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August 31, 2005

9 1/2 Fugs

I present to you Mr Mickey Rourke, who is currently working a style I like to call Intoxicated Lucifier, because I'm pretty sure he'd steal your soul if he weren't so wasted. To wit:

The hair? The Van Dyke? Those glasses? That ascot? He's fully in thrall to the Dark Lord. And he'd TOTALLY take your soul in exchange for like, you know, something, if he wasn't so fully THRASHED, dude. