Amy Winehouse is staring down another arrest after punching a dancer at the $1400-a-ticket End Of Summer Ball in London last week. Police fear that she may, in fact, be rabid at this point, and the only way to make it stop is to let her have it Old Yeller-style. The Sun reports

Sherene Flash, 30, said junkie Amy punched her in the eye after she asked to take the star’s picture. Amy then ran off, crying out: “Life can’t go on. I can’t do this any more.”

A pal said: “Sherene asked Amy if she could take a photo. Amy was OK at first, but when Sherene asked if a friend could get in the shot, Amy lashed out.”

A source said: “[Amy] was getting distressed. There was a lot of grabbing and flashbulbs were going off. She was startled.”

Amy is also alleged to have struck the official photographer for Thursday night’s event.

Remember those “this is your brain on drugs” commercials they used to run back in the nineties? The ones with the egg frying in the cast-iron skillet? I imagine Amy’s brain is kinda like that. Only add a couple of shots of the egg being worked over a cheese grater and pounded with a croquet mallet and fed to angry bear by a midget in top hat on a unicycle. Any questions?

Lindsay Lohan took a page from Amy Winehouse’s book and punched a photographer in the face Sunday night outside the Bowery Hotel. According to TMZ

Lilo was heading into the hotel in NYC Sunday night when she tripped over a metal barricade that had been set up. Lindsay must have thought one of the paps tripped her because she turned around and punched a photog in the nose!

She was on the phone at the time and, after the punch, told whoever she was talking to, “Oh my God, I just hit a paparazzi.” Cops were called to the scene, but no charges were made.

And that, my friends, is the only way to deftly turn an embarrassing situation into an empowering one. Punch the person closest to you in the face. Dropped your pencil? Aim for the mouth, sister! Spilled your drink on your blouse? Right hook and cross! Shit your pants? Bitch slap the guy on the stool beside you! It’s a can’t-lose. Now, if no one’s within punching range and it’s pretty obvious you tripped yourself, try an anguished “Nazi bastards!” before you sink to your knees and shake your fist at the sky. It works because nobody likes Nazis. Especially ghost Nazis that go around tripping people. They’re second only to Lindsay Lohan in most hated national polls!

Watch the video here.

Singer Lily Allen pulled an Amy Winehouse early this morning, tossing a couple of drunken punches at a fellow club-goer after an all-night drinking session in Soho. The Daily Mail says

Lily reacted after being heckled as she left Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club at 2am. With a short reach, the punch appeared to fail to connect. The singer’s friends managed to restrain Lily, persuading her to get into a car. Lily’s target appeared to laugh off the attack, looking more bemused than terrified.

I always imagined getting hit by drunken chubby girl fists would feel like being pummeled by two giant marshmallows. Two sweaty, out-of-breath marshmallows that smell like donuts and shame. Frankly, I’ve seen better right hooks crocheting a sweater. Lily Allen ain’t got nothin’ on my grandma.

Not like you haven’t seen it 4,307 times before, but a nip slip in #5:

Going for her third unprovoked assault in less than two weeks, Amy Winehouse turned on her bodyguard and whaled him right in the kisser last night. The Daily Mail says

Returning home from one of her regular Camden haunts, Amy hit her waiting bodyguard directly in the face. And by the looks of things he felt the full force of her hand, grimacing in pain as she went in for another blow.

It’s like that famous fight in ‘51 when tiny little white guy Rocky Marciano beat defending heavyweight champion and black behemoth of a man Joe Louis. Only instead of a heart of gold and a tenacity never-before-seen in the boxing ring, you’ve got unchecked paranoia and a bloodstream full of crack cocaine. The left hook is about the same, though. All she’s really missing is the giant belt.

Amy Winehouse punched another of her fans outside her flat in Camden late Saturday night, but not for touching her beehive. According to the The Sun

A source said: “Amy had her bottom pinched and blamed the fan taking her picture. She just lashed out and clumped him. He laughed it off.”

You might worry that Amy will end up withering away in some cold jail cell if she keeps assaulting her fans, what with that emaciated frame and lack of body fat to protect her vital organs. Not to worry. She seems to have a healthy pelt down below to keep her warm. With that nest of pubes, the scampering of the body lice ought to be more than enough to keep her nether regions toasty and warm. Or at least provide enough matted hair to fashion a backup beehive. Form and function, my friends!

