Four Loko has done a lot of good things for our world. For example, Four Loko was instrumental in scoring this guy his first threesome:

So me and my girl get 4 Four Loko’​s and have sum DTF girl comeover &​ we got her drunk and some how got her to hav a threesome with us. My first girl Girl guy threesome (via LocoList).

Four Loko has also inspired several artists. Decades from now, art historians will likely draw parallels between Four Loko and absinthe. They might even call Four Loko “the absinthe of America” and maybe professors will ask their students to write essays comparing and contrasting Picasso’s early, absinthe inspired paintings with the work of Gwop Gang Muzik and Snack Theater.

Four Loco has inspired us sexually, artistically and brought the beautiful disaster of binge drinking to a new low, and a new high. Four Loko was a good thing.

But, of course, with all this good comes a lot of bad too. Four Loko has been killing teens and hospitalizing people. And because it is easy to place the ban on the beverage, opposed to irresponsible consumers, legislators are moving to ban it. It’s bad-for-you-drink and it must go, they say.

Kyran Jones, some random dude on YouTube, investigated the real dangers of Four Loko. He seems to conclude it’s really not that bad for you.

A few of his key findings:

• “It’s good. There is definitely a hint of watermelon, and perhaps just a dash of poison of some kind.”
• “But this is better than children’s Tylenol, because won’t children’s Tylenol erode your stomach if you drink it?”
• “Uh, the Four Loko experiment was a wild success. I think we have proven Four Loko is not as bad as it seems and you can still drink — four, five, twelve – and it doesn’t really matter… haha… it may work for you.”

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Brian Eno interviews Brian Eno for Pork Magazine, a bussinus publication for professional pork producers. They talk about beating up a kid on a bike, teleological music, post-electrical waves, Nietzsche, and Eno’s new album Small Craft on A Milk Sea (Warp Records). Man, we really live in weird times.

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Did Charlie Sheen Lock a Naked Hooker in His Closet?

Not exactly. NYPD, however, did find 22-year-old porn actresses, Capri Anderson, barricaded in Sheen’s hotel bathroom on October 26, 2010 at the Plaza Hotel around 2:00am. Whether or not the police found her naked seems to be a matter of speculation. NYDailyNews.com reports via TMZ.com she was found “nude” but this seems just a bit too sensational. Feel like if she was in a bathroom she would have at least thrown on a robe or a towel.

Why Are Some People and News Outlets Saying She Was Locked in a Closet?

We don’t know. Perhaps because it makes the story even more interesting. But closets don’t have locks.  Especially locks from the inside. I mean, who has even heard of such thing?   This YouTube video also probably perpetuated the rumor:

How Did This All Come to Pass?

Charlie arranged to spend the night with Capri Anderson for $12,000. They went to Daniel, a posh eatery on the Upper East Side, with some of Charlie’s friends and few other escorts. They drank a lot and partied hard. Charlie went to the bathroom and invited Capri. There, Charlie took off his clothes and tried to have sex with Capri. This did not work out. Capri wanted her money first and Charlie did not have it on his person. Capri left the restroom and went back to the dinner table. Charlie’s personal assistant went to check on him, only to find him naked and delusional. Somehow, after all this, Charlie and Capri made it back to Charlie’s suite at the Plaza. Radar says they smoked coke together, but who really knows? Charlie tried to have sex with Capri again. Capri demanded her 12k again. Charlie could not find his wallet or his 170K diamond watch. He accused Capri of stealing these items and went on a rampage. He broke a ton of shit and was reportedly yelling the n-word a lot. Capri locked herself in the bathroom. This caused a rumpus and residents called security and security called the police.

170k watch?

Charlie Sheen, man. His entire watch collection is valued at over 5.6 million.  

Did Either Capri or Charlie Press Charges? Where are Charlie and Capri now?

No one pressed charges or was arrested. Charlie was hospitalized though. According to TMZ, Capri plans to sue Charlie. She feels as if her life was in danger and she was being held against her will, heh. Charlie is back in Los Angeles. Radar reported Sunday night:

Out-of-control Charlie Sheen is on a NEW rampage with hookers and cocaine, partying wildly since returning from New York, RadarOnline.com is reporting exclusively. And the situation is so grave that one close friend, who has known him for more than 20 years said: “Charlie Sheen is going to die this week.”

TMZ says this is false and that Charlie is at home, relaxing, getting ready to get back on set for his show Two and Half Men. Prez Hilton reports Charlie Sheen’s father, the great Martin Sheen, is planning an intervention. No one seems to know exactly where Capri is. It is likely she is working with a bunch of people on how to maximally capitalize on this whole “ordeal.”

