Sometimes this life gives you a sign
But you’re struck temporarily blind
What kind of man have I become
Have I given up and lost my mind


Cara Ober, It's Not True, 2008

An Open Casket To Charlie Sheen
or
Carlos “The Jackas” Estevez, FC

after Brett Easton Ellis

-- by klipschutz

I like you enough, you’re in
one of my poems
from the hope-scope end of 2008.


Let’s face it, though, it’d be cool too
if you died. The story
could turn on a dime into a morality saga
about hubris (a President Barlet word
but you had an education), mental illness
and substance abuse, oh my.
For now you embrace each escalation,
projecting (Feeee-gahr-o!)
to the cheap seats
how you don’t give an Ex-Lax shit
even when you swim in it
(granted, paid help jumps
to wash you down).

Usted tiene muchos problemas, Meester Man –
free advice tho I accept donations.
We get it: you’re a Kamikazedian, a Bingeformance Artist;
let me fail to coin a meme in the heat of composition:
an FC [Freelance Celebrity] – without portfolio is too. . .
I want to say gay but I’m not you.
Even Howard Stern must be flummoxed
(if not Flomax’d™) wondering
how you’re going to actually service your base.
He has to get up every morning
at four and squint into a screen to service his,
but he’s a workaholic; that’s his trip.
You’re a . . . Vulcan Kardashian Cockblock, or something.

I had chest pains not an hour ago, so it might not be good karma
to repeat that it would be kind of cool if you die
(and spare us the alternative [see Winehouse, Amy,
a less durable case]), but it would!
ET would have its marching orders for MONTHS!
Books would be written, games licensed,
movies bottlenecked in turnaround.
It could even turn the economy around.
Take one for the team, Big Man.
If you don’t know what Jesus would do, ask your dad.