Almost Reel: Shine On, Sheen

It was a little-noticed item in last week’s news: Charlie Sheen and gal pal Denise Richards are now officially betrothed to be married.

What?!??!? This is momentous news! Bad-boy Charlie is giving in to domesticity, again!

(Memo to Charlie: I’d gladly suck up to you for the privilege of attending your bachelor party. Heck, at least let me secure the pay-per-view rights to this shindig–it should definitely be broadcast to the paying masses!)

Sheen may have fooled the public into thinking that he’s an upstanding citizen with that Spin City gig, but he hasn’t fooled me. And though last year he put his “ultimate bachelor pad” in Malibu–with its poker room, cigar room, billiards room and batting cage–up for sale, I’m not buying into his good-guy routine.

Sheen is still my idea of what a celebrity should be in the naughty ’00s–a giant, gaping derriere in human clothing.

You remember that Sheen came into prominence in ’96 with the revelation that he had spent more than $53,000 on Heidi Fleiss‘ prostitutes in a two-year period. That was followed shortly by the news that Charlie boy was getting married!

“She’s an angel sent from heaven to take me through the rest of my journey,” Charlie said, revoltingly.

That marital journey lasted five months. “You buy a car, it breaks down, what are you gonna do?” that crazy sentimentalist Charlie said in announcing his divorce.

Place your bets: The over/under for this marriage checks in at whopping six weeks.

Sheen’s sudden ex-wife, Donna Peele, claimed she was shocked–SHOCKED!–to find out that Charlie had paid for all those hookers. She said she didn’t know. Huh? Everybody knew. My 8-month-old son knew. My cat knew.

(The joke about that marriage was that it got off to a terrible start after the first night of the honeymoon, when Charlie asked his wife if he could start a tab. Actually, the joke was the marriage.)

From there Charlie took up baseball. Not content with paying for sex, he wanted to pay for a major league home run. So one day he spent $5,000 to buy all the seats behind the left field fence in Anaheim Stadium so he could get a home run ball.

“I didn’t want to crawl over the paying public, ” Charlie said. “I wanted to avoid the violence.” I’m pleased to say the game that night between the Angels and Tigers was the only game all year in which there were no homers hit, and Charlie was out five large–about the same as two Heidi-ho’s would have cost.

And since then good ol’ Charlie has had long, deeply committed relationships to adult actresses (I use the term “actress” loosely, much as they use the term “modesty” or “safe sex”) Ginger Lynn Allen and Brittany Ashland.

(Got any naked pictures of your girlfriend? Want to buy some? Movies? DVDs? We got a whole truckload.)

Not to mention, of course, Charlie‘s rap sheet and near-fatal accidental drug overdose in 1998. Ain’t we got fun?

Frankly I’m upset at this whole trip down the aisle thing. I, as a married thirtysomething who has a kid and is losing his hair but gaining a paunch, and others like me need to live vicariously through others, and Charlie was a great ride. Hookers, porn stars and drugs–what more can a man ask for? Now that’s all over and done with, thanks to one Denise Richards.

Thank goodness we still have Robert Downey Jr. We just know he’ll never settle down.