Between crack parties and flying to the Bahamas with strippers and swingers, Charlie Sheen likes to dole out etiquette advice to friends and acquaintances. These particular questions were answered with Charlie’s peculiar charm school lessons right before he lit up under a palm tree this afternoon.
Dear Charlie: How do you know when you’ve stopped being able to manage your crack addiction socially?
Are you high right now? If so, how high? Are you on a first name and age/sex/location basis with Ruby, the Jamaican Cedars-Sinai emergency room night nurse? Are your pants on? Are you caught in the middle of a love-octagon that boasts three porn stars, a hooker and Japanese sex doll? Do your own children get the shakes and start to cry when they see you? No? Then you’re probably fine. Or not. I dunno, ask Dr. Drew.
Charlie! You say you never smoke crack less than 12 hours prior to taping your TV show. What’s the rule on smoking crack while watching your TV show?
The rule is: go for it. I find if you time a toke to hit just as I’m giving Jon Cryer the business it can cause a feeling of near-orgasmic happiness. But don’t step on any of my punchlines, because then, Jesus, what would be the fucking point, right?
Okay, so you, your girlfriend, your porn star sex buddy and your ex-wife are all traveling together to the Bahamas. Who gets the window seat?
Easy. Whoever has the biggest tits. (It’s a buoyancy issue – I’m very concerned about safety and want to position myself next to a grabbable breast in case we start to go down.) Or you could cut to the chase and pile everyone on top of each other in the middle of the aisle. Up to you, playboy!
Charliiiiiiie! Hahaha. Hey man, you got a dollar?
Are you kidding? I just earned $17,000 in the time it took to write “are you kidding?” (I’m kind of a slow typist.) If you’ve ever looked up my IMDB page for fodder while writing this response, you know that my Wall Street character Bud Fox once said “there’s no nobility in poverty.” So yes, I got a dollar, but no, you cannot have it.
Dear the esteemed Mr. Sheen: I have two inquiries pertaining to the subject of first dates. 1. Are loafers appropriate for an 8 P.M. dinner? 2. How soon should you reveal to your date that you have no teeth?
Who do I look like, Emilio Estevez? (Don’t answer that.) This is not The Breakfast Club and I’m not here to talk about fucking loafers. As for the teeth, don’t mention it to your chick at all, just play it out as a slow reveal. And make sure to look at Camera C right as you reach the apex of your smile. I’ll be watching from home, timing my crack hit and orgasming.