of course I was high, Charlie!

My kid decided not to nap today, which is crazy because he had his first day of gym n swim, and I thought he’d be knocked the fuck out after, but nah. He’s sitting here eating eggs. Turns out maybe gym n swim made him real hungry too. I dunno. What does all this mean to you and me? Well, it means that this blog entry will probably be very short today, as I’ve got a person to deal with, also, I’m fucking wiped out…I was up working on shit late into the night, and as usual, I had to get up pretty early. Whatever. Not the first, nor the last time that shit’s gonna happen, right? Right.
So, briefly, tiger woods. Heh. He’s got two names that are nouns. That’s funny. What else? He’s a young billionaire athlete, the best in the history of his game, and in a SHOCKING (shocking) turn of events, he’s been found pumping tons of hot chicks. Wow. That’s fucking startling. I mean, if billionaires and pro athletes are suddenly practicing infidelity, what’s next? Corrupt government officials? Bad tattoos? Stray dogs fucking right there in the park like a couple of pro athletes? I mean, shit. I thought beating off in a porn theater was as low as it could sink, but no. Turns out there are men out there who use (get this!) their power and influence and reputation to have lascivious sex with women who aren’t even their wives. I mean, get the fuck out of here! I, for one, am extremely glad the media is covering this so thoroughly and that everyone in America is so pleasantly outraged. It’s really like a Christmas gift from the tiger, to the media to us. I want more details, more pictures, more disgusting and irrelevant tales about who wore no condoms and what amount of jizz was directly deposited into who’s vagina. Yes! That’s the stuff I want to read! More please!
Meanwhile, Charlie Sheen is back at work after holding a fucking switchblade up to his wife’s neck over Christmas. Good. That’s really good. Some dude that everybody SHOULD at least guess is probably screwing around gets outed when his wife physically assaults him (which is a totally acceptable thing to do, you know. There are times when swinging a golf club at an unarmed family member just can’t be avoided, right? Right), well, his life is as good as fucked, but a serial abuser sends his wife, shivering and crying into the kitchen where she makes one of the most chilling 911 calls I’ve ever heard, hey, you know that wacky Charlie sheen! Remember him when he played himself in Being John Malkovich? Oh, man that was great! He talked so cavalierly about drug use! He’s okay. And, he’s on that show where he plays the fun uncle, so he’s got that going for him, personality wise. I mean, you gotta look at the big picture. With tiger playing golf, well, golf looks cheap and tawdry, not to mention such classy brands as Gatorade and Nike! Can’t have people associating Gatorade with a strange, new vagina, can we? Of course not. But think, people! If we put the screws to Charlie sheen? Suddenly, we’ve only got ONE and a half men, and that’s not funny. It’s sad. It’s not even bravely sad, like a three legged dog. It’s just sad like an old homeless lady holding a locket at a bus stop as the wind whips through her tiny shawl on a cold December afternoon.
So yeah, I mean Gatorade an nike and golf still EXIST without tiger (though, it makes golf a lot less black and nike a lot less asian) but without Sheen, an emmy winning show would have to somehow find the cure for Parkinsons and replace its star with Michael J Fox, and who’s got that kind of time? Not the busy execs at NBC, that’s for sure.
I just wish he could have cut her in half before the cops arrived. Then he’d be in the middle of two and a half men and half a woman too. And that’s poetry, folks. Good poetry. Not the gay stuff that your bearded English professor with the yellowing armpits used to kind of mist up about during readings while you waited for ten after so you could go get high and whack off, nah. I’m talking GALACTIC poetry. Where the universe does something so mathematically awesome that you have to sit there and go, “wow. Something’s out there.” Like when they found that virgin mary grilled cheese or when Ian Stewart got hit by the bus driven by the black guy or when Tommy Lee finally sacked up and started wearing white linen suits and imitating uncle cracker. You know what I’m talking about, right? Sure you do. Okay, that wasn’t so bad, and the kid’s still alive. Wow. Uh, see you all tomorrow.
Woot.
xoxoxo