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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Jewellery looks good against human skin doesn’t it? Unless of course, your complexion is similar to freshly opened feta cheese. With ringworm.
Yep, Pete Doherty, who has 5000 GCSEs, is a man who could make the loveliest item of jewellery look like smack-head’s tinfoil down a grid.
But that isn’t stopping the Libertines dingus from launching a luxury jewellery collection alongside former Cartier designer Hannah Martin, who you may remember as being really annoying in Neighbours some years ago. Read More >>>
Oh look! How very pissing novel. Pete Doherty is once again adorning these pages because he’s in trouble with the law over drugs charges. One day, he might actually get ’round to making a half decent record and we’ll write about that.
The chances of that, however, are slimmer than his gnarled, eroded septum.
Yes indeed, stumbling puke gland Doherty has been charged with possession of cocaine after a party at which an heiress died of a suspected drugs overdose. Read More >>>
Pete Doherty is the musician’s marmite. You will literally adore everything that comes out of his grimy mouth, or regard him as a useless tosser who contributes as much to society as London types who can’t cope with a bit of snow.
Recently, Pete Doherty has been picked as the one that girls want to smoke their first crackpipe with, whilst boys try to zone in and copy his horrible dress sense and vacant gaze. And yet others find his behaviour slightly repulsive. Amazingly we’re not alluding to another soul-destroying drug arrest here. Hold on tight ladies – there are photos of Pete Doherty with his wang out on the internet!
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The ending of Big Brother (when they actually, you know, get round to taking it off the telly and take it round the back of the Channel 4 shed to cave it’s head in with a spade) seems to have created a vacuum of crappy, ill-judged housemates designed to make the average person want to drive a sinusoidal stake through their eye.
Just the other week saw the momentous cultural juggernaut that is Jedward: Let Loose was introduced onto the nation’s screens, provoking dozens of the manufactures of basic building materials to commit suicide, just in case they provided a single brick or sliver of cement to the house that they are living in. Glassmakers, on the other hand are waiting till the end of the series before they start topping themselves, on the off chance that a pane of glass might shatter and stick in one of the twins’ eyes, or shear one of their heads off between vertebrae C3 and C4.
But that’s not all. There’s another, worse one, round the corner. It features Amy Winehouse and Pete Doherty. Ugh, we know.
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