Go ahead, ask me anything. Your pitiful amphibian sloth brains won’t be able to process all the winning that’s in my words. I’m a vatican assassin warlock on a carpet bombing run over my enemies. I’m a fighter pilot from Jupiter. My words will make their faces melt and their children weep over their exploded bodies. I’m not going to hide all the winning any more, so ask me anything. Bring it on.
Charlie,
Are you regretting hiring Vince McMahon as your new speechwriter?
Do you beleive you were born Charlie Sheen, or is being Charlie Sheen a conscious decision you made at some point?
Nobody writes my words. My words come from the ether. Just straight out of the universe, out of the ether, and into my brain. You can’t process that. Also, I’ve done a lot of ether.
Listen, I didn’t need to make a decision to winning. I was winning before I was born. I was winning five hundred years ago when Thomas Jefferson was being a pussy.
Can you explain how you came to be full of tiger blood?
Yeah. I myself am full of Lion’s Blood. Do I have hope of being bi-win, or does one need specifically tiger blood for that?
You. Chuck Lorre. Octagon. When’s it gonna happen?
Why isn’t your brother named Emilio Sheen?
Are the headaches becoming more frequent?
Do your children also have tiger blood?
Charlie, my boy, do you exchange notes with Qaddafi, that guy from Libya that’s in a bit of trouble at the moment? Or does his speechwriter just steal material from you?
Because I am a tiger. I’m sick of pretending that I’m one of the kangaroos jumping around like an earthworm when I am a tiger that preys on the kangaroos. That’s why the press fears me. They know I’m a tiger here to eat their kangaroo babies.
I don’t know, maybe. Bi-win means I win over here. And I win over there. You have to be a warlock to win in two places at once. I’m a warlock.
Charlie, did you really forget about the curveball, and give him the heater?
You against Chuck Norris. Who wins?
Can you make a burrito so hot that even you cannot eat it? If not, why not, and if so, how?
Did you corrupt Angus T. Jones on set?
Can the goddesses cook?
Did you drink the water at the playboy mansion?
It’s not. My firebreathing fists would destroy him like a nazi atom bomb over Hiroshima. They’d have to arrest me on humanitarian charges for animal abuse. Chaim abuse. He’s not worth my talents.
I don’t know about that. I don’t know about that. I don’t think he can handle the Sheen. Just hopping around his grapes. He’s one of the kangaroos.
I closed my eyes and cured them in a nanosecond. I’m not sick. I’ve never been sick. Charlie sheen is the best medicine. Charlie Sheen is the only medicine I need.
Listen, I want some things to stay off of TMZ, OK? Like the chosen ones. Besides, you couldn’t handle the truth. Your soul would fracture if it even came near the chosen ones. They have the DNA of demigods.
Every body steals from me. I’m the best. I’m a rock star from Mars. People look at me and they can’t understand it. They can’t understand all the winning. They can’t understand it, so they try to steal some of me.
I always throw fastballs. Fastballs with a curve you don’t expect.
I like Chuck. I’d like to work with him. Two alpha dogs sharing the spoils of our enemies
Cooking is for sissies. I just use my brain to will the universe into a burrito, and then I eat the universe. That’s what I do. I devour the universe.
I corrupted him with winning.
The Goddesses? Let me just say this about The Goddesses…I don’t believe the term is good enough, but when you’re bound by terrestrial descriptions, you must use the best choice available. And they don’t cook. Cooking is for sissies.
Why would I drink the water at the playboy mansion? Why would I eat hamburgerss when I can have lobster. I was taking bubble baths in Dom Perignon. Why would I drink water when I’m drinking champagne off the breasts of beautiful women?
I want to pitch a new show to you. It’s sort of like The Girls Next Door, but it’s better. A reality show about your home life (not the Two and a Half Men home life, because in that, you’re a jingle writer, not a rock star from Mars).
Call it: The Sheensters.
Whaddya think? Is it a winner? Or is it a winner?
How do you handle being such a Winning Winner who’s full of Win?
Wait, sorry, I said that wrong. I meant to ask: how do you handle being such a coked out, wife-beating, egomaniacal douchebag?
Yeah, that sounds better.