Why I love the Charlie Sheen drug

I love Charlie Sheen.

He’s only about a year older than me (more likely, just by a few months).
He’s also ragingly immature and petulant but doesn’t appear to mind the fact that these are socially perverted characteristics to be witnessed in the archetypal middle-aged man.

Charlie is dissolute, he is grasping and trying to wrap his puny human arms around the world.
He is trying to squeeze the life out of life.
Charlie is a nonsensical nut.
He walks the line straddling buffoonery and hip anti-coolness. The weight of his years is slowly dragging him down, toppling him into the “buffoon side” of the equation more often than not.

I love Charlie Sheen.
I love his descent into alienation.
Happens to the best of us!

I love Charlie Sheen’s rebuke of the civilized script. I love that he tortures the image a quasi-respectable existence and is unrestrained by the good-natured shackles of marital serfdom and Emily Post subversions. I love that he thumbs his nose at the grotesquely shallow displays of groupthink.

I love that Charlie Sheen amounts to no good.
I love that he pays no allegiance to pretty lies. In fact, I love that he not only fails to respect them, but also, that he pulls down his pants, squats on the bare-breasted uptight ass of mannerly society and somehow, he clumsily drops a big load of shit right in its aghast mouth.

I love that Charlie Sheen has made everyone think he is insane, even if he is. So the fuck what? Are we not allowed to be insane?

I love that in his insanity, Charlie Sheen is unencumbered by the restrictive mores of respectable society. I love that unbridled, his stream of consciousness rambling is unfiltered and unrehearsed and absolutely un-self conscious.

I love that there is nothing admirable nor respectable about his existential deterioration and descent into perdition. I love that Charlie Sheen is embarrassing; but most of all, I love that he truly does not give a flying fuck.

I love the way Charlie Sheen foments hollow pity from the repressed elitists who helicopter over his Industry and who only care about his welfare as far as they can throw their Porsche Cayenne (S, of course). I love the moronic, condescending and patronizing platitudes of tolerance for a man they would likely not invite over for a family dinner

I love the way Charlie Sheen exposes the fractures of their empty cultural facade.