Why do people care about The Oscars? The winners get a lousy statue that resembles a gold-plated bottle of bubble bath with a screw top head. Hollywood has run out of ideas and has realised that the game is up, badly remaking Japanese films and adapting stupid books.
But Generation Yoof won’t care about classic cinema being revisited will they? They’ve got Skins back on their worthless TVs.
And, worse still, sixth form politicians and literature geeks will all be going weak at the knees as skag wuss and all-round pus-factory Pete Doherty looks to cash in with a documentary based on run of the mill indie act, The Libertines. We expect no highs, just lows.
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Repulsive pus hammock, Pete Doherty, has stopped injecting scabs into his arms just long enough to decide that he’s being haunted by the recently deceased Amy Winehouse. No. Honestly. That’s what he’s saying.
The former Libertine and Babyshambler was, of course, friends with Winehouse when she was alive. They probably shared a needle or ten while drinking Tenants Super while passing out in front of Cash In The Attic.
Anyway, he honestly believes that the late singer is visiting his London home in spectral form. Of course, Pete being the delusional dipstick that he is, he’s run off to Paris to get away from this apparition. Surely ghosts can travel to Paris if they’re able to come from the afterlife? Either way, The Ghost Of Winehouse is doing something brilliant – SLAGGING HIS WRETCHED, DERIVATIVE MUSIC OFF!
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Syphilitic, limescale covered piss-rocker, Pete Doherty, has done us all a gigantic favour by getting in trouble which could see him getting five years in prison. Half a decade without his plodding, poetry-for-beginners, self-serving, bloated, pus-leaking indie dirge!
Just imagine!
See, this gasping berk who is the single biggest case for legalising Assisted Suicide (or ‘murder’ if you prefer) allegedly broke into a music shop during a night out, where he was invariably surrounded by sycophantic, libertine-tattooed simpletons in porkpie hats, with jaundiced skin and brown teeth, all egging him on to be the rebel that their middle class upbringing could never permit them.
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Foetid, seeping, singing pus-sac – Pete Doherty – has had his stinkin’ behind hauled into jail after being a complete waste of everybody’s time and energy. Of course, this cements his place as an artistic-martyr to the scum that follow this godforsaken warbler, all now destined to write awful poetry in their mildew riddled hovels.
That’s right folks! The Bedsore Bard has been hoiked out of civilisation toward the nearest clink where he can be beaten up for cigarettes and used as some kind of full-body masturbation tool for randy hooligans!
And all because he really likes having drugs about his person, despite the fact that the police are constantly tapping him on the shoulder for a quiet word. Will his 9 GCSE’s save him now?!
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Hey, here’s a blast from the past – remember Pete Doherty? Sure you do. Tall lad. A little bit smelly-looking.
Dressed like Shabby off Big Brother. Went out with a supermodel. Took a lot of drugs. Used to be in a mediocre band and then gave it up to join the universe’s most vastly inept band. All his fans are incredibly sensitive and a bit thick. Yeah, you remember Pete Doherty.
Anyway, Pete Doherty is back in the news after his band Babyshambles were bottled during a festival set at the weekend. It’s thought that the perpetrator was relatively easy to identify, because he was the only one in the audience. And he had earplugs in. And he thought he was watching a Babyshambles tribute act made up of three elderly transvestites and a shop-soiled sex doll. Babyshambles aren’t very good, that’s essentially our point.
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Mmmm, nothing beats the food at Wormwood Scrubs.
Comfortable living facilities, a ready supply of pharmaceuticals and a quaint, gangland atmosphere make the place first choice for musicians on the downward spiral. It’s like the priory, but better!
If you don’t mind people stealing your chocolate pudding or being gutted with a fork, it’s a fine and friendly place, like Disneyland for petty gangsters. Solitary confinement can only be a laugh when you’ve got 12 personalities, a catalogue of wussy tunes and a lot of time to kill.
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It’s great that Amy Winehouse has split up with Blake Fielder-Civil – free of her violent drug-addicted convict husband, she can finally move on.
Specifically Amy Winehouse can move onto Pete Doherty – who’s a little bit violent, recovering from drug addiction and an ex-convict. Her parents must be so thrilled.
But don’t worry about a sexual union between Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty, even though any offspring they’d have would probably look quite a lot like the mangled insect/Labrador thing from The Fly 2. Instead, Pete Doherty has expressed his desire to release a duet with Amy Winehouse. Which is worse, obviously, because at least they could lock their deformed babies in an attic or something.
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We’ll say this about Amy Winehouse – sure, she might look as if she’s woefully incapacitated by heavy drug use, but she sure can put it around.
After reports emerged that she’s been cheating on incarcerated husband Blake Fielder-Civil with a dull-looking boy and a lank-haired photographer, now it’s claimed that Amy Winehouse has also been secretly sleeping with one of Babyshambles as well.
Don’t worry, though – the good news is that Amy’s new lover isn’t Pete Doherty, sparing us all a mental image so profoundly upsetting that it’d put us off all human contact ever again. But the bad news is that it’s Mik Whitnall, the member of Babyshambles who most closely resembles Bez’s grandfather after three straight months of 24-style interro-torture.
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