We at Magick Sandwich believe Not About Charlie Sheen, or NACS®, should be used to identify all non-Sheen related coverage for the foreseeable future. He's being so generous that I don't think the blogosphere will run out of material anytime soon...unless he dies. How many death pools are out there already? (I'm a little bitter about this subject since my Swayze Watch® was not well-received. It was ahead of its time.)
Grasping the urgent need for other subject matter, we took a few hours to wean ourselves off living the Sheen dream, reading New Yorker cartoons of his best quotes and watching Charlie interview, then translate for Muammar Gaddafi. Hey, we're only human.
What we found afterward sickened us. Okay, me. I can't maintain the illusion of multiple staff anymore. But I'm not lying about being grossed out. This seriously almost made me puke. Too much? I can't riff like the Sheenster. So here's the deal. There's a restaurant in New York that serves live lobster. Live! You pay for the privilege of wrestling, killing and cracking open your very own sea roach.
And isn't that the kind of thing they pay illegals to take care of in the kitchen? I would hate to put someone out of a job. I will tip generously. Just give me one degree of separation between the living thing in the fish tank and the delectable, defaced and, most important of all, predeceased dish that I ordered.
I've got to get my mind off this. Where's that Charlie Sheen Mad Lib I was working on?