If you’re a late night talk show host – any kind of talk show host, for that matter – it would be hard to look at Charlie Sheen’s behaviour this week and not feel as though God loves you and approves of what you’re doing.   MaSheen’s drug-addled media rampage will keep comedians, commentators, and mash-up enthusiasts busy for years – his shit practically writes itself.

So many people are having a laugh at Charlie’s expense that I’m forced to wonder if his bowl-circling turd of an existence isn’t really a brilliant and calculated marketing ploy. He’s been the biggest trending topic on Google for weeks now, his maniacal appearances are ratings gold for whichever talk show he’s on , and reruns of his contemptible sitcom 2 1/2 Men are in some cases attracting even more viewers now than the first time they played.    Take this into account, and his demand for a $1 million raise (he’s already the highest paid actor on TV) seems kinda modest.

At least – I hope this is a marketing ploy, because the alternative is far too sad to contemplate, and says a lot more about us than it does about him.   Here is MaSheen – a broken man immolating himself – and we are rewarding his efforts by lavishing him with more attention than he’s enjoyed at any other time in his life.   Sure, we all love good Hollywood washout stories, but most of them usually play out like morality tales – Robert Downey Jr. is arguably one of the best actors of his generation, but because of his addiction and self-destructive nature his career completely cratered (he was on Ally McBeal, for chrissakes).   He had to clean himself up, atone for his actions, and prove himself worthy again before we accepted him back into the fold – which, I suppose, is as it should be.

MaSheen

Sheen, on the other hand, is currently the biggest circus sideshow in the world  (wayyyy bigger than the Elephant Man) which proves that, deep down, we still haven’t lost our primitive taste for grotesque public spectacles, like hangings.  At some point, the angels of our better nature intervened, and we realized that paying attention is the problem.  At the very least, we’d get bored and move onto something else, but that doesn’t seem to be happening here –   Masheen is everywhere and he’s bigger than ever.   He’s even become a role model – I listened to one radio DJ (no doubt trying to be as ironic as he could)  saying that if he was ever fucked up, he’d want to be as fucked up as Charlie Sheen, because apparently being that fucked up can make you rich.

Assuming Charlie isn’t out Joaquin-ing Joaquin Phoenix, and playing the biggest practical joke every perpetrated on American society (and again, I truly hope he is), what then are we left with?  This is a man who desperately needs to get better, but where’s the incentive to be a Better Man when we reward his lunacy?  Admittedly, Sheen is the one who’s gabbing away to whomever will listen, but that doesn’t mean he needs our attention.  I would say it’s absolutely the last thing he needs. If we choose ignore him and he eventually destroys himself – well, that’s tragic.  If we watch intently and only applaud every time he smokes rock, beats a porn star then comes up with another of those amazing non-sequitors – that makes us culpable, if only a little bit.

Trust me, I realize I sound like a prudish stick-up-his-ass moralist with hints of hypocrite thrown in.  All this week,  I’ve had some amazing laughs because of the man.  But as the week ends and I watch Masheen stray into Colonel Kurtz territory, I feel a little ashamed for finding it funny.   Which is not to say that I like Charlie, or think he’s a good actor, or that he’s worthy of grace or redemption.   All I’m saying is that a Better Man would hear the shit coming out of his mouth and at some point have the decency to stop paying attention.  Enough of us do that, and maybe then Charlie can shut up and start getting the help he needs.