Good ol’ Charlie Sheen. What is there left to say about this guy? Except maybe, thanks a lot Charlie. I sure enjoy looking like the reigning celebrity drug crazy. Even though I, like Jon Cryer, am a troll. By the way, I strongly encourage you to click on that last link.
By the way, part 2, I'm sorry for posting about something so ridiculous in the face of nuclear meltdown and mass death in Japan. Thoughts and prayers for all, particularly for my old friend Chris Wood and his family, who reside there.
Back to Charlie. Real name Carlos Irwin Estevez, by the way. So much for complaining about Haim Levine not being honest about himself.
Have you had enough of this guy yet? Is it possible for him to get more coverage? Obama didn’t get this much attention during the election. I think there’s still some shows he hasn’t done yet. Sesame Street (Charlie could sing “One of These Things Is Not Like the Others,” comparing three types of drugs that you smoke vs. one that you snort). Meet the Press (as a “Vatican Assassin,” Charlie could speak to church-state relations, birth control, and priestly celibacy). Iron Chef (Charlie could use his machete to cook a three course meal for his next “dinner party”). The NBA on TNT (Charles Barkley could say “I love you man, but you’re just turrible”). The Kardashians think Charlie Sheen is overexposed.
There’s no reason to pile on. Everyone knows Charlie’s exploits of the last few months. Luckily, Warner Brothers has pretty much said it all. I highly recommend reading its response to Charlie’s demand letter. Leave it to the lawyers to make even Charlie Sheen’s life seem boring. Suffice to say, this guy’s bat-shit crazy. He’s #2 on the crazy charts, with a bullet, with only a matter of time before he passes Lindsay Lohan.
The Hollywood $1.8 million per episode payday he was snorting up his nose and using as hooker payroll must seem pretty far gone right about now. Charlie’s about as castable right now as OJ Simpson. Its been quite a long road from Platoon and Wall Street. Hell, even a reprisal of Rick “Wild Thing” Vaughan would seem like a gig as Hamlet at the Old Vic right about now.
I give Charlie credit for two things though. One is his exquisite descent. If you’re going to go down, go down hard. Its like Neil Young said, its better to burn out than to fade away. In Charlie’s case, its more like flaming out. The other is for inventing so many hit catch phrases. “Winning, duh!” “Fists of fire.” “Adonis DNA.” “Tiger blood.” By the way, Auburn, LSU, and Detroit are suing to get that one back. (And while we’re at it, just how many mascots does Auburn have anyway?). These have become the “where’s the beef” and the “talk to the hand” of 2011. Anyone can come up with one popular catch phrase. In a three week span no less. Only an evil genius could come up with several. Only a Warlock.
The good news for all of us, and Charlie, is that for the most part, stars in America who crash and burn so spectacularly can and often do rally and come back for a Phase II of their careers. Its the American Way. Someone becomes a huge star, tanks magnificently and thereby earns near universal derision, hits rock bottom and disappears from view for awhile, has a breakthrough comeback role, then reemerges with fame and stardom. Think Aerosmith. Or Bill Clinton.
Yes, Americans love a redemption story. But only for someone we liked in the first place. That is, someone who was likable and relatively normal in the first place. Gwyneth Paltrow, for example, would be well advised never to bottom out. People liked Charlie Sheen. Even though we all knew he had an affinity for extremely controlled substances and was borderline manic. His show became popular in the first place because we basically thought he was playing himself, a relatively likable character. A charismatic party boy who never grew up, with a rough exterior but a heart of gold. No one thought he was this whacked out though.
Because I care about people, by which I mean, I’m tired of being identified with the leading Hollywood crazy, I’d like to give Charlie some free career advice. He could use some, what with his publicist bailing, no doubt to be followed by everyone else on his payroll that doesn’t carry around a coke spoon.
You my friend need a strategy. A coherent game plan for letting the furor die down, then coming back from the ashes (of your crack pipe). Here’s my four-stage master plan for you to matriculate the ball down field. Call it Operation Charlie Rescue 2014.
