Dear Mr. Sheen,
I’ve been authorized by the entire known universe to inform you that no one really gives the tiniest fraction of a shit anymore. Seriously. The only reason anyone’s still paying attention is the vicarious thrill of listening to a crackhead’s meandering rants without having to put up with the horrible smell(s) and general discomfort that would come with actual physical proximity. No one’s in your corner. You’re a kind of performing, methed-out poodle.
Dear press corps(e),
Stop giving this clown even so much as a few seconds of airtime or even so much as an inch of column space. Nations are falling, people are dying, the entire shape of the world as we know it is changing around us. The performing poodle’s assertion that he’s embroiled in some kind of righteous battle is laughable – and I’m trying to be charitable here, it’s actually somewhere between laughable and pitiful – when there are people in the world who are actually engaged in a struggle for their lives and freedom from tyranny.
I’m gonna say it again for everyone’s benefit: performing poodle. One who can’t even jump through a hoop anymore.
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