Celebrities See All

Close

Quick Links

or

                                                THE CHARLIES
                            An excerpt from That’s Why Vampires Suck
                                                              by
                                                     Mars Cronin


“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Joan Rivers and I’m standing here on the red carpet to give you the viewer a front row seat as the top movies stars, recording artists and reality show pretenders arrive for the very first Charlie Awards. I’m surrounded by the glitz and glitter and the adoring crowds here in front of the Betty Ford Clinic for Recovering Camera Whores where the ceremonies are being held. I see the first limo is arriving, so let’s get started."


The camera pans to Joan’s left as the sound of the chattering fans rises from background noise to full volume. We see a long white Cadillac Wowitzbig come to a halt at the end of the red carpet. As the door of the limo opens a loud cheer arises, peppered with female screams.


“Listen to the adoring fans as they applaud the arrival of the front runner for tonight’s Best Public Rant Charlie, Mel Gibson. He’s dressed perfectly for the occasion in Armani by Hugo Boss with matching Enrico Brunos by Tom McCann. He’s walking the carpet now, and per our agreement he will be stopping by for his first interview with yours truly. Here he is, folks. Mel Gibson.”


“Thanks, Joan. It’s very exciting to be here. I’ve had kind of a dry spell, as you may know. To be given a chance for redemption is something I’ve hoped for ever since the tape of me ranting and raving like a lunatic went public. I’m humbled by the immensity of the moment.”


“Well, that’s what the Charlies are all about, aren’t they? To make applesauce out of rotten apples.”


“That’s right, Joan. You know, when I first heard that I’d been nominated for the coveted Screaming Head statuette, I almost fainted with relief. After calling that cunt Oksana a cunt in the now famous voice-mail recording and then hearing myself call the cunt a cunt on TMZ, I said to myself, ‘That cunt ruined my career.’ But who’s laughing now, hey Joan? Not that cunt. I can tell you.”


“Well thanks for stopping by to chat with us. Good thing this is cable. The FCC is a little touchy about the C word.”


“Fuck those cunts. This s America. Free speech, Joan, free speech.”


“OK. Well, thanks again. And good luck in the race for the Best Racist Comment Charlie. You’re the favorite for that one too.”


“If the Jews haven’t fixed the results, I’m a shoo-in. The cunts.”


“Thanks again, Mel. I can see that our next arrival is just exiting her limo. And it’s, wait a minute; she’s stumbling a bit whoever it is. We can only see her splayed legs sticking out of the car. Lovely gams though, so I’m thinking...yes it is. Folks Lindsey Lohan is here. She’s being helped to her feet by one of her handlers. She’s wearing a lovely little black dress by Coco Chanel that she’s now tugging down to hide her non-pantied private area that Mel Gibson could describe with one word. Ladies and gentlemen, Lindsey Lohan.”


“Who the fuck are you? Where the fuck am I?”


“We’re here at the Charlie Awards, Lindsey. You’re nominated for Best Total Collapse of a Once Promising Career. You’re neck and neck with Crispin Glover for the prize. Don’t you remember?”


“That’s real? I thought it was a trick to get me back into the Betty Ford Clinic for Recovering Publicity Hounds. This place sure looks like it.”


“Well it is the clinic. They’re holding the ceremony here because of the logistics. Almost half the nominees are still in rehab and can’t get out. So you know, if the mountain can’t come to Mohammed--“


“Mountain? What’s a mountain got to do with anything? I don’t see any mountain. Sometimes I feel like I’m walking on top of one though. These new pills I got are awesome.” She reaches into her purse, pulls out a vial and pops a few like Tic Tacs. “Want some?”


“Thank you, Lindsey but I’ll pass. Maybe at the afterparty, if you live that long. Which reminds me, you’re in a dead heat with the man the Charlies are named for, Charlie Sheen, for the Best Chance at Oding This Year statuette. How do you feel about that?”


“I’m honored to even have my name spoken in the same sentence as Charlie. You know he’s been a real inspiration to all of us this past year with his hookers and his--“


“When you say all of us, who do you mean?”


“Why promising young actors who’ve taken that potential and squashed it like a rotten turnip, of course. The way Charlie went on the offensive when the hooker in his hotel room called the cops on him just because she was scared for her life. The way he went viral with his rants against Chuck Lorrie and CBS when they fired him just because he’d called them flaming assholes who wouldn’t recognize talent if it called them flaming assholes. The way he turned all that into an act and charged thirty dollars a ticket. He’s just shown us how to make ketchup from squashed tomatoes is all he’s done. When I think of what Robert Downey Jr. could have accomplished if he’d had Charlie to inspire him when he was falling asleep naked in the wrong house, I could just cry.”


“But Robert Downey Jr. completely turned his life around. He doesn’t drink anymore. Gave up the pills. All that stuff.”


“Exactly. The poor bastard. What kind of life is that? Charlie’s changed the world for us. He’s my hero.”


“And speaking of the devil, those loud cheers we hear are telling me that the man himself has arrived.”


“Who?”


“Charlie Sheen, of course.”


“He’s here? Charlie? Oh, my Gawd. How do I look? Is my skirt high enough? Can you see just a hint of paradise? I don’t want to seem slutty. Showing too much pussy can do that.”


“Calm down, Lindsey. Looking too slutty for Charlie Sheen is like being too bacony for a dog. Can’t be done. Move along now so I can talk to the man of the hour.”                             


“You think he’d sign my snatch? I’d just love to--“


Lindsey is hustled along by her handlers as Charlie comes into frame.


“Hey, Joan. Howzit hangin?”


“It shouldn’t be hanging at all anymore. Not since my most recent vaginal reconstruction, anyway. So, Charlie. This must be quite a night for you.”


“How so?”


“Well, you know; the paparazzi popping flashbulbs like Lindsey pops pills, the red carpet welcome, the screaming women. That stuff.”


“No. Same ol’, same ol’ there, Joan. Except tonight I didn’t have to pay for the screaming women. And I’m sober.”


“Really? How long have you been sober?”


“I’m only shitting you, Joan. I’m wasted. I’m always wasted. I have tiger blood running through my veins. I’m wasted on Charlie Sheen tiger blood. “


“Is that all?”


“Well, a quart of Jack Daniel’s and a half-dozen Prozac kind of mellow out the tiger-blood rush. Without that the world couldn’t take Charlie Sheen. Undiluted Charlie Sheen is like pure heroin; it can kill you.”


“So that’s why you drink and do the pills? Out of concern for the safety and welfare of humanity?”


“Now you’re getting it, Joan. Just imagine what it would be like if I didn’t guzzle booze like Dean Martin on steroids and down more pills than a AIDS ward. The world couldn’t take it. You can’t stare at the sun without shades. You can’t get too close to a black hole without getting swallowed up And you can’t watch unadulterated Charlie Sheen without suffering terminal jealousy. It’s physics, Joan. Pure physics.”


“Let’s talk about tonight’s awards. You’re nominated in every category from Best Perp Walk through Best Mug Shot to Best Supporting Addict. How do you feel about that?”


“It’s great to know all my hard work is appreciated. And it’s great to know that CBS, Chuck Lorrie and all those other losers can suck my balls. I might be the one saddled with the alimony, child support and injured-hooker restitution, motherfuckers. But I’m the one taking home some statuary tonight. Plus a carload of hookers if I can get my credit cards reissued on time.”


And that’s why it’s better to be pissed off then pissed on.

Advertisement
Advertisement

From Around the Web

More