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Last September, I woke up in the middle of the night, flooded, as if the giant aquarium in my bedroom, home to a family of piranhas, had broken and spilled onto my bed. However, I soon realized that I was in the middle of a wet dream.

And not with just anyone, no. I was with Martin Sheen, one of the actors who sits peacefully on the Olympus of my cinema.

He who made me shudder in Badlands, Apocalypse Now and Dead Zone. Because that's what it takes to enter my cinema pantheon, to have at least three films that are madre fucking good. And let me tell you, it's the case here.

Anyway, before I woke up, I was on a quiet beach, browning like a battered fish, and before I knew it, this guy was lying on top of me and kissing me languorously. Luckily, I had just enough time to notice and say to him: "You're Charlie Sheen's father! The rest of the dream belongs to my private life, because I also know about the senseless censorship. I also know that the next day, I rushed to my drawing board and in no time at all drew the Sheen and what this carnal relationship had inspired in me. Namely, a radiant, inhabited, penetrated and penetrating boot.

With this Sheen boot, I'm sharing with you a blow of brilliance, or simply a good blow.
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