I have a Charlie Sheen poast for you guys. At one point (no, Jackie, I won't say when, you absolute dolt of a wannabe INVETHTIGATOR) my girlfriend and I delivered newspapers in Malibu in the middle of the night. For anyone who doesn't live in a modern society, paperboys on bikes are a thing of the past in California. You do it from a car now. (After a while I got good at throwing them out the passenger window, out the driver's window, and using my left hand to throw them over the roof of the car (to the right), etc.)
This one address had you drop the paper at a gate at the top of a long, uphill driveway. My GF was delivering that night and after she dropped the paper off she stalled the car (a Miata, and, no, Jackie, there's no trace of the car on her social media, stupid) and had so much trouble backing down the driveway that she kept stalling it until the battery couldn't start the car. This was like at 4 AM.
She pushed the intercom button at the pillar thing by the gate, and a guy answered and said he'd be right down.
Gate opens, Mercedes drives down from the house, and it's Charlie Sheen. He couldn't find his car's jumper cables (if it had any), but since I'm a genius I had stuck an extra long set of cables in the trunk of her car, so Charlie jump started the Miata and didn't mix the cables up, thank God, and was nice and seemed normal except for the fact that he was wide awake at 4 AM.
The takeaway here is not that Charlie was nice, or a tweeker. It's that my then-girlfriend was ugly. He didn't try to fuck her, didn't invite her up to the house, didn't ask for her number, nothing.
