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? 

Rihanna's Esthetician Adventures

Rihanna isn't just beautiful. That would be easier for me to live with. I see beautiful girls every day. Rihanna is actually supernaturally beautiful and that affects me in physiological ways. Every time I lay eyes on her, my crotch throbs, my chest constricts and my vision blurs. Given the precarious state of my health, I'm pretty sure that she's going to kill me someday. The truth is, I don't mind all that much.

Some of you might not know this about me, but I'm a sucker for a pretty face. If you look good enough, I'll rationalize the very worst behaviour that mankind has to offer. And Rihanna is so gorgeous that if she heated her home by setting infants on fire, I'd justify it so eloquently that it would take your very breath away. And I'd think that I was a better man for having done so.

Of course, just to prove that evil exists, some men don't feel the way I do. Rihanna's former beloved famously kicked the shit out of her just before the 2009 Grammy Awards. The fact that Chris Brown wasn't fed to lions during the Super Bowl half-time show for his sins that year tells you everything you need to know about American justice in this dark and terrible era.

If you've ever seen her naked (link deeply, desperately NSFW), it's probably changed your life. She looks impossibly good. Every girl will tell you the importance of accessorizing, and Rihanna's nipple rings take it to new and exciting heights. They manage to enhance both her amazing aerola and the curve of her waist perfectly. And Rihanna's ass (link also very NSFW) might be the most utilitarian thing I've ever laid eyes on. Nary a day goes by that I don't dream of saying grace at her dumper before eating a hearty meal off of it.

Rihianna, being symbolic of everything femininity should be, is also completely denuded of hair in the vicinity of her most valued treasure. This is how all women should be, but sadly are not, since the human condition is in a rapid and irreversible death spiral. She is the Light and the Way, but some girls are simply too satanic to follow her example.

This isn't as uncomplicated as you would think, not even for Rihianna.

Rihanna was forced to endure one of the "most awkward" moments of her life during a recent bikini wax when the beautician recognized the Umbrella hitmaker and let her know it.

The singer insists on only being waxed by Russian women who speak no English, but during one visit she was tended to by a young American.

The woman recognized Rihanna immediately and proceeded to chat to her during the intimate procedure - leaving the star squirming throughout the process.

She says, "I went to this wax salon and she recognized me before I took my clothes off and I think she couldn't wait until we were alone and she could ask for an autograph or a picture or something. So I'm lying there and in pain...

"Every time time I get a wax I specify the lady is old and speaks Russian and no English and she was a 25-year-old American and she was basically like, 'I know who you are, you're Rihanna!' I was like 'Awkward!'

"It was probably one of the most awkward moments of my entire life. I just got up and I got outta there and said (to my manager), 'Don't ever bring me back here! I told you, old and Russian!'"

She really is a saint, that Rihanna. To my mind, she would have been perfectly justified in having her manager publicly disemboweled as a way of setting an example for the rest of her entourage. At the very least, her people should have given the esthetician advance notice that Rihanna was coming, so that they had adequate to set up candles, romantic music and had grapes on hand to feed her as they waxed her great and glorious cooter. It also would have helped if the American gromer in question was Bree Olson, just to make it sexier.

But the moral of the story is that Rihanna hasn't given up professional waxing. That just wouldn't do. No, it wouldn't do at all.

Some girls out there would do well to follow Rihanna's example, regardless of the adversity involved. For example, I once dated someone who, the first time we were together, was beautifully barren of hair. And I devoted entire days to licking and fucking her until she was actually speaking in tongues. As a younger woman, she hadn't been so randily rogered before and I believe that she actually had an out of body experience.

Tragically, some people don't retain things like positive reinforcement as well as others. When, several months later, we met again, things had taken a decided and dramatic turn for the worse. There wasn't just a little stubble there. That I could have dealt with, particularly after her long journey. After relieving her of her clothing, I thought I had found bin Laden. It took my last reserves of restraint not to go Cofer Black on her crotch and bring it to George W. Bush in a box on dry ice. Needless to say, our relationship ended shortly thereafter.

But it all could have different if she was more like Rihanna. I know it, Rihanna knows it and, most importantly, now you know it, too. To all the young ladies in my vast international audience, I say this: if you ever find yourself in a personal grooming quandary, ask yourself what Rihanna would do. You can't go wrong.

Kim Kardashian is a Know-It-All

I really hadn't paid much attention to Kim Kardashian until I downloaded a video of her showering affection upon the formidable wang of Ray J. At that point, I began paying a lot of attention to her. I'm funny that way.

