Prancing with the 'Tards

Look at this preening, pandering ass.

Charlie Sheen displays his custom Detroit Tigers jersey with such sureal swagger, you'd think he'd just skinned it off a mother lion protecting her young on Woodward Avenue.

In city after city, no matter how much help his handlers provide, Charlie Sheen continues to take the stage like a best man at a wedding who shrugs off the idea of a prepared speech, saying, "Hell, I'll just have a few drinks and wing it!"

We've all sat through those dismal, halting, incoherent speeches.

Hopefully in one of these woeful citites where Sheen's "Horseshit of Truth" tour is scheduled, a giant white cane from the Better Business Bureau will emerge and drag Sheen backstage -- permanently.

The man is free to make a fool out of himself, and he's been exercising that right with the same intensity most people exercise their right to shop.

If there's any justice, this abortive tour will render Sheen unemployable. The public -- whose appetite for morbid displays seems to have no end -- will hopefully become so sick and saturated with this talentless tit that no network will touch him.

To add insult to injury, I'd love to see the wan, tepid, uninteresting Jon Cryer embark on a "Helium Balloon of Mediocrity Tour" and to be a roaring success in every city where Sheen has failed.

Cryer could take the stage as Ducky, his character from the film Pretty in Pink and speak for 75 minutes about what Cosby sweaters and the Psychadelic Furs meant to him.

Until then, I guess, various American cities can look forward to the furrowed, stroke-victim countenance of Charlie Sheen scowling from the stages of their vaunted theatres and to continue to piss his career and marketability down the drain.

Review of Charlie Sheen in Connecticut.