Sheen, the son of the excellent Martin and the star of a crap blockbuster TV show, destroyed his immediate career in a drug-, women- and media-fuelled tizzy of spectacular proportions.
There were signs that Sheen’s life was starting to careen out of control in January when he went to rehab after a series of public shenanigans. Two and a Half Men was put on hiatus.
But the kerfuffle didn’t really get started until Sheen called up a US radio show to tell the world just what he thought of Two and a Half Men and its producers. He declared the TV show was: “A pukefest that everyone worships” (right on, Charlie) run by an “AA Nazi” and “blatant hypocrite”. Producers, who were sick of Sheen’s issues and his partying, ended production.
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Once upon a time there was an endearing little sitcom called Bewitched. It was predictable and more than a little cheesy, but it was good fun.
A few decades later, there was another sitcom called Two and a Half Men. It was predictable and more than a little cheesy, and it mightily sucked.
Two and a Half Men resumed overnight, after a six month absence caused by Charlie Sheen’s quest to simultaneously screw every woman in the world along with his own dignity. He succeeded in both.
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Like anyone who has ever had to perform some form of work, I despise wealthy celebrities.
Their constant tears in interviews, their overuse of words like “journey” and “dreams” and their inability to empathise with anyone other than rare amphibians and cyber-bullied American Idol contestants make them difficult to like.
They are a strange and reptilian breed whose thirst for never-ending attention and gaudy bling can repulse even the gentlest of souls – which is why it pains me to take their side on rare occasions.
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The other morning I was thinking about life - because, well, that’s what people do when they’re on the toilet.
As I used my housemate’s slightly dryer towel to wipe my hands, I realised I’d been doing it wrong - life, that is, not hand-drying, which I’ve actually developed quite a knack for.
All this time, I’ve been focused on “the journey”, when the end product is clearly the most important bit. The end product being, of course, a sweet, badass biography. What’s the point of being content if there isn’t a seven-figure book deal at the end of it all?
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Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Blimey, we can barely make it through a week without someone proffering an apology.
Those above came from John Galliano, Tiger Woods, Todd Carney, Ricky Nixon and Fergie, the Duchess of York – whose latest transgression led her to admit: “I am just so contrite, I cannot say.”
This, just two weeks after her last apology for offering to sell access to her ex-husband, saying she needed to “find the lotus flower within”.
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As fossil fuels dwindle and we struggle to feed a hungry population, the world faces a new shortage. As we speak, implausibly rugged scientists are being taken by chopper to a secret bunker while Robert Redford does his best to convince an old special forces type to leave his forest cabin for one last job.
They told us the supply wouldn’t last. “Ration it out,” they told us, “there’s plenty to go around”, but we didn’t listen.
That’s right, because of our greed and refusal to acknowledge the finite nature of our resources, the world has run out of Charlie Sheen jokes.
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American celebrity culture and Australian politics don’t often make for useful comparisons - but then, it’s not every day that Charlie Sheen comes along.
Sheen is a highly amusing egomaniac but - unlike most Australian politicians - he also tells the truth. “I believe in the truth and that’s what rules me”, Sheen said in an interview with Andrea Canning for the ABC network in America. He certainly does.
When asked to describe the last time he used drugs, Sheen said, “I probably took more than anyone could survive… I was banging seven gram rocks… that’s how I roll. I have one gear—go.” It’s the answer no one else would’ve given even if they had’ve banged seven gram rocks (which I assume means consuming a lot of cocaine).
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Like every other family values-oriented Australian I have been deeply impressed this week by Charlie Sheen’s commitment to his children and his efforts to avenge their removal from his custody by removing their mother’s teeth.
You rarely get that sort of passionate parenting these days.
As many people will know, Sheen’s two-year-old twins were placed in the care of his ex-wife Brooke Mueller and taken away from the house he shares with two porn stars.
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Does anything churn the stomach so much as news that Londoners are willing to part with more than $20 for a serving of ice cream made from breast milk?
Actually, yes. And he goes by the name Charlie Sheen. With a rap sheet dating back to the early 90s, the 45-year-old is no slouch in the “Bad Boy” department, as Sheen himself made abundantly obvious in a bizarre interview on A Current Affair last night.
Compared to a tally of Sheen’s misdemeanours even Matt Newton suddenly looks more wholesome than a character on Packed To The Rafters.
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I enjoy Two and a Half Men. Does this make me a failed feminist?
Feminists make a great deal of noise when it concerns America’s #1 hit sitcom. Charlie is labelled as misogynist and sexist under a thin veneer of “comedy”.
I understand people’s concern with its 7pm timeslot, but what I don’t understand is why people are so angry. Especially women.
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Disclaimer: Any resemblance to the case unfolding in Aspen involving Charlie Sheen and Brooke Mueller, is purely coincidental.
Once upon a time a man named Charlie met a beautiful woman called Brooke and they were married in a sumptuous ceremony.
The first 180 days of their marriage were happy ones and Brooke felt like a princess.
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