Beautiful downtown Everett.
  • Beautiful downtown Everett.
So, yeah. I went to see Charlie Sheen on Tuesday night. By myself. In Everett. The reason I went to see Charlie Sheen wasn't because I like Charlie Sheen, it was because my bosses decided that I needed to go see Charlie Sheen and write about Charlie Sheen and maybe destroy Charlie Sheen the way I maybe destroyed Gallagher a little bit. The reason I went by myself to Charlie Sheen was that Charlie Sheen refused to do any press comps on this tour (he "hates the press"—hahaha, right), and tickets to Charlie Sheen cost $50, and the aforementioned bosses declined to pay an extra $50 just so that I would have a hand to hold while watching Charlie Sheen. The reason it was in Everett was because it's Charlie Sheen. Was he going to play Benaroya? Please.


Now, I know I'm just mad at Everett because it happens to be the setting of my recent traumatic full-body Sheening. So please forgive me—I know it's not Everett's fault. BUT SERIOUSLY, EVERETT, OH MY GOD. Every business in Everett is either a bail bondsman or a Dairy Queen. Or a rape alley. Every moment spent in Everett feels like you're in an episode of The First 48. I texted my friend about this and he wrote back: "Yup, the most depressing thing I've ever seen was in Everett. It was an 11-year-old girl practicing stripper moves on a pole holding up the canopy of a bail bond office." REALLY? HOW LONG AGO WAS THAT BECAUSE I HEAR UNCLE CHARLIE IS IN THE MARKET FOR A NEW "GODDESS."

All of these people think mental <del>illness</del> winningness is funny.
  • All of these people think mental illness winningness is funny.
Anyway, it took me until today to write about the show because there's really nothing to say. Charlie Sheen is the most boring man on earth. The Charlie Sheen meme was entertaining for the first six hours after it happened—before Charlie Sheen learned about the Charlie Sheen meme and turned it into his one-man Withered Blowhard Catchphrase Jamboree. The WBCJ was held at the Comcast Arena, a 10,000-seat venue that was a little less than half-full. In case you're not a mathemagician like me, a little less than half of 10,000 people is still a fuckton of people—people who somehow aren't tired of listening to their creepy, addled uncle spout his same four self-aggrandizing uncle-jokes over and over. Many of these people wanted to show Uncle Charlie their tits (and they did).

Oh, you mean I can sit in a room and have a delusional drug-addict blowhard yell in my face for two hours about all the excuses for why his asshole boss fired him? DUDE, THAT'S CALLED A FAMILY REUNION.

Uncle Charlie, these people are not your fans. They are laughing at you. Also, you are terrible. Please stop talking and go take a nap. You're scaring the dog.