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.

For some reason, The Libertines made it big despite sounding like every other band that was hanging around on the circuit. Perhaps excitable teenagers liked the spaced-out, brown-tooth look that Pete Doherty gave off as he constantly wandered around on a concoction of bad drugs and worse booze.

The Libertines essentially proved themselves to be a band version of Eastenders as Doherty decided to break into band mate Carl Barat’s flat to steal from him. Eventually he spent some time inside a nasty prison, which we all had a laugh over.

As we’ve said before, he’s not the sharpest spoon in the drawer.

Frankly, we have no idea what this documentary is going to be about. After all, it does seem to be the worst trailer we’ve ever seen for anything. Waste a minute of your life below as the camera continues to zoom out until the very end. Go GCSE media skills!

If anyone ever sits down to watch “There Are No Innocent Bystanders,” is it just going to be nothing but a scrap book of images featuring some muffled words by the band? Is anyone going to be able to tell what plastic cockney Pete Doherty is saying throughout?

Or will it just be one giant mockery of their career when we see how all of the members squandered away the money they received to reunite for hipster central festival, Leeds & Reading?

“There Are No Innocent Bystanders” will only be available in all bad cinemas, DVD shops and torrent sites still. Don’t bother asking us when it’s out.

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!

A close friend of Pete’s said:

“He is utterly convinced that he has seen her ghost. A lot of people will think his visions are probably drug-induced but he claims he is clean.”

Close Friend, you took the words right out of our mouths. Of course he’s hallucinating and back on the gear. Why else would he say something so outrageously idiotic?

It’s not like he’s got form in that field is i… oh.

Either way, Amy Winehouse’s ghost is giving Doherty dog’s abuse over his music, which is the just and true thing to do when faced with his spidery, syphilitic little hands scratching out some weedy, poetry 101 horsepiss on a battered acoustic guitar filled with stale semen.

Doherty has said in the past that he had written a song for Amy.

He said:

“Amy Winehouse asked me a while ago if I had written any new songs. I played her something, and when I had finished, she looked at me and said, ‘Is that it? Is that all you’ve got?’”

Brilliant. Now, can ghosts murder people? If so, Ghost Of Winehouse, you know what to do.

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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.

Prosecutors in Germany, cheered on by millions of people in possession of one functioning brain cell and a crude hearing device, are looking to press charges over the incident in Regensburg.

Of course, the singer, with a body akin to boiled mince made from diseased horses and a voice that sounds like someone tackling pre-vomit water, is already serving a six month jail sentence for cocaine possession. It goes without saying that he’ll be spending his time in the clink writing laughably bad prose in an attempt to sell it on at a later date as his ‘prison diaries’ like he’s Jeffrey Archer or something.

Doherty has admitted that he smashed in the shop’s window, but conveniently, he claims that he really can’t remember what happened next.

That’s probably because his tawdry little brain is about as much use as a cyst on your eyelid and if you load it up with cheap drugs and drink, it’s only going to leak cloudy detritus into your synapses, which explains why he is under the assumption that he’s some modern-day William Blake or something.

With any luck, Peter’s prison inmates will recognise him as being that dreadful, dreadful human who created some of the most average music in human history and see to it that he has a quick boardroom meeting with a pool ball in a sock.

Sadly, his grating, fawning fans will then turn him into some kind of martyr for idiocy and we’ll never hear the end of it.

Damn.

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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?!

Doherty has been jailed for six months after pleading guilty to cocaine possession. Accusations of having the general odour like the breath like an aged Alsatian with hellish gum-disease after licking faecal spattered batteries go unconvicted.

Of course, this all comes on the back of a bunch of other arrests, this one relating to the investigation of the death of heiress Robyn Whitehead.

Fans of the singer, who as we all know, are the most appalling humans on the planet all skinning up in their grim holes and smelling of Super Noodles, will be making comparisons to Oscar Wilde, who was also an amazingly irritating penis prone to cod-poetry.

Doherty didn’t show any emotion when the verdict was read out at Snaresbrook Crown Court. It is widely accepted that, thanks to years of drug abuse, he’s actually incapable of displaying anything at all. Rumour has it that Doherty is barely able to keep his underpants skid-free.

Judge David Radford said he had an “appalling record” of committing offences, report the Press Association.

And so, thanks to Doherty being shipped off to jail in the middle of a tour of the UK and Ireland, all gigs have been cancelled.

Apart from the one where he’s singing like a bird to the screws.

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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.

Apparently, Doherty developed his “obsession” with antiques and trinkets into a 15-piece line of rings, chains, cufflinks and pins as part of a collaboration with former Cartier designer Hannah Martin.