Amy Winehouse was back in full force at Nelson Mandela’s 90th birthday concert Friday night, but her Glastonbury performance the following day didn’t go quite as swimmingly. When Amy left the stage for the pit during a rendition of “Rehab,” she somehow ended up in a fistfight with a member of the audience. There are several theories as to the impetus behind the attack, including (via The Daily Mail ):

[1.] Crowd members claimed the singer lashed out in response to a derogatory comment about her husband Blake Fielder-Civil, after she spent much of the show making slurring references to ‘my Blakey’.

[2.] Her publicist said she had reacted instinctively when someone tried to pull her trademark beehive hairdo.

[3.] Festival organiser Michael Eavis’s version of events was that the man had made a grab at Miss Winehouse’s breasts.

Or 4) Amy Winehouse is fucking insane. Ding ding ding ding! She actually started off the concert by spitting her gum into the audience, berating their manners when they booed her precious Blake, and later singing “I’m not opening for a cunt like Kanye.”* She’s like the Patches O’Houlihan of live performing. You half expect her to belt out, “Is it ‘necessary’ to punch my fans in the face? Is it necessary for me to drink my own urine? No, but I do it anyway because it’s sterile and I like the taste!” before pelting the audience with a sackful of wrenches.

*Kanye West, presumably — video after the jump.

At Mandela’s birthday:

Glastonbury:

(more…)

Amy “Receding Gums” Winehouse is facing up to six months’ jail and a $4,000 fine for allegedly assaulting two men while bar-hopping in Camden. Well, not so much hopping as “staggering” and “stumbling.” London’s The Sun says

The junkie singer, 24… headbutted a Good Samaritan who hailed her a cab outside a bar… [and] punched Moroccan musician Mustapha el Mounmi [in the face] after he refused to give way to her at the pool table. The married singer also [made out with] a mystery fella and [overturned] tables and drinks.

She was later seen smoking drugs in the street and walked into a lamppost.

She’s like some wonderful beehived amalgamation of the Tasmanian devil and Nick Nolte come to life, isn’t she? I sort of imagine her whirling and snarling and flailing everywhere she goes, leaving a trail of broken bottles and overturned tables in her wake. And then a lot of indecipherable blathering that occasionally gives way to a projectile vomit or two, like “Sod off, you bloody bug — BLAAAAARGH!” and then a lot of splattering and bystanders screaming and running for their lives.

I’ve never watched a single episode of “Desperate Housewives” in all of my 28 years, but back in college I liked to get high with my girlfriends and watch “Passions.” If you’ve never seen it, “Passions” is quite possibly the shittiest soap opera ever made in the history of soap operas. Seriously, it makes “Dos Mujeres, Un Camino” seem like “The Grapes of Wrath” or something. Anyway, DH star Jesse Metcalfe played Miguel Lopez-Fitzgerald on the soap, whose Mexican-Irish character boasted such manly traits as “impeccably groomed eyebrows” and “getting raped by a girl.” So it makes perfect sense that I’d have video footage of Jesse getting decked in the face and falling down, then waiting for the guy who punched him to leave so he could yell at him from a safe distance. It all went down outside an event at Boulevard 3 nightclub in L.A. last night. I don’t know what Jesse did to piss his attacker off, but I’m guessing the delighted clapping when the waiter set down a Fuzzy Navel in front of him and the eye-closed throat-clutching when he saw “the most scrumptious pair of Prada loafers on this darling little man muffin” couldn’t have helped his case much.

Amy Winehouse doesn’t just have a penchant for cocaine and heroin; the British songstress also has a taste for some of the finer things in life. Like fine dining, for example. The Daily Mail quotes her as saying

“I went to a restaurant recently and my friend was like, ‘Do you remember the last time we were here? The head waiter carried you but you were trying to punch and kick us’. [I know] I’m a terrible drunk… but there are [still] certain instances where I’ll… come to work and be like, ‘Listen, if you want to have a nice day, please get me some alcohol’.”

Funny, I say the same thing when I get to work. Only I say it into a mirror. The one over my bed. And then I point my fingers like a gun and give myself a little wink and grab the bottle of scotch off the floor and start typing.¹ Yep, I’d say Amy Winehouse and I have just about the coolest fucking jobs in the world. Suckas!

¹_{Maybe I put pants on; maybe I don’t. It’s a mystery!}

Amy getting gussied up for a conjugal with Blake Fielder-Civil: