Volvos and Bitches

Charlie Sheen appears to have become the most recent point of interest for the media hoards. The wise cracking yank is currently lighting up the daily spread with a collection of outlandish remarks and anecdotes. Admittedly some of these quips are fairly entertaining and a bit of light hearted entertainment serves as a good distraction from the darker side of the human story. What does etch onto the brain matter is the obsessive nature and blind glee in which the media pursues an individual. This story deserves no more than a 100 metre sprint but leeches of the press have decided a marathon is in order. There is no central story here, merely a man spouting his mind with all the crack smoking confidence you’d expect. The only reason a story is maintained is because the hand of the media smacks a microphone under the nose of Sheen, like a bulbous line of Colombians finest, urging him on to spray the world with venom. Sheen himself is fully aware of the endless pursuing and points out the other various current world atrocities which deserve far greater interest. Still the tabloids will churn out the guff. Why? Because it sells. Maybe the consumer is to blame for taking a small puff on the Sheen skin up. Maybe we like to see a celebrity fall from grace because they had the sort of life our dreary existence could only hope for. Ho’s, Liquor, prostitutes a plenty, and a liberal helping of cosmic space dust. The lust for Bentleys and bitches is so strong that we won’t accept anyone getting there before us. These celebrity big shots remind us that we only have Volvos and cream cakes.