

The $100 million covers loss of wages for Charlie and the crew as well as punitive damages. Apparently, Warner Bros. and Chuck Lorre already paid the crew for the 8 canceled episodes.

How long before Marty Singer dives off the back of Charlie's speeding crazy train and he's forced to represent himself in court? THE WARLOCK OBJECTS, your honor! Charlie showing up to court in a samurai kimono and a hand full of random papers seems like the next natural step in this never-ending mess.

With that being said, we should all hope that Charlie wins because then you can cite this case when your boss fires you for smoking crack in the bathroom. "You can't fire me! I'm sick! Check the Warlock vs. Troll case of 2011!"

via TMZ

Kelly Preston's arm nearly went out to Charlie Sheen after he almost shot it off, and now she's sending him her heart. Before Kelly became John Travolta's main wig fluffer, she was engaged to Charlie for about a year. Their relationship ended with a bullet going into her arm during a mysterious gun accident. Charlie has proclaimed that the warlocks and the "church of the Martian idiot" are fighting on opposite sides of the octagon, but the Thetan holding that information must've left Kelly's being because she has nothing but love for Charlie.

At the opening of Kirstie Alley's Organic Liaison weight loss center last night, Kelly told People Magazine, "My heart just goes out to him, and all of his family. We were together for a year, and he wasn't drinking, and he wasn't doing drugs. And there's a beautiful person in there. He really is a great man. I think there's a way back for anyone. I always have hope, and my prayers are with him."

The disciples of L.Ro are better than me, because I wouldn't have any sympathy for a bastard almost left me with one fappin' hand. The only wish I'd send him is that a King Cobra sniffs out his tiger blood and tries to bite his arm off. On the other hand, by "prayers," Kelly Preston might mean "an alien voodoo chant of revenge." So her smile could have venom dripping off of it.

Here's Kelly with some of her fellow auditheads (Nancy Cartwright & Lois and Buzz Aldrin) and Maks at the opening of Kirstie's weight-loss center. Yes, Kirstie opening a weight-loss center is like Charlie opening up a mental health facility. I bet Organic Liaisons is like the opposite of that Jessica Seinfeld cookbook. Instead of hiding broccoli in brownies, they hide brownies in broccoli. That way everybody thinks you're eating healthy, when you're really getting your fill of the real good shit.