Christian Bale Reacts to the Charlie Sheen Situation

"You think you're a fucking badass, Charlie? You're a small-screen trained monkey whose audience is far from discerning. They're gonna replace you with John Stamos, for Pete's sake. I'm Batman, Patrick Bateman, John Rolfe, John Connor, and a boxer from Boston.

"I grew up in Wales and even though you're nine years older than me I was chewing kids' ears off in the park for no reason at all ever since you were in short pants. I beat-up every single person I see, just so they know not to fuck with me. Your Dad is Martin Sheen and mine was a pilot (who later married Gloria Steinem). My Mom was a circus performer. I had to be exponentially more crazy than you could ever imagine in order to escape my humble beginnings and beat you out for all the good roles and all the good girls (the kind you don't have to pay for).

"I think we all know it's been a long time since Platoon + Men at Work, but still you were the highest-paid actor in television history until the other day and I guess that is a commendable accomplishment for somebody in your field. It takes dedication to put up with the grueling schedule of a television show. I know I would never want to do it, that's for sure. I prefer to do my work in intense chunks, in exotic locations, and then take several months off to drink vintage wine and fornicate with native women on a white-sand beach somewhere warm while the footage is edited in preparation for a lavish premiere and I marinate in Cuban rum, fresh pineapple, and rare orchids.

"But I no longer need to fake my respect for your humble dedication because you were fired by your boss--an ugly guy who made even more money than you, had more than enough of your annoying bullshit, and put you in your place on the world stage.

"How does a man respond to this? There isn't one good answer, granted, but surely none of the answers are 'doing the talk show bitch circuit and proclaiming yourself a warlock who's "tired of pretending like [he's] not bitchin."'

"Boy, that must be fun. Can't wait to watch you get shot-down by Barbara Walters on The View before your on-air pedicure even begins to dry.

"Oh! You think you got a comeback for that one? You don't. You never will. You're a puff pastry at heart. You'll never have the fire your dad has and it kills you. Even with a full arsenal of Hollywood stylists at your disposal you look about as bad-ass as an Olsen twin. Proof:

"In conclusion, shut up and go to bed, Charlie Sheen. You're wearing out the world's patience. You're tired. You're broke in every manner of speaking other than financially. Make sure you get a good long sleep by finishing the entire bottle of pills and I promise everything will be better in the morning. The whole world will be a safer, happier place for everyone--especially those closest to you--and it will help set-up another Oscar win for my 'vicious,' 'lifelike' portrayal of you in the made-for-TV movie of your pitiful life."

- Christian Bale

[Disclaimer: Nothing in this post was written or spoken by Christian Bale although he may have thought it at some point and nobody can prove he didn't. -Ed.]

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What's Going on in Minsk These Days?

 (Photo courtesy Oleg Babinets)

Volume 1 of a new series concerning the various goings-on in Minsk, Belarus:

Sure we've all wanted to get lost in the new 22-story National Library built in 2006, attend a performance at the National Academic Big Opera and Ballet Theatre, explore the extensive trolleybus network, frolic in the vast primeval forest on a summer's day, and freeze our dicks/tits off in the winter while running naked in a vodka haze from discotheque to discotheque with a gang of troublesome local twentysomethings, but not all of us have the means or the stones to get to Belarus as often as we'd like.

Fortunately, Nothing Is Sacred correspondent Fabio Sandrelli generously volunteered to live in Minsk for a calendar year--on his own dime, naturally--in order to pen a weekly column that will bring the many-splendored highlights of living in Minsk to your bedroom when you need it most and where you won't be too far away from your favorite imperialist tidbits.

Please enjoy and keep reading!

-GTC

 

Fabio (right) receives his travel order from high command

11.01.2011 - OPERATION MINSK - DISPATCH 0001

Finally got my computer station set up in the houseboat. The satellite access along the Svislach River is either one of the worst I've encountered in my travels lately or I drank more vodka on the plane than I realized. Either way, I'm on the hook for at least a three-month rental of this Soviet-era icebreaker so I'll just have to make it work.

If I don't get a fire going soon I just might freeze to death tonight. As I step onto the aft deck to search for something to burn, the air hits me and appears to be on the sweeter side, while still bearing a slight trace of Mongols, Stalin, and Nazis, which are aparently a few of the more difficult scents to remove.

From what little I have seen of it so far (lunch outside the train station and a long cab ride to the boat yard), the city seems very proud of itself, of having risen where once there was nothing, of rebuilding time and time again after being ravaged by war.

Stout buildings of stone with labor-intensive architectural ornaments; grand boulevards crowded with automobiles and trams; monolithic museums, churches, and universities; smoke and noise, fur hats, hardy folk that don't talk too much and wear a lot of brown...I definitely need to improve my conversational Russian if I plan to enjoy myself here.

Anyway, nothing much seems to happening here for the time-being...wait--

I just translated the front page of a foreign newspaper in my head and it seems the government of "Europe's Last Dictator," Belarusian President Aleksandr Lukashenko, is threatening to assume legal guardianship of a three-year-old child of one of the leading opposition candidates for President. Lukashenko had the child's father and mother (a journalist) arrested during a raid in which government agents threw 7 of 9 opposition candidates in prison on trumped-up charges relating to a police riot against peaceful protesters and it appears he would like to ensure the child does a good long stretch in a state orphanage so that his parents get the message.

Happy International Ladyboy Day!

Ladyboys on parade in a village outside Dayton, Ohio 

BANGKOK, Thailand (Nothing is Sacred) - As the hard-working citizens of the Thai capitol prepare to bedazzle the salivating world media with the ornate costumes, navel jewelry, porcelain skin, and narrow hips that have skyrocketed ladyboys to the heights of fame, it is important to take a step back and remember why it is that people the world over have the day off work/school today.

No, it is not so that you have an opportunity to cloak yourself in ostrich feathers and alternate bong rips with keg stands in the kitchen at your grandparents' legendary annual celebration before safely acting on your latent bicuriosity with an intriguing stranger without fear of reprisal.

Candlelight vigil in support of ladyboys in Africa Unity Square, Harare, Zimbabwe

Rather, International Ladyboy Day seeks to remind the world of the countless atrocities committed by generations of haters against the peaceful ladyboy community. We live in an age where ladyboys can roam the streets without fear of hostility, with the assurance of earning a living wage for their efforts, with their heads held high and the world at their feet, and so we forget the world was not always so hospitable for their kind.

It wasn't long ago that being a ladyboy prohibited somebody from running for office or becoming a movie star, a captain of industry, professional athlete, etc. Discrimination was rampant, random acts of violence were common, wages were shockingly low, disease spread like wildfire...the ladyboy camp was running scared, rarely coming out of hiding, fearful for the future, dwindling in number, pretending to be something they were not.

Old Man Gunderson's barn in Wyoming, USA, was home to countless Ladyboys over the years, for a night or two. Funds are currently being raised for its preservation.

The now-famous Ladyboy Railroad that provided so many persecuted ladyboys passage to friendlier confines in Bangkok over the years--thanks to the selfless efforts of rural homesteaders and urban liberals the world over--was a key component in allowing the previously vulnerable ladyboys to assemble en-masse, lick their wounds, perfect complicated new sexual techniques, and come back stronger than ever, more numerous than ever, and more relatable than ever.

As a result of a pitch-perfect public relations campaign, an increasing supply of satisfied customers, and a general loosening of morals among younger generations and closeted politicians, ladyboy tolerance spread across the globe slowly but surely. However, while ladyboys are indeed everywhere these days, Bangkok will always be the spiritual home of their movement.

The Starbucks on Khaosan Road always has the most fabulous queue in Bangkok

Will the Ladyboy Parade in your small Norwegian mining town be as grand as that of Bangkok? Doubtful, but it is equally as important and I have no doubt the hors d'oeuvres will be fantastic, so get out there and have some fun, people of Earth!

Time to indulge in a few dozen buttery nipples and gather vital material required for me to report back tomorrow afternoon, as the world sobers up on its convenient 'sick day.'

Au revoir for now, mes amours,
GTC

Goodtime Charlie is the foremost expert on ladyboys and the author of several books on the subject, most recently, "Ladyboys in Love: A Thrilling Journey to the Frontier of Love," a New York Times Notable Book for 2010.

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Shrimp Rules

Overheard in my brain earlier tonight:


"That was too gross. I've finally chosen my side of the fence--I think it should be illegal to fry shrimp."

"What? Why?" She says ignorantly, while wearing an unfortunate sweater and smelling badly.

"Because it tastes like high-calorie, deep-fried, buttered bread crumbs and when I order shrimp, I want to taste fresh, delicious shrimp, not something worse than frozen fish sticks. And no tax-paying (throw the rest in the fire and dance around it while drinking Cuban rum and failing to convince the last two local Homecoming Queens to check out the upholstery in the backseat of my fully-restored-by-somebody-I-hired GTO) citizen should be allowed the option of eating that shit."

"Kiss me, Roderick..."

Especially fond of the parenthetical segment of my last ejaculation, she melted into my arms like I Can't Believe It's Not Butter on a delightfully pockmarked ear of Indian corn roasting over the space heater in your low-rent-but-tastefully-decorated-if-never-even-dusted-and-kinda-grimy-Flatbush-third-floor-walk-up-Nevada-whorehouse of an apartment. It was totally radical.

Meanwhile, I stared--unblinking--into the clogged pores on the nose of a termite on the left posterior heel of her soft-coated schnitzel hound, who was sitting just across the room, in the darkened doorway to my sanctuary, and my eyes grew more dangerous with each passing breath.

Anything was possible.

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