We eagerly await his launch of diamond encrusted crack-pipes.

The range has the toe-curling monicker of Albion Trinketry and was inspired by the musician’s…

“longing to re-introduce the days when every man had a piece of jewellery to wear with his Sunday best”

When was that then? An imagined halcyon days of people being able to afford luxurious items for the weekend? When was this? Who was this? Never mind.

The jewels will be launched within Joseph stores in London and Paris later in the month, should you be idiotic enough to want to buy them. That said, this surge in wealth that could potential come about through sales of these items could well see Doherty hitting the smack again, which gives us ammo and things to write about.

We’ve changed our minds. Go and buy this stuff please. Buy it all. ALL!

A spokesperson for the collection said:

“Hannah’s interpretation of Peter’s ideas and her bespoke approach to design has ensure a collection that is both original and timeless. Each piece has a sense of regency and history yet also modernity reflecting the past whilst also giving a nod to the future.”

“Peter and Hannah’s designs encapsulate modern luxury. Their aim during the design process was to create collectables that will last the test of time and be handed down through the generations.”

You see? You see the kind of bullshit that people write about stuff? That’s what our inbox looks like every stinkin’ morning.

We’ve had to hire a translator to wade through the endless bollocks that gets sent to us. After reading that, our translator Terry said:

“Basically, it appears they’ve made a load of boring jewellery that is probably going to be collectable because some poxy celebrity tacked his name to it so he can buy more expensive crack or whatever it is he does with his money.”

Next week: Some proper news.

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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.

Doherty had been arrested following the death of Robin Whitehead in January. You remember her? She was the ‘society girl’ from the Goldsmith family who was making a film about the NME-approved pus producer, who has consistently appeared in the press because of his penchant for snorting, smoking and shooting everything in sight.

Apart from talent.

The muttering fuckwit has been charged with one count of possession of cocaine following the inquiry into the death of Whitehead.

Two other people have been charged as well, and they’re called Peter Wolfe and Alan Wass who have been charged with possession.

If you’re one of those pathetic, hooting fans who like to turn up outside courtrooms to show your support for people you’d normally cross the street to avoid, but don’t because you like singing along to their piss-weak little ditties of sixth form poetry, then they’re due to appear at Thames Magistrates’ Court on 18th October.

Until then, it’s advised that you fill Libertines fan-forums up with endless, sentimental bullshit about how misunderstood and troubled the singer is.

Which he isn’t.

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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!

Fancy the image of a confused looking male wearing nothing but a smile and a crop of scruffy hair? Actually, we’re describing just images from the hecklerspray 2011 calendar here.

The actual naked Pete Doherty image in question almost wants us to never shower naked ever again due to the fear that our bodies will one day end up like the bloke who inked such literate smashes as Fuck Forever.

Why was Pete Doherty naked? Was he at a nudist beach? Or is he secretly one of those people who take items of clothing off for money while moronic idiots cheer and woop, in the vain hope of receiving special cuddles behind the skips? Or was he playing the gentleman’s game of snooker bollock naked? Well crazy Pete Doherty did the latter and, providing extreme commentary on the event, The Sun reports:

“The former junkie stripped off for a game of snooker at a house party.”

Don’t leave us hanging! We need to know if he won the game or lost his nerve in the final frame. Who was he playing and did the other person decide to join everyone’s favourite popstar junkie in playing with mountains of flesh on show?

Fear not, the pictures bothering the internet have been edited so your eyes don’t melt. Who’d want to see a penis that might have been injected with heroin, anyway?

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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.

News has it that Amy Winehouse has invited Pete Doherty to live in her spare room. Possibly because he’s a close personal friend, and possibly because she knows that in all likelihood he’ll be bringing several big bags of drugs with him. She probably was going to invite Paris Hilton to stay first, but was put off by the fact that she’s apparently unaware of even the existence of drugs, and it was all just a big mistake and someone probably just put the white powder into her bag while her wonky eye was looking elsewhere. Of course.

Anyway, Now magazine spins itself right round, baby, right round, like a record and tells us that:

‘Amy has offered Pete a place to stay while he’s in London,’ says an insider. ‘She thinks a lot of him and they’ve been through a lot together’

Just think of the creative collaborations that’ll come out of such a union of intellects and vision! P-Doh can finally carry on writing the sixth form doggerel he uses to bewitch the stupid and vain, and Amy can, oh, I dunno, spend some more time on scrapping with various people and pissing off the Zulus.

