I can process Charlie Sheen—does this make me crazy? Perhaps prophetic phlegm is coughed out of his crack-coated lungs. It could be that he inhaled egotism-on-ether and then checked into a ready rehab: the celebrity spits truth circuit. While he swears by sobriety, he may have taken one too many swigs of the pink cloud. His 20/20 breakdown dilated the eyes of an American ethos, arousing the entertainment addict within, stimulating the sexual organs of: OMG. Let’s lounge with lenience, I coo to the collective conscious of our culture in crisis. Surely, we’ve all been seduced by insanity before. Charlie Sheen’s recent ramblings climb out of cable TV, as he capitalizes on his wild words by tapping Twitter to join him in shouting out sensationalism to erect Internet ears. More “I’m on a drug: it’s called Charliesheen!” will strut down the sidewalk of Twitter screens and walk the runway of our reason. Charlie: is cushioned commentary what you need, or do you just want fawning followers? The guy’s already gained thousands.
Maybe it’s a self-indulgent sympathy he seeks, or his ego has been ignited by the fame fire, which slowly burns down the wick of his soul, but that’s par for the course for celebrities. Dare we be desensitized by diva behavior–he’s famous, as he says, can’t he act this way? He may be onto something. The insecure idiot-savant might be fussing over his followers who flirt with his dramatic distress. If he is masturbating to the rhythm of re-tweets, this saddens me. But, is it shocking? No. And if you are electrocuted by this entertainer’s descent into the depths of the D-list, it’s only momentary: our country’s collective short-term memory is shit. We’re all stoners smoking that silly stuff which sooths the mentally ill inside, as we vacillate between unabashed egotism and false self-deprecation. Something has got to assuage the acclimation into an unhealthy society and could the acknowledgement that we are sick, do it?
Post-9/11, the public sector was sacred: firefighters and police officers were rightfully revered. Yet, make your way to Madison where 70,000 people are protesting Walker’s cuts on collective bargaining and the chorus cries: when did this happen? America doesn’t like to look back. We are gnawing on the meatless bones of the new, newer, and newest new-story. And Sheen is it. His infidelity and inconsideration for his children’s well-being isn’t crap to commend, yet Sheen is truthful. “I am grandiose because I live a grandiose life I’m tired of being ‘aw shucks. That’s not me. . . what’s wrong with that?” he asks, as wisdom walks off the plank of his thrill-seeking tongue. And while pathetic, it’s a pathetic I can process. It’s America, you forgetful hypocrites: let’s pray he remains sober, but pass the pot. There are dangerous and delusional dictators to worry about—in Libya, it’s about lives, not laughs. Let’s take a “mehment” to meditate on the modern world and her petrified priorities.