In case you missed Charlie Sheen’s UStream broadcast of Sheen’s Korner last night, we’ve got the full text to what he referred to as his manifesto AKA his rant!
Here it is, in full and uncensored! (And spell-checked, without any omissions, like some others whose name we won’t mention — RadarOnline.)
Good evening. What occurred yesterday was completely and entirely illegal. Unconscionable. And to quote my lawyer, ‘really shitty shitty suck suck.’ The decision to choose the enemy is generally thought of as quote ‘a chaotic and random event fueled by the circumstance of injustice yet paralleled by the finite rate of purpose’ end quote. However, when the crosshairs land squarely upon the very heart that I call my own, quote, ‘the rules suddenly lose shape and the bell no longer tolls for the candid meek or the battle weary veteran left behind to guard his soul’, end quote.
Edgar Allen ME 2077. Now that I have your lazy fucking attention, world. Sit back and rejoice. For the Malibu Messiah, the Condor of Calabasas, the fucking warlock of your jealous face sits before you. Undigested hummus trading real estate for this fire dance.
I beg you all to stay glued to this raving wise, Gibson shredding napalm poet before you. Alone and unshackled as the desperate cries of the soon forgotten echo freely in my lair. Directing your gaze to their silly and sad, legless and dying heartbeats.
Beware I told all, yet beware clearly I told no one. Canned slabs of jaundiced gorilla pelts fill the plates of those fools and clowns and naybobs. Oh how they once begged to attend my perfect banquet in the nude, now they just beg for the keys to my gold.
Here is my unwanted guest list. The names slightly altered to keep their stench from polluting my magic daiquiri. Or even worse, stealing my favorite pony. A pony named Steve. His orange mane painted blue, blue like the evening sky. As he gallops into their basement to acquire the ancient flatware and a rotting cheeseboard covered in the mold of their moral dysentery.
But of course, a serving tray for the pungent snacks they must now choke down. Again, the unwanted guest list. Number one, Less Than Goonves, part scoundrel, part — my hair to the side. ‘Screw Less’, I proclaimed, or better yet, screw more. You gave me your word so in turn you gave me nothing. It must really suck being your Mrs. The promise of getting something, yet receiving nothing. In-vitro aside, all shiny pool boys rejoice and line the block around your house. SIZZLE LOSING BYE.
Number two, Peter Roth, who I will not call sloth. I spare you this revelatory maelstrom of pure exposure as your heart was always rooted in fairness and hug-bonding good tidings. Trust not your evil overlords, they will discard you and then abandon your precious family. Liars and fools all of them. Get out while you can, good sir.
Sheen’s Korner could use the bright and sterling presence you led with from day one. You have my digits, use them, show your courage Peter, come dance in my gold.
Number three, Bruce. Bruce, daisy and wilt. Shame on you, you much shorter than average fool. And shame on your invalid attempts to shell game this this grand magician. My crew now knows the truth. And yes that is all of their fists pounding on your paper thin chamber door. They now lead with solid proof of your sordid hypocrisy and yellow-spined tactics. Wait — Is that an angry mob raiding your muck hole? It’s over, tiny man. Grab ankles and accept your fate.
Wow, it must really suck being you right now. The pulp of fiction suits you well. Since childhood, short, weak, thick glasses, never seen by a goddess, only owned by the bully like a bitch. Sizzle, losing, bye.
Number four, Hiya Chuck-E-Cheeseball. Where ya hiding, silly clown? Behind your narcissism? Your greed, your hatred of yourself or women? Which personality are you cowering beneath for transparent cover? I see you, you little worm. I see you behind your plastic smile, your bitchy pout and your desperate need to be liked.
Forget love, that ship sailed when you were born. To use one of your stupid and unfunny jokes. Good luck with those tin cans, shitbrain. And the mush mouth of some pathetic carcass you so arrogantly attempted to trade out for this warlock.
Think of me often, loser, during your most quiet moments. All alone in the world, staring into the mirror, your least favorite activity. Think of me as you pray to the silly God of AA.
While begging refuge from the contaminated image of hatred and dismay that so painfully glares back. Can you smell your soul? Can you smell the rotting dog shit? The fermented puke that is your viscera? Can you smell the lies? Can you smell the carnage you created? Can you smell the impostor living within?
Can you smell the whimpering scared child you’ll never have the courage to embrace? Can you smell your mother’s tears from some distant memory as she scattered her pathetic creation asking all around her why this feeble abortion survived. Can you smell it, Chuck? It smells like malaria, in case you were wondering.
If sad and stupid had a foul odor attached, it would be you Fuck Borre. You gotta hate that your stage name rhymes with suck? Personally I find it perfect. Suck and muck. You picked a fight with a warlock, you little worm. Remember this after that first drink back. The drink you know you want. The drink you can’t avoid any longer.
How does it taste? How does it feel? Are you whole again? At peace? In love? You’re no match for this warlock. My power will consume you every losing day, ugly whore. Let’s do a scene, maggot. I speak first, DUH.
Me: Are you an assailant?
Fuck Borre: I’m a show runner
Me: You’re neither. You’re an ugly clown sent by corporate fools to collect your fill.
Chew heartily, loser, shortly from now you’ll have nothing left. Nothing. How does last night’s 2.8 in the demo feel? Ouch! How about last night’s 2.6, as well, to follow it? Should have gone up, instead it went down. Like you on some four dollar trollop. Sizzle, losing, bye!
You’re all nothing shy of traitors. Irrational egos will be your downfall. Mark this warlock’s words. Defeat is not an option.
Moving along now to our next item at hand. There’s been global speak regarding my tiger blood and yes it’s real, it’s as real as me. To avoid any speculation, I will now allow my precious tiger blood to be extracted. There you go, those who deserve it, now possess it. Use it wisely, I trust that you will.
As I stated earlier, a high treason has occurred. The scales of justice are in a state of radical disarray. Together, we must right this infantile wrong.
One final note, Sheen’s Korner is now for sale as a sports bar. You know where to find me, so I bid you adieu. Stay tuned good soldiers, I’ll see you all very soon on the battlefield. Dog speed.