They could finally release a duet – something like Islands In The Stream, but with more references to getting off your face and writing bad poetry, and sung by a man who sounds like his tongue has been replaced by a slice of bread and a woman who bases her physical appearance on something from the short stories of HP Lovecraft. Islands in the piss, that’s probably a good title.

Thankfully though it’s all moot, because it’s almost definitely going to end up lying a pile of their own filth, old copies of Proctology Today and leftover meat, shuddering as the last of the donkey laxatives work their way out of their systems. And unless you’re Michael Jackson, it’s tricky to monetise that situation.

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Hey! Middle class kids who dream of puking into mop buckets in bedsits! Start tapping mummy and daddy up for their credit cards now because The Libertines are playing a warm-up show in London, so you can get up close and personal with each and every one of Pete Doherty’s weeping sores!

As well you chumps know, the travelling gaggle of nicotine stained Wotsit fingers will play at the  Reading And Leeds festivals, but they want to get a bit of practise in first at a warm-up show at London’s HMV Forum on August 25th.

Of course, they’ll pull the whole thing off like they’ve never touched a guitar before because that’s their schtick. ‘My hands are so disaffected that they can’t be bothered forming proper chords!‘

Anyway, if you want to get showered in pus from popping cysts, then you’ll need to get tickets from some ballot which will be offered to those who sign up to thelibertines.com.

Fans of 6th form poetry can register for the chance to buy up to two tickets each until 6pm on Friday 13th. You can then fill forums with articles about how Pete Doherty won a poetry competition before he had pubes and that he’s got a National Record of Achievement brimming with GCSEs.

They play the Leeds Festival on the Friday 27th and Reading Festival on Saturday 28th.

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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.

We haven’t written about Pete Doherty for a while because, really, who cares any more? He isn’t going out with Kate Moss with any more. Hearing about his tedious drug escapades stopped being interesting in about 2006. All his music sounds like the noise a confused old man would make if you pushed him into a hall of mirrors and paid an incompetent busker to chase him around. He, quite honestly, looks like he might smell of urine. So what’s the point?

Well, we’ve decided to temporarily lift our Pete Doherty embargo. But only because a number of people hurled bottles at him this weekend, and his bandmate threw a prissy little tizz about it, and that’s sort of hilarious. Metro reports:

Pete Doherty’s band Babyshambles were bottled during an appearance at T in the Park and told fans to “beat the fuck out” of each other. After being pelted by bottles, guitarist Mik Whitnall urged fans to attack the guilty parties. Frontman Doherty finished his set by chucking his microphone into the crowd.

Now, it’s important to remember that Pete Doherty doesn’t deserve treatment like this. Just because he sings like a drunk bombardier having a stroke, remember that he does have at least one GCSE, which makes him a genius or whatever. He absolutely doesn’t deserve thi… oh, wait. Yes, yes he does deserve treatment like this. Sorry, we were confusing Pete Doherty with everyone on the planet who isn’t Pete Doherty.

Still, join us next time for some similar news about an equally relevant figure. Maybe the bassist out of Swing Out Sister will accidentally drop their phone down the toilet or something. Exciting!

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Pus conveyor belt, Pete Doherty, has found the long arm of the law feeling his sweaty collar again. And you’ll never guess what it’s about.

Parking fines? Nope. Exposing his fetid, shrivelled member at a bus load of octogenarians? Nope. It’s drug related y’idiot.

The bumbling Bard of Tenner Bags was arrested last week on suspicion of supplying drugs following the death of heiress Robin Whitehead.

Four people were taken in for questioning by the police, Doherty included (who, for the sake of trying to avoid legal action, was bailed). Presumably, the poor policepeople are still scrubbing the station with disinfectant trying to get the yellowed stains up off the floor and wipe the grease from the ceiling.

As an aside, did you know that Pete Doherty leaves little moist imprints wherever he’s sat or stood like the sweat left by toast on a plate?

Anyway, let’s crack on with making light of someone dying shall we?

The body of 27-year-old Whitehead, who had been making a documentary about the Babyshambles singer, was found in a flat in east London on 24th January, report Auntie Beeb.

Unsurprisingly (for someone knocking around with the rodentile faux-et laureate, drugs paraphernalia was (ALLEGEDLY) found at the property.

Miss Whitehead had recently completed the film ‘The Road To Albion’, an invariably fawning and dull documentary about Doherty’s former band The Libertines.

Robin Whitehead – who referred to herself as Robyn – was the granddaughter of the late Teddy Goldsmith, founder of magazine The Ecologist.

