You are a train wreck at the top of your Hollywood game. And the world is watching.
I'm going to mention you once, and then hope to never bring up your name again. (although that's probably unlikely considering the absolute whackjob you are...the chance of a newsworthy item popping up around you soon is very likely.) Because we, the public, are sick of hearing about you. But, then when your friggin' face shows up yet again on TV that night, we get sucked in. We can't help but watch you, because...well.....you are truly bizarre. You remind me of Coach from Survivor, in fact.....the Dragon Slayer....remember that guy? You two should get your dragons and tigers and slaying swords and shit together and really start a revolution. In your own minds. Even better, on your own planet!
I have a friend who is pleasantly addicted to your "brilliance". I, however, watch you and see 'BIPOLAR' screaming back at me from the intensity in your eyes. I don't deny the intelligence behind those fucked up eyes. You make a good argument; you present your case with thought and passion, and then you go and throw the old "tiger blood" in there, totally disqualifying yourself.
I feel the need to respond to some of the statements I heard from you this past week on TV:
"I'm tried of pretending I'm not a total bitchin' rock star from Mars, and people can't figure me out; they can't process me. I don't expect them to. You can't process me with a normal brain."
You're right about not being able to process you with our normal brains. And I am really starting to believe that you are from Mars actually. And, please don't tell me that you're releasing a friggin' rock album. That'd be the icing on the cake.
"I'm different. I have a different constitution, I have a different brain, I have a different heart. I got tiger blood, man."
Damn, there's that tiger blood shit. You had us until you brought up the tiger blood. Fail.
"I live with two smokin' hotties....These are my girlfriends. These are the women that I love that have completed the three parts of my heart. ... It's a polygamy story."
I hate to break it to you, studmuffin, but Sister Wives beat you to it. Polygamy is old news. You'll have to find another publicity angle. Besides, clearly your goddesses are with you for the money, after admitting that 'even this was better than taking the bus to my old $8/hr job'. And, what's up with the 3 parts of your heart? Three? Another validation for the 'I'm from Mars' argument really.
"I am on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen. It's not available. If you try it once, you will die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body."
Geez. Apparently it sucks to be you. And your weeping children. ...I think. On second thought, I really don't know what the fuck this whole statement means. I do know that you have somehow survived being you this long. And that you think nobody else could. Which is probably fairly accurate. More accurate would be the fact that nobody else would want to be you.
"Bipolar, what's Bipolar? I'm bi-winning."
Oh really? I'd hate to see what bi-losing looks like. Cuz we're all watching bi-lunatic there and thinking that this really isn't as bi-impressive as you might bi-think. (p.s. look in the mirror. you'll totally remember what Bipolar was).
"Clearly I've defeated this earthworm with my thoughts."
Whoaaa, impressive. An earthworm!! Now that takes some serious brain power.
"Imagine what I would have done with my fire-breathing fists."
Look, we already met your two skanky goddess girls, so we are having no problem imagining that. It's what you refer to as double-fisting it, right? I call it dirty."
"You borrow my brain for five seconds and just be like dude, can't handle it, unplug this bastard. It fires in a way that is, I don't know, maybe not from this terrestrial realm. When you've got tiger blood and Adonis DNA, it's like, get with the program dude."
Let's just call it what it is, tiger. Bipolar. And the program you're following....it's the wrong one. There's really effective drug therapy programs to aid what you've got.
I think it's that strange eclectic group of young people that you are calling your 'team'; that you sit at the round table in your kitchen at "Sober Valley Ranch" with smoking your faces off and brainstorming your next move. They look like they belong at the skate park with their homey ball caps and hoodies pulled up fully over their faces, yet they're coming up with your strategies for publicity and business. And somehow I guess it's working.
While, at the same time, your children were just removed from your home and your family seems convinced that drugs alone have created your insanity and are unable to help you. It seems like quite a trade-off for money and fame. But, I won't offer pity. You don't need our pity. You are on the bipolar cocaine train to Whore Town and the Winner's Express don't stop in Pity City, because that's where the losers live.
So, ride on, Charlie. Whether we're watching or not, you'll be on that Crazy Train.