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David Knows What’s Up: I Partied with Charlie Sheen for 20 Years and I’m Here to Tell You He’s A Liar

March 7, 2011

David Knows What’s Up: I Partied with Charlie Sheen for 20 Years and I’m Here to Tell You He’s A Liar

You’re all being duped and it’s time for truth. Charlie Sheen is faking it. I don’t want to be saying this. I told myself over and over that I wouldn’t. But I have to. It’s gone too far.

At first I thought it was funny. Charshy–that’s what I call him–was pulling a sort of post-modern prank, convincing the world that he was a coke-snorting, whore plooking, good time go-go guy. He’s not. Look at the clues: No failed drug tests. The ladies who tend to his manroot never mention anything about its pleasure-powers. And no one is asking why. Because the truth isn’t as salacious. It’s also never been told. Until now.

I met Charshy back in 1993 on the set of Hot Shots! Part Deux. He starred, I guarded the craft services table. Most mornings, people would sidle up to the spread of whole wheat everything bagels, mango cubes, and raspberry strudel, put an item or two on their little styrofoam plate and nosh away till call time. Not Charshy. First time we met, he comes up to the coffee samovar, raises an eyebrow, and says “Got anything stronger, mun?” I said, “Nothing you could handle, Hollywood?” He goes, “Try me.”

It was like two silverback gorillas beating their chests in the rainforests of Burundi. I invited Charshy to my hotel room later that night to see if he could hit my fastball.

He shows up with three great-gammed, big-mammed porn star ‘tutes. I’d seen their work. I knew they were good.

They come in, and I lay out a mortarforking pu pu platter of narco-candy. Charshy goes, “Ladies, go wait in the bathroom. The men have business to attend to.” Then, speaking quickly, like he’s panicked or something, he says he’ll give me thousands of dollars to throw his portion of the drugs away. He says he hates drugs, but he’s got a reputation to uphold. The only reason he has any cache in this dirty town, he says, is because he’s the last of the goodtime bad boys. But booger sugar makes him sneeze. Crack k’cane gives him a headache. Mary Jane makes him dozey. Hey, I think, people’ve done weirder things than pretend to be something they’re not. So I accept his deal. He peels off a bunch of c-notes, I pocket the unused product, and he invites the ladies back in.

He starts screaming, “Woooo! Woooo!” and sniffling and cackling maniacally. He’s faking being effed up. Then he tells the porn star ‘tutes to “tend to my mun over here” and he goes to the balcony to smoke a clove cigarette. While he’s outside one of the trifecta of ‘tutes tells me the what what. “Charshy (I’m paraphrasing) thinks the female privates are yuck yuck,” she says. “He just pays us to hang out with him so people think he’s a real swinging dick type.”


A couple hours later, after Charshy’s tuckered out from tickle-fights and FIFA Soccer on the Sega G, he tells the terrible trio of ‘tutes to take a hike. He gets ready to leave too. But before he does he turns to me and says, “I trust you, mun. I’ll be in touch.”

This was the beginning of an almost 20 year run of fake debauchery. But live a lie long enough and it gets harder and harder, near impossible really, to tell the truth.

So here we all are. The walls are closing in. Charshy’s in the spotlight and damn if he ain’t sweatin’. Again, why no failed drug test? Why no sordid tales of sexshul delight? Because Charshy ain’t usin’ or oozin’. Tiger blood? Winning? It’s a smoke screen. Hollywood’s wild man likes marathon Monopoly sessions and games of tag. Do I feel good about exposing him for the fabricator he is? No. But this has gone on long enough. We all need to move on.

Sorry Charshy. I still love you, mun. Someday you’ll thank me for this.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. David Curtis permalink
    March 8, 2011 9:19 am

    On my screen the text was really bold. This diminished my reading pleasure a fraction or two.

    • Ephraim Albazeer permalink
      March 11, 2011 5:29 pm

      Of course the text was bold — metaphor, duh. Winning.

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