Bree Olson does the right thing

Cocaine, as Rick James reminds us all from the afterlife on this Easter Sunday, is a hell of a drug. One of its primary effects is to make you want to do more and more cocaine. Everything about it becomes the most fascinating thing you've ever seen and it very quickly becomes the center of your universe. You can sit there and just chop it and cut lines for up to thirteen hours, waiting for precisely the right moment to snort some more.

Or so I have read. I wouldn't want you folks to get the impression that I'm leading anything but a good, clean Christian life, especially today, when we celebrate the most successful death penalty appeal in recorded history.I'm just relating things that I've read or been told about. I'm far too chaste to engage in such hijinks. Besides, I'm too poor for fun.

In small quantities, however, coke can be a mighty, mighty fuck fuel, particularly for women. If the menfolk can resist the overwhelming temptation to cut and snort lines for thirteen hours, it can do wonders for them as well. But only in small quantities.

When too much of Peru's finest is ingested, even the heartiest of modern gentlemen fall to the scourge that is coke dick. Cocaine is such a seductress, however, that a good many men mind not at all that they have a useless cock, so long as they can keep chopping and snorting. It's only afterwards, when the blow has run out, you know that you won't be sleeping anytime soon, and you desperately want to plow yourself through some pussy that the phenomenon becomes problematic. Life, as it happens, is rife with vicious circles.

In a roundabout way, that brings me to Charlie Sheen, modern America's cocaine poster boy.

The Artist Formerly Known as Carlos Estevez is having the best year ever. He really is teaching us all about the glories that come from being effectively unemployable. If you bump into him, even slightly, there's a very real possibility that you would be enveloped in what would at first appear to be the worst cloud of dandruff imaginable. But after breathing in deeply, you'd cease to care and would almost certainly find yourself snorting Charlie Sheen.

Most importantly, he was boning Rachel Oberlin, who I have come to devote my life to as Bree Olson. For my newer readers, I've written about her here, here and here. As I write this, I'm laying the theological groundwork to build my very own church around Miss Oberlin, since she's clearly superior to any other available deity.

Outside of perhaps Hinduism, there are no gods with huge natural jugs and a clear biological imperative to take a giant wang in the dumper. And that just makes my religion better than yours. As the Church of Bree teaches us all, "What's more painful than anal sex? Not getting to have any anal sex. Would someone come fuck me in the ass please?"

Truer and sexier words were never spoken. And it sure beats the tits off of "love thy neighbor." She's devine in all that ways that, say, Jesus or Mohammad aren't. Mine eyes have seen the glory, friends. And I want you to see it, too. I never thought that I'd become so evangelical, but here we are. You can argue the theology with me all you want, but you'll only be proving how much you enjoy being wrong.

Some of you might have noticed that I said that Charlie "was" fucking my beautiful, beautiful Bree. I used that term advisedly, since he isn't anymore, a fact that he felt necessary to share with a couple of thousand of his closet friends in Ft. Lauderdale last night.

Judging by Charlie Sheen's desperate last-ditch efforts to give away free tickets to his Ft. Lauderdale show on Twitter, one might have predicted a bomb along the lines of his Detroit disaster.

However, Sheen's Violent Torpedo of Truth was a surprise hit with the audience at the BankAtlantic Center on Saturday.

Sheen seemed to be in good spirits and, according to one attendee, received a warm welcome from the crowd of about 2,500 as he took the stage wearing a Florida Marlins jersey.

The actor kicked off the show by revealing that one of his goddesses, Rachel "Bree" Olson, had broken up with him via text message. During the Q&A session later, one fan asked Sheen how he handled two women at once without turning to polygamy. He replied, "Not well, because one left."

I'll overlook The Hollywood Reporter's sin against journalism in getting Bree's birth name wrong because that's beside the point. We have bigger fish to fry on this, the holiest of afternoons. If I wrote that badly, I'd refuse a byline, too. For example, I grew up thinking that Detroit was a synonym for disaster.

Being left by Bree Olson is far worse than anything Detroit can throw at you. It's much more like having God His own self turn His back on you because it's precisely that. There are only two things that Chuck and I have in common: we're both irredeemable fuck-ups and neither us have likely seen a woman take a more punish bout of sodomy than Bree and finish up smiling. And neither of us have probably seen a prettier smile from someone who just took a foot of cock in their digestive track.

Did Sheen's love of Colombian marching powder have something to do with this? In my professional opinion as a world-famous scholar of romance, I'd say that it almost certainly did. Lookee, I've not only seen Miss Oberlin's voracious sexual appetite, I have several gigabytes on my computer that I regularly consult as reference materials that document it. Needless to say, they are my pride and joy. I feel the same way about those videos that you do about your children. The only difference is that the videos are never going to want me to pay their college tuition, so my Bree Olson fuck movie collection is clearly better than your kids.

What I've learned from my years of close study is that Rachel needs cock like the rest of us need food and water. She can't survive without it. From what I've seen, this is a woman who can't go on absent an orgasm so powerful that it leaves her a shuddering, quaking mess. These are things that even a cursory glance at It's Huge 6 would tell you. I can't be the only one that knows that, can I?

Now something tells me that someone who does blow by the briefcase won't be able to satisfy the demands of such a goddess, and Charlie's coke-related performance problems are well documented. If he can't satisfy a pig like Kacey Jordan, I'm amazed that a sexual animal like Bree Olson hadn't opened up his chest cavity months ago.

Cocaine is a hell of a drug, but there always comes a time to put it away. Remember kids, you can't be #Winning with a droopy dick.

Postcriptum: I think it's fitting that the last time that Charlie and Rachel were in a room together was here in Toronto. I like to think that my powerful sexual energy had something to do with it. Now if I could only get Powdergirl in this time zone ...




Update: Sheen continued to display an awesome ignorance of women last night when he was asked about Lindsay Lohan. "Sheen also invited Lindsay Lohan to hang out with him for 24 hours. "I would hug her and let her know it's gonna be ok," he said, when asked if he had words of wisdom for the troubled star."

Oh, for Chist's sake!  The only way to let Lindsay know that it's gonna be ok is to buy her a big drink and wear her like a wristwatch. Hasn't Charlie been paying attention to anything?