Wordsmoker

Ahhh, the ever elusive Smokin’ Comment. It doesn’t happen too often for good reason. If we were to promote too many Smokin’ Comments, the lurkers would quit reading all of your juicy mind-droppings that appear every day and just wait for one of us to make an SC posting. However, it’s just good business to occasionally snatch up a great comment, throw it into a petri dish, put that under a heat lamp, wait for seventy-two hours and see what grows out of it. I was waiting for someone here to give Sheen the old what’s what. I might have taken a crack at it myself had I not already soiledd my phalanges with that piece of human excrement fashion designer this week. In any event, Virus set up the pitch and VaQ knocked it out of the cricket stadium with this rant:

IF YOU TAKE TWO HOOKERS TO THE BAHAMAS

If you lack talent, kindness, intelligence, but have fame, money and connections, you will still, inevitably, be unable to find someone who loves you or who will tolerate your bullshit, unless, of course, they are whores. Yay for you. You fucking super stud. If your father is famous you might end up in film, making stupid movies that allow people to take 90 minutes out of their lives, sort of like sleeping, or maybe watching trashy movies is more like a cat-nap, I don’t know, who gives a shit, you’re rich and you can buy all the coke you want and snort it, enema it, shoot it, smoke it, whatever! Which will allow you to not think about the enormity of the world and what it means to be a person and how unfair and fucked up it all is that you of all assholes have money and fame.

What gives? Why you? You’re not even good looking. Christ, where’s the coke and rolled up hundred dollar bills? So you’ll go along in your fantastic fame that has more to do with your father, and you’ll get some woman to marry you! Lord, how’d that happen? And you’ll get her pregnant, twice. Let’s hope those are the only two times she allowed you to touch her, but we all know she let you touch her all over, many many times. God, that’s gross.

So as you go on in life, through time, you’ll buy more drugs and more hookers, and get divorced, and trash hotel rooms, and crash cars, and embarrass your children, and buy more vagina and more drugs, and it looks like you get married again and have more kids and more hookers and more drugs and have a hit sit-com which is one of the dumbest shows ever which might mean that Americans really are the dumbest fucking people ever. Americans need a laugh track in order to know when to laugh so they’ll laugh at anything that someone else laughs at. Sheep! Because they can’t think for themselves. Stupid sheep. I don’t know what the magic of the show is, I’ve watched it three times because, God, yes, it’s true, my mother watches it and thinks it’s fucking funny! God help us all. I can’t figure it out with my tiny tiny simple mind of pure cat crap. Did you make a deal with the devil or something? Okay, so, anyway, your life will become total shit-shining glory, your brain will become magnetic and masterful, you will blast through sanity into another better sphere made of pure mind and cock.

You’re so lucky! You are hot shit, motherfucker. You are high on you! The best drug ever. If you masturbate, you will be fucking Charlie Sheen. *The* Charlie Sheen. You lucky bastard. Everyone will become white shiny wet maggots, and you will be a totally bitchin rock star from Mars. And you’ll be gagging those hookers not with a spoon but your fabulous cock! Your life will be so fucking fantastic that you will get fired from your million dollar shit-eating-grin-easy job which is so goddamn stupid I can’t understand how anyone can watch it or how you got paid to do it in the first place, you rat-assed, drug-infested motherfucker. God. But, I only have a normal brain so I can’t fathom the intricacies of your genius. I’m sure you get it. I’m sure you understand all of this and are taking the drugs for some other reason other than to blot out the horror, the horror of it all. You Kurtz. You platoon. What a Maroon. You will be so fucking awesome that you will need to leave the country, take a break from this nation, this America that pays you so much cash and yet doesn’t get you or Britney or Lohan, or the Bridges brother who’s running from the people who are after his money and defaming him, no, shit, that’s Randy Quaid. Whatever. Here, let’s snort this crushed up pharmaceutical and fucking fly, man, let’s just fucking fly! Or Christian Bale. Who’s in my goddamn brilliant scene all the fucking time, asshat. God. So you’ll take these two very nice and kind hookers with you. But, please, understand, if you take two hookers to the Bahamas, BAM! Your dick will fall off. But don’t worry. You’re winning!

Well done, VaQ. Pick up your canned ham at the reception desk.

Charlie Sheen is not currently a member of Wordsmoker. However, we invite him to respond to this rant in the comments.