Pete “Dreamboat” Doherty opened up to NME (Side note: You’re not alone if the words “Pete Doherty” and “opened up” in the same sentence makes your brain burp up the image of Goatse.) about how all he could do was shit, cry, yodel, shit and shit after his best friend and partner in fuckery Amy Winehouse died. Shit got so serious that Dreamy was close to needing a scuba kit to breathe under the rising scat stew that almost drowned him. Dreamy said:
“When Amy died I was sat in a matchbox room in Camden Town, not able to leave, basically wallowing in my own filth. Literally knee-deep in shit. Literally not able to move. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t see anyone, I couldn’t pick up the guitar and when I did pick up the guitar it was woeful ballads about how Amy wouldn’t be coming round tonight. It wasn’t a very inspiring time.”
On a positive note, at least he got a bath, even if it was a scat bath. I swear, I need to scrub my brain with a Baby Wipe after that visual and I’m surprised this is the first time I’ve had that visual since rolling around on a bed of caca seems like a regular day for Dreamy.
And yes, after all that, I still would, but sucking on his knee caps is out of the question!