At the time Doherty’s spokesman said the singer was “shocked and saddened” by her death… presumably to then pick up a guitar and write a song about it all which invariably resembled an Elvis Costello track being played backward on a portable record player with the batteries running out.

NEXT WEEK! Someone points out the perils of hanging around with a smack-head and doesn’t make the news because Miaow Miaow is more in vogue!

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Back in the middle ages when disease was rife and we had to eat rat stew for supper, ones man’s literary vision entertained everyone.

Back then Shakespeare was the most badass rock and roll writer in the UK. But have books remained the best way to capture the youth’s imagination? No, these days it’s all about expressing emotions via sound.

To sixth-formers everywhere, Shakespeare is as cool as the BNP. With the average teenager’s attention span, heartfelt poems and meaningful tales of woe need to be accompanied by music to hit home. Step in Pete Doherty. But never fear, teaching unions. His shoddy songs won’t be used in GCSE exams any time soon. After all, Pete Doherty is a naughty drug taker and the big scary judges in court have given him a good telling off. He’ll probably do a big cry now.

It seems like our modern-day poet has an addiction to getting into trouble with the police. No matter what sort of helpful advice they try to inject into him, the former Libertines and awful Babyshambles singer just seems to reject it all. First of all, it may be useful to come to the terms that you are a massive drug-taking silly billy.

If you check his track record, Pete Doherty does have a bit of a reputation of getting into trouble due to being in possession of various drugs. Perhaps someone should tell him that walking around with various amounts of cocaine and heroin won’t get you a citizen of the month award. Even if he swapped the skag for a My Little Pony, it would be a small step on the long road to recovery.

Now we assume that all of you Pete Doherty fans have just injured yourselves by dropping your textbook onto your foot. How dare we insult the greatest English poet ever? We know. He is like well good and that and makes properly good rhymes that make girls flash their tits and boys ponder their first homosexual experience, but only with him. Otherwise that would be gay. But bear with us. NME.com reports:

“Pete Doherty has been fined £750 for being found with four grams of heroin in his coat pocket while at Gloucester Crown Court on driving charges last month (December 21).”

OK, so was this probably during a routine police operation known as Follow Pete Doherty Everywhere And Arrest Him Every Time Our Stats Are Down? Amazingly not. You see, Pete Doherty had actually turned up to Gloucester Crown Court on 21 December to face charges of driving like a bellend. So how does this relate to heroin allegations? Well, here’s one simple life lesson. Don’t take hard drugs to a place where you will get into trouble for having them. NME.com reports again:

“Doherty claimed that he had not realised the heroin was in his coat pocket. The court heard that when the Babyshambles frontman had been asked to empty out his pockets by court staff on December 21 a plastic bag containing 13 individual wraps of the drug fell onto the floor.”

The work of an utter genius. Bravo Pete Doherty, bravo. And what tough sentence is going to be imposed on the singer who’ll no doubt receive sympathy hugs from malnourished girls everywhere? A £750 fine and £100 towards court costs. Scary or what?

Shall we give it four months before he returns to Gloucester for not paying the full amount? OK, maybe two at a push.

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Kate Moss is a model who has made her living by prancing up and down various catwalks in vile overpriced garments.

She’s also a world leader when it comes to helping musicians record their worst material. Pete Doherty, The Lemonheads, Primal Scream – at one point or another, they’ve all decided that what their sound really needs is a flatly disinterested Croydon mew droning out of the left speaker.

Now that Kate Moss is with another rubbish indie frontman, That Tit From The Kills, she’s inspired a whole new album of wrongness. But it’s OK – she destroyed the only known recordings! Go Kate! You earned that Jaffa cake!

After realising that heroin and cats were more important to Pete Doherty than her, Kate Moss is now shacked up with Jamie Hince from The Kills. While Jamie Hince doesn’t get arrested every ten minutes like Pete Doherty, they do have something in common. The music of Babyshambles and the music of The Kills ain’t too great.

While Doherty seems to blab on about drug-induced confrontations with Mexican dancers and telephone poles, Hince just spouts out generic indie rubbish. There doesn’t seem to be any sort of real flare or bite to him. Quite likely because he is still over the moon that he’s been able to pull a model and not a girl from Camden who’d suck him off for a packet of chips.

During her time with Pete Doherty, Kate Moss didn’t destroy any of his stuff. Well, that we know of. He was already gone mentally. But Kate has done the world a favour by destroying the only known recordings of her current squeeze’s songs! Hooray! Now we won’t have to see The Kills give shit performances to backing tracks because they can’t recruit a drummer.

Will the world be a worse place without these songs? Only if your skinny jeans have cut off the circulation to your brain and the only thing you crave is twangless indie bilge. According to reports, the couple had a bit of a tiff on a weekend break, where they most definitely planted trees and didn’t get naked or anything. Digital Spy say:

“Kate Moss hurled the musician’s manbag, which contained a laptop, Blackberry and personal diary, into the water.”

Jesus, not his manbag. How’s the poor sod going to carry his various moisturiser and other unmanly things around? His pockets? Hince seemed a bit pissed off about this and supposedly:

“Jumped into the pool to rescue his possessions because the computer contained new songs for his band The Kills.”

So, dear reader, will you be able to sleep tonight? What will you do without having some tedious indie missing in your life for another six months or so? You could always mooch down the local indie club. Or you pray that the same thing happened to everyone else. Especially Razorlight.

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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.

We think that only death could keep Pete Doherty out of prison. He clearly loves the jingle-jangle of jailhouse rock, maybe why he was charged with carrying class A drugs and driving drunk after his arrest in Switzerland three days ago. You can’t blame the guy for not having any sense, he spends most of his time listening to Joy Division in a parallel universe inspired by crack.

The Babyshambles singer was arrested in Gloucestershire last night for ‘driving erratically’ along with a 30-year-old woman, who was released without charge. He was remanded in custody and appeared before magistrates in Stroud this morning. He was scheduled to play at the Derby Rockhouse tonight, but the gig has since been cancelled.

A spokesman said:

“He’s been charged with dangerous driving, possession of Class A drugs, drink driving and driving without a valid license and insurance.”

Tempting as it is to rip into Pete, we’ll leave that to the rest of you celebrity cannibals. We’ve decided to fool you all with a rare moment of journalistic and moral integrity (here today, gone tomorrow) and briefly elevate ourselves above the other scum that share our trade.

Pete Doherty is a drug addict. He’s a laughable anti-social mess, lost to a world of hedonism, self-indulgence and chemical ecstasy, a poster-boy for humanity gone wrong.  But still, we laugh, glad that we aren’t him. Addicts can’t be people – they’re guilty sacks of walking flesh, victim to their own incurable weakness.

What’s sad is that nobody asks why. They look on at the neverending spectacle and beg for more while someone with genuine talent, vision and something to say pumps poison through their veins. We love it, we can’t get enough and soon we can’t live without it, that wonderful floating eye that allows us to pass judgement on socialites and fools. We are the addicts. Doherty may be a smackhead, but we are far, far worse, for our addiction is abuse.

Wormwood Scrubs may be the answer, at least behind those massive concrete walls no camera-wielding maniac can steal your likeness so others can frown and say we told you so.

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Hard as it may be to believe or even accept, authorities in Switzerland have confirmed that everyone’s favourite ‘death waiting to happen’, Pete Doherty, has been fined for a being a big drug-using drug user.

The troubled poet – nay, genius – was found slumped on the toilet on a British Airways flight into Geneva on Friday, possibly as a result of his ferocious intellect finally managing to overwhelm him.

Either that or he was offering handjobs for crack money and got a bit tired from all the wrist action, so decided to settle down for a little nap.

The 30-year-old was simply believed to be a bit pissed, before staff on the flight discovered a hypodermic syringe on Doherty’s person – don’t worry though, we’re reliably informed it was “wrapped in tissue” and probably thrown on top of the nearest bin in a playground.

Just to be safe, natch.

A passenger on the flight threw this nugget of pure, unadulterated knowledge the way of the London Evening Standard:

“He went to the bathroom more than halfway into the flight. He had been in there for about 25 minutes when the announcement came for the crew to prepare for landing.

“They knocked on the door but Pete didn’t come out. They eventually managed to get in 10 minutes before the plane landed.”

It’s unclear whether the passenger added “it only took me five minutes to have a wank earlier in the flight – I’m well better than that skag-faced berk”, but we like to think he did.

It’s been a while since Pete Doherty has featured on the pages of hecklerspray, which can only be a good sign for the overrated trilby-twat. While we hoped it was a sign he’d got shot of the smack (a pun!), it would appear that these particular demons haven’t left the Babyshambles bellend.

Which is a shame, as it means we’ll probably have to cover him more in the coming months and years.

Doherty was not held following the incident, with la Police cantonale de Geneve instead deciding it was fine to re-inflict the slurring moron on the general public.

This is clearly a covert act of war by the Swiss, and we at hecklerspray will not stand for such clear violations of their hometown convention.

Rolling war news will replace regular services.