Well, that's not entirely true. I knew about Kim because I was familiar with her late father, Robert. You see, I spent my twenties as something of an aficionado of the O.J Simpson double murder case. Although it didn't receive much in the way of media attention, you might have heard about it.

After the police were finished questioning the Juice about how Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman might have ended up with their throats inside-out, the Juice moved into Casa Kardashian until the cops were ready to lay charges.

When Simpson was supposed to surrender, he led the police on the now-famous "slow-speed chase. As the the Bronco traversed Los Angeles and Orange County, Bobby Kardashian read the suicide note-award show acceptance speech that O.J left behind to the assembled media.

There was one small problem. It was thought that Simpson uttered a spontaneous confession to Kardashian between the time of the murders and his capture at his Rockingham address. So O.J did what anybody would do, he hired Kardashian as a part of his legal team, even though Robert hadn't practiced in years and his licence had actually expired. If you're ever looking for a way to get away with murder, that's as successful as any.

However, I hadn't really cared about Kim all that much. Sure, I knew she had a cute face, spectacular jugs, and a giant (yet still remarkably tight-looking) posterior. But it wasn't really love until the friendly pornographers at Vivid Video released Kim Kardashian Superstar three years ago.


It was at that moment that I decided that I wanted to be an anonymous R&B singer with a giant putz when I grow up. They seem to have nice lives.

Kim seems to have a pretty good time of it, too. Not for her the daily Kafka-esque existence that most of us unsuccessfully toil to survive. I swear to God, if I don't stop turning into a giant bug every morning, I just don't know what I'm going to do.

Even though no one has managed to figure out what she actually does for a living, men everywhere want to roughly shove themselves inside of Kim Kardashian and women want to be her.

However, because she's made almost entirely of pure evil, Miss Kardashian employs Twitter to ruin everyone's dreams.

Kim Kardashian begged a fan not to follow through on plans to undergo massive plastic surgery in order to look like the reality TV star.

“I’m getting head 2 toe plastic surgery nxt week 2 look like @kimkardashian so my husband won’t leave me,” tweeted the woman. “He worships her.”

Kardashian saw the message and retweeted it with “NO.”

She continued to try to change the fan’s mind, pleading, “Pls dont. Ur husband should love u 4 who u are! Don’t try 2 b someone else. Im sure u are beautiful inside &out. Just as you are.”

“Don’t change yourself for anybody but yourself…be happy with who u are!” concluded Kardashian. “Someone will appreciate and adore u just as you are.”

Kim has it all, so I have no idea why she has to lie like that. Does she actually get some kind of thrill destroying the marriages of her Twitter followers. It just doesn't make any sense.

I suppose that the woman in question's husband should love her for who she is, but he pretty clearly doesn't. He, like most right-thinking gentlemen in Western society, appreciates and adores Kim Kardashian instead. Sadly, the likelihood that Kim will take up with an unemployed steelworker from Akron without an NFL contract appears rather small because life is deeply, deeply unfair.

But is the woman a mopey housefrau about it? No, instead she's a problem-solver! She knows what's required to keep her man and she confronts the situation head-on with "head 2 toe plastic surgery." That's pretty admirable, when you sit down and think about it.

But Kardashian had to go and ruin it. Moreover, she ruined it on mere assumptions. The tweeter at issue might very well be "beautiful inside &out. Just as she is.” But she might not be. She could, in fact, be a doppelganger of Rosie O'Donnel with the soul of, say, Rosie O'Donnell. Or Hitler. The point is that if I don't know that, I'm reasonably certain that Kim doesn't. But I'm pretty sure that the woman and her husband do.

It's just as likely that the woman's husband does leave her for somebody that will get the surgery, and Miss Kardashian's newly single interlocutor starts a daytime talk show, blogs incomprehensible left-wing poetry, and takes over Germany. By the time Jews start dying in large numbers, it'll be too late.

Yes, it's possible that someone will appreciate and adore her just as she is. But it's just as possible that she's a genocidal monster with an unhealthy Tom Cruise fixation and a problem with Barbara Walters, and no one else will ever love her, triggering an entirely preventable human tragedy of unknown dimensions.

Like Kim, I don't know what the truth really is or what the consequences could be. Unlike Kim, I would have chosen to err on the side of caution and been supportive of the woman's adventures in cosmetic ass-enlargement. And in doing so, I probably would have saved a marriage and perhaps innumerable lives.

In a roundabout way, that's why Kim Kardashian needs more of me in her life. I'm just to wise too live without. Girls who live in bikinis can't be expected to know everything, whereas I can.