You know what, call me an insensitive bastard if you will but when the news came out that Owen Wilson tried to commit suicide, I only had one thing to say: Are you frickin’ kidding me? I mean, come on, Owen. What are you sad about? Maybe it’s because your bedroom has accommodated so many hot chicks that it’s now a feature destination on travelocity? Maybe you’re sad that, at ten million dollars a movie, you can only afford wipe your ass with fifty dollar bills and not hundreds. And everybody knows they’re the softest! Come on, fess up, Owen? Did your momma not pack extra milk money in your lunch box when you were a little boy? Did you finally look in the mirror and realize that your nose looked like it had been broken more times than the American-Indian peace treaty? And now to top it off, rumors of rampant drug use have surfaced. And normally I might take that with a grain of salt but when frickin’ Courtney Love comes out and says she warned you about the drugs, you know you gotta problem. Hell, that’s like Rosie O’Donnell warning you about the dangers of the Baconator. Dude, we’re all pulling for you but you need to straighten up, quit being such a wussy and leave the drugs behind like Eddie Murphy’s baby.
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