I stopped being interested in Amy Winehouse’s famous crackhead antics a long time ago, longer than her bad eyeliner, longer than her nappy hair, longer than Regis Philbin’s seemingly endless career. I find her self-destructive narco-mania, her repulsive crackne, and well-documented downward tornado to be a caustic spectacle–and just totally depressing. I still can’t figure out why nobody has dragged her into rehab or some cozy place with straitjackets, but maybe her manager just tells himself, “Well in the song she just says ‘No, no, no,’ so I suppose there really is no point,” while going to the bank to cash the last of his 10% checks.
I don’t really want to talk about her while she’s in this state. She’s a sick and crazy person, and should deal with the sickness and craziness privately.
In not-so-private matters, News of the World just leaked a video shot by her lovely husband Blake some time ago, in which she and a friend chime in on a little sing-song loaded with racial slurs:
If you can’t bear to look at her emaciated figure for so long, I’ll just grab the best frame for you:
Oh, what a treasure!
Listen, I’m the last person to waste breath or typing energy trying to hold an addict accountable for any of her litany of offenses against humankind.
But I just want Amy to leave us all–y’know, all of us Blacks, Pakis, gooks, nips–the fuck out of her sick, sad world. Maybe if she doesn’t sing about us, we’ll all just wisely stop listening to her.
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