Where do we find heroes? On the football field and basketball courts. In comic books and movies. And on television. Now the cathode ray tube delivers once again: Charlie Sheen. At last the working men and women of our country have someone they can hold up as a standard for their future endeavors. You say your boss is treating you poorly? Hop on your yacht and head down to Barbados to watch "Jaws." When the man comes knocking on your door, you don't have to be home, and if you are, you should be so far in the bag that you need emergency hospitalization to bring yourself back.
And who needs doctors, anyway? If you have some sort of "illness," as those uptight pinheads like to call it, heal yourself in the most time-honored "rock star from Mars" tradition. Mind over matter, even if that mind is riddled by years of drug use and living in an over-protected and privileged universe of Hollywoodland. Then ask for a raise. Charlie figures all of this duress, which is in no way his fault or responsibility, is worth about another one million dollars a year. I am sure that there are teachers and firefighters waking up on the floor of Wisconsin's capitol who are ready to take their fight west. Forget about our collective bargaining agreements, let's go camp out in the front office Columbia Broadcasting System until Charlie gets his three million dollars a year.
For the rest of us, why not get on board with this new breed? "What's not to love?" asks the enlightened one. "Especially when you see how I party. It was epic. The run I was on made Sinatra, Flynn, Jagger, Richards just look like droopy-eyed armless children." And Belushi. And Joplin. And Cobain. And all those other rock stars from Mars. Godspeed, Mister Sheen.