Twenty-four episodes a year, bitches. That's $48 million large for Charlie. Half for the tax man, flip two bills to take care of his family, and there's still room for Charlie to blow $450,000 a week. If I had $450,000 a week in spending money (instead of $450,000 a year as it is now), you're damn skippy they would find me face down in a pile of coke with a strap-on dildo lodged in my rectum, while the porn whores scrambled to tweet photographs of their lady parts.

Even checking into the Presidential Suite at some swank hotel, getting a briefcase of cocaine delivered, renting two or three whores for $20-30,000 a weekend, and tossing the odd Bentley at the occasional whore whose bunghole gripped my cock particularly well, it would be extremely difficult to blow through $450,000 a week even with Charlie Sheen's lifestyle. (Especially if he's frugally buying his furniture where Panzer shops for lingonberry pie.)

Friday night was an epic lost-time blackout bender, and it seems from the cold light of Sunday-morning quarterbacking that I blew through $4500. That's 1% of the total available, but I am 99-44/100% positive that my weiner remained thoroughly flaccid throughout. I think I need to take a break.