It's bedtime somewhere.

Okay, so I am watching the last glow of this Friday the 13th and bringing to an end our celebration of the first sunny day in recent memory. Yes. We did have margaritas on the deck this evening and pretended that it was spring . . . in a hoodie.

The drinks not only got us through the 13th and this intemperature, but also past the word that Charlie Effin Sheen is about to replaced by Ashton Kutcher. Is that his name? Is there a bigger pantload? Is he a national treasure along the lines of Gary Coleman and Patrick Swayze? Isn't he Demi Moore's son? Wuzzat you say? He's her husband? Well, then, we know who wears the jockstrap in THAT so-called fambly. (Sorry. Too much tequila . . . or not enough.)

As big a horse's ass as Charlie Sheen might be, do you really expect that this will be a revitalized 2.5 Men with Ashton Effin Kutcher?

I still recall when Demmy (not D'MEE) Moore and Bruce Willis had their condo at the Yachtsman in Hyannisport. Ah, yessssss, those were THE days. She was still the nobody that she is (which make Kutcher less than zero) and Bruno was riding high with Moonlighting.

But here I am talking about a funny show that's probably going to be devalued down to "One Point Two-five Men and Ashton Kutcher."