What’s Charlie’s Deal?

Charlie Sheen is an interesting character. He loves alcohol and whores. He believes 9.11 was an inside job. He tried to inject cocaine and overdosed. He has had various children with various women. He is one of the highest paid television actors of all time. He banks 1.25 million per episode for his CBS show Two and Half Men. Once, he accidentally shot his girlfriend.

I Hear Capri Anderson is Really Hot. Who is She? Where Can I Watch Videos of Her?

Capri Anderson is indeed a hot female.  Her real name is Christina Walsh and she was born in 1988 in either California or New York. According to her Myspace, she lives in Hollywood, CA. But her Twitter account states her location as “nowhere land.” You can watch pornographic images and videos of her at her members-only site http://clubcaprianderson.com. We have also procured the following gallery for you:

Thanks for that gallery.

You’re welcome.

The further removed from something we are, the more beautiful it appears. Never meet your heroes, the cliché goes. Avoid knowing things, Nietzsche tells us. Knowledge has a pornographic element to it. Science is pretty sadistic, if you think about it.

Jason Mickle is a fashion photographer and through him and an array of technologies (photoshop, lights, etc.) and people (makeup artists, assistants, etc.) he captures a portrait of Eric Lodwick. The photograph appears in a fashion magazine. From this removed standpoint, Eric appears God-like; almost perfect.

Jake Lodwick creates a “work portrait” of his brother; of his brother as fashion model. A heavily cut, intensely mediated representation. Light gets blurred, we ignore some moments only to give unnatural heft to others: the skateboarder taking flight. The music uplifts the banality. What appears is a beautiful series of moments, a pretty perfect (and plastic) representation.

Move in even closer. Get rid of representation. Sure being me is fine (great even), but not nearly as fine as the representations of me. Art rocks. Life sucks.

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Bret Easton Ellis

Jeff Burton

Literary agent provocateur and self-proclaimed satirist, Bret Easton Ellis ruptured the book world’s calm with his first novel, Less Than Zero, a smart tale of teenagers in orbit (1985). Since then he’s added five more novels to his list, including the most recent, Imperial Bedrooms (2010). Chronicler of the ups and downs, ins and outs of the alienated and angst-ridden, he writes of the most horrific, violent acts – rape, murder, carnage, total breakdown – in language at once cool and without affect. Think of him as Proust on speed, or Capote without Southern charm, or Kerouac off the road. Imperial Bedrooms is an updating of Less Than Zero; a number of characters reappear, older, but no wiser; the heat’s been turned up to inferno levels; and violence has its way. It’s an even darker fiction than the others; but the style is a triumph of affect and disconnect, with a surface as placid and undisturbed as a lake before a hurricane, a hellish hurricane, of course.

1.

They had made a movie about us.

2.

That’s how I became the damaged party boy who wandered through the wreckage, blood streaming from his nose, asking questions that never required answers. That’s how I became the boy who never understood how anything worked. That’s how I became the boy who wouldn’t save a friend. That’s how I became the boy who couldn’t love the girl.

3.

During the audition I look at Rain Turner’s IMDb page on my laptop. She reads for another role and I realize with a panic that she’ll never get a callback. She’s simply another girl who has gotten by on her looks—her currency in this world—and it will not be fun to watch her grow old.

4.

Everything she says is an ocean of signals. Listening to her I realize she’s a lot of girls, but which one is talking to me? Which one will be driving back to the apartment on Orange Grove in the green BMW with the vanity plate that reads PLENTY? Which one would be coming to the bedroom in the Doheny Plaza? We exchange numbers. She puts her sunglasses on.

5.

At the Getty there’s a dinner thrown by two Dream-Works executives for a curator of a new exhibit and I go alone and I’m in a better mood, just floating through it all, looking good, a little buzzed, and I’m standing on the terrace gazing out over the blackest sky and asking myself, What would Mara say?

6.

“I want to be with you,” I’m saying,
“That’s never going to happen,” she says, turning her face away from me.
“Please stop crying.”
“That was never going to be part of it.”
“Why not?” I ask. I press two fingers on both sides of her mouth and force her lips into a smile.
“Because you’re the writer.”

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What’s going on here? There is this girl talking; she is annoying and pretentious and androgynous and only a little alluring. Behind her is a girl in repose, ready, relaxed, accepting, loving: waiting for her man. The talking, the philosophizing, the complaints continue, the girl keeps blabbering, and maybe there is something to it. The words are just words, it seems; he says “Uh, yeah” probably not so much to what was said, but to the person saying it –– or, to nothing in particular.