With the studio machine once again moving heaven, earth and hell to protect Charlie Sheen’s (naked) butt, the suspect-turned-victim tells his scenario of the last 48 hours.
Although Sheen didn’t deny the particulars of the police report (of un-embellished tabloid basic facts), he’s obviously now in aligned-mindset with the publicity department.
Yesterday, the line from Sheen’s caretakers, sitters, handlers was that he’d suffered a reaction from prescribed medication, and now the bone-picking, keyhole-peeking, back-stabbing (northeast?) media are lying to sell papers.
I agree with every invective of the above line, having been a publisher, editor, re-writer, reporter, newsy when they used sell pulp on the street, but sometimes the professional news gets it right. Two and two are four whether Einstein says it or a certified lunatic.
But history (and the news) is owned by publicists, and if they say it’s flat then you’ll be finished if you say it’s round.
It’s instructive if you look up the alibis various producers have used to cover their Sheen meal ticket over the years. It’s not brilliant verbiage, but just the stonewalled big lie where they outrun and outlast the story.
Charlie Sheen is a useful idiot and the highest paid actor on TV. He is an immense investment.
In a message that has been widely reported by the international fourth estate, Sheen has allegedly said that cops and various snitches exaggerated the incident. Then he said something about knowing what really happened since he was the only one there, with the exception of a reportedly screaming ‘escort’ who reportedly locked herself in the closet from fear of her life.
The reported Sheen statement ended with “…I know what went down and that’s where it will stay… under wraps.” Story killed, end of issue. Until next time.