Stage I: Dry out. Check out of Sober Valley Lodge and go to a real rehab place. Not something where you’re going to run into Paris Hilton or some chick from the Hills trying to beat jail time. After first going to detox, of course. Immerse yourself in said rehab facility for as long as it takes to, you know, rehab. During this time, there can’t be any women, save the mother of your demon spawn, escorting them during your supervised visits. Ideally it would be run by Mormons. Or Jesuits. Or Trappist monks. No nuns…he’d hit on them too. This should take a long time, long enough for popular attention to move on to the next Really Important Thing. Like the next Disney tween girl turned total skank.
Stage II: Go on Oprah. Eh, actually, she’s retiring. Go on Jay Leno or someone equally vapid. Confess your sins in a very Catholic way. Admit everything, but blame it on the booze and drugs. Don’t blame your dad, or Kelly Preston. After all, your other women knowingly signed up for the Sheen treatment. Poor Kelly had no idea you were going to shoot her. While on the show, leave out any mention of being a warlock, or such. Actually, say as little as possible beyond apologizing and agreeing you were one crazy mofo.
Stage III: We find you a vehicle show. He’s done movies, of course, but TV is more immediate and he’s got more TV experience. And frankly, he’s a horrific actor so TV would be best for him. I’ve already got some projects I’m looking to pitch. Cause I know people.
"Survivor: Strait Jacket Edition.” Take the top 10 list of Hollywood crazies, like Mel Gibson, Lindsay Lohan, Gary Busey, Britney Spears, and set them loose in Las Vegas. See who can survive the longest without getting busted. The idea here would be to actually win.
Because he's a “Warlock," remake “Bewitched.” Only this time, Charlie would be the witch, and his wife would be the mortal and work for Larry Tate. Charlie of course would be forbidden to use his powers, only he’d use them all the time to protect his wife from his crazy family. This would let Martin Sheen show up, maybe to play Uncle Arthur (the Paul Lynde role), along with Emilio Estevez. Hell, he could bring in his ex-wives and girlfriends while he’s at it.
“Goddesses.” This would be a porn Olympics (soft-core, of course). This would let the live-in girlfriends earn their keep a little. Charlie and various weekly guests could compete in various sex games, to be judged by a celebrity panel on creativity, technique, and execution. Beware the Bulgarian judge. And the “dismount.”
“Fists of Fire.” Charlie would star as a ninja, using his fists and wits to outsmart various villains around the globe. Stephen Segall would co-star as an older, wiser, Racer-X/Mister Miyagi style mentor, counseling Charlie to beat back his inner demons and stay on the right side of the law. Joanna Garcia would star as his wholesome yet Librarian Hot assistant, not-so-secretly pining for him to give up his jet set crime fighting and settle down with her to raise three kids and start a Mary Kay dealership.
“Winning, Duh!” This could pretty much be any kind of game show. I envision it as a knock off of “Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader,” in which Charlie and various contestants try to interpret what a panel of 12 year olds are saying. A Bond villain-style trap door suspended over a nest of crocodiles would open under losers. Unless Charlie lost.
“Adonis DNA on the Road” This would essentially be the same concept as Rock of Love Bus, except this would be the “Sober Valley Bus.” Twelve women would go on the bus, accompanying Charlie on another “Torpedo of Truth” tour. Except in this version, no one gets eliminated until the end.
“Bitchin’ Rock Star from Mars.” Co-starring David Lee Roth and Tommy Lee, (note to self, do not name child "Lee") this would be a fun-filled romp across the country, in which the fellas compete to see who can rack up the most diseases in 60 days. The Center for Disease Control in Atlanta would certify the winner. And then promptly sterilize everything within a three-quarter mile radius of the contestants.
Stage IV: Present an award. Presenters at awards show have that odd combination of smugness and dullness, an “above the fray” aloofness that makes them seem better than you and me. Well, you at any rate. Take Alex Trebek, for example, who has the answers to Jeopardy (well, the questions really) written in front of him, yet he always seems smarter than those geek contestants as he smugly reads them out when no one gets the right answer. He's pretty full of himself for someone from Canada. Maple Syrupville. Charlie should present a Golden Globe, like, for something no one cares about. Best cinematography.
This simple four stage program would probably take three to four years. All to wipe out the four week self-immolation Charlie’s done to his career. Oh, well. Everyone has to pay the piper.
I’m pulling for you, Warlock!
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