Saving All My Fug For You

Today is Whitney's 41st birthday. And she doesn't look a day over 46. Really:

In the song whose title I bastardized in this posting, there's a line that goes, "I've got to get ready just a few minutes more." Whitney should have heeded her own advice. She also should have sent Bobby Brown over to beat the crap out of her hairdresser for giving her that choppy nightmare that looks like she got it from a bad wig shop, or from a Flowbie. It's skirting Femullet Territory, which is the Vatican City to Fugville's Rome. The visor does nothing to enhance the shape of her 'do; the whole thing has unpleasant shades of Sideshow Bob. It's like something is erupting up there. Perhaps it's a visual metaphor for Bobby's temper.

And... is she pregnant? I can't find confirmation of that by Googling, but I hope she isn't. For one thing, her husband is [allegedly] a completely fucking insane nutjob who is as wack as the crack she doesn't smoke because it's too cheap. For another, Whitney got so skinny it got scary, so I like to think that even though her pudge looks eerily like Occupied Womb, it's really the product of spending less money on blow and more on T-bone steaks.

P.S. Although other photos confirm that Bobby Brown did not spend any of his prison time getting buff, the hulk in the blue shirt is NOT the self-proclaimed Greatest Entertainer On The Planet.

au