28 years ago Sid Vicious ODed in a West Village Apartment.
The bass player was out on $50,000 bail on the charge of stabbing his girlfiend to death in the Chelsea Hotel. Any Sex Pistols’ fan having watched SID AND NANCY would have voted for an acquittal. “I killed her…I can’t live without her. She must have fallen on the knife.”
Only Sid never killed Nancy Spungen aka ‘nauseating Nancy’.
Love is blind. So is justice.
A party was held for his release from Rikers. He was clean of smack. Not for long. That night Sid shot up heroin. He died for several minutes before gasping back to life like a dying fish dropped into water. He went to sleep. DOA. His mother, once a registered addict, said, “He knew the smack was pure and strong and took a lot less than usual.”
Virgin boss Richard Branson said: “In retrospect he was obviously far safer in jail where the temptations that ultimately killed him were not present.”
Sex Pistols’ manager Malcolm McClaren – who was planning a comeback for the band – also blames the person who gave him the heroin at the party.
The latter is a true cunt.
Chief Coroner Michael Baden explained, when a person has an accidental heroin overdose, and then falls asleep, their heart slows with every REM phase. Forensic experts subsequently found the heroin was 80% pure, as opposed to the normal for the time 5%.
I’m living on Chinese Rocks.
See the movie THE FILTH AND THE FURY.
Sid was England.
No future.
Thai kids wear his shirt in 2008.
No future. No future. Thailand’s a kingdom too.
Sid lives on the tee-shirts of this nation’s youth.
Me, I’m into the Ramones.
Neither of punk group get any play in the go-gos.
Bald-headed beer-drinkers in Pattaya like Britney.
OPPS I DID IT AGAIN reminds them of their first broken heart in decades.
“This was our song.”
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