Two and a Half Men season premiere will feature Charlie death

The lothario played by nutter Charlie Sheen - who was sacked from the show and replaced by Ashton Kutcher earlier this year after a bitter war of words with boss Chuck Lorre - will be killed off and his funeral attended by a host of former girlfriends, his brother Alan (Jon Cryer) and nephew Jake (Angus T. Jones) according to Deadline.com.

It was previously believed Charlie would leave the show by moving to Paris after creator Chuck planned to use the final scenes he shot as the bad boy - which see him and his stalker Rose leaving for the airport to catch a flight to the French capital - to explain his character's absence when the show returns.

However, after being subjected to a torrent of abuse, Chuck has now decided to remove all trace of the character from the sitcom.

Charlie has previously ranted: "Hiya Chucky Cheeseball. Where ya hiding silly clown? Behind your narcissism, your greed? Hatred of yourself or women, which personality are you hiding behind you little worm? I see you behind your plastic smile, bitchy pout and desperate need to be liked."

"Think of me often loser, think of me as you pray to the silly god of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous). Can you smell your soul, can you smell the rotting dog s**t?" 

He seems a nasty peice of work that Charlie Sheen. 
 

My wife Pru saw him in Detroit at his "My Violent Torpedo of Truth / Defeat Is Not an Option Show,". She said it was TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE. Seems the LA TIMES and everyone there agreed: 

"Charlie Sheen got a lesson in the fickleness of crowds Saturday night. While doing his best to cash in on his recent cult with the launch of his "My Violent Torpedo of Truth / Defeat Is Not an Option Show," he tried to position himself as a folk hero of freedom. Unfortunately for him the audience that turned out at the Fox Theatre in Detroit took him at his word: They felt free to boo him off the stage."

 

"Honesty is Sheen's touted value, so here goes: He didn't bring the goods, and no amount of pandering to the spectators with his you-and-me against-the-trolls malarkey could convince them otherwise. The Malibu messiah's stab at demagoguery died a quick and not entirely painless death.

He flashed video clips from the "20/20" interview. He brandished the "warlock," "tiger blood" and "duh" catch phrases his people have been slapping on merchandise. He offered an incoherent rant from a presidential-style podium. He even tried to hide behind film montages and more video. But the aging Hollywood pretty boy was not only defeated by the uncontrollable nature of theater — he was running scared.
What did anyone expect? Undoubtedly, there were a few looking forward to seeing a mental case unspool. (Before we judge our own moment too harshly, let's not forget that asylums were once tourist attractions.) My head spun around when someone cried out for Sheen to kill himself onstage. (Probably the same species of nut job that buys a ticket to "Spider-Man: Turn off the Dark" in the hope of seeing an actor break his neck.)

But most of those in attendance — largely white, slightly more male than female, the majority seemingly under 40 — fought their own incredulity: Did he actually think he could get away with serving them this cruddy potluck, even with "the Goddesses" on hand to assist him?"

 

"....................The humiliation, however, wasn't easy to watch. It's one thing to read about the missteps of the rich and famous; it's another to see a celebrity fall flat on his face in front of several thousand people. Rage, Sheen's default mode, wasn't an option. The fed-up hordes at the sold-out Fox would have trampled him. The indulgent love of his fans had transformed into deep distrust, if not disgust. The outlaw was revealed to be a spoiled brat.

The audible mockery directed at him was having an effect. Flushed with embarrassment, Sheen suggested, like a cool kid suddenly getting picked on in gym class, that it was time for a break. "You need someone else's genius for a few minutes," he said after floundering with questions from the audience. Some rapper marched out and futilely tried to shift the mood. Then a video of the new Snoop Dogg-Charlie Sheen single was shown, but by this time the head-shaking exodus was in full flow.

Still, many of us waited patiently in our seats for Sheen to return. He never did. The houselights came up. A stranger asked, "Is this really it?" Resignation was unavoidable. What had we witnessed? Sheen's psychiatric exhibitionism had morphed into something more embarrassing: a theatrical meltdown. This torpedo of truth wasn't what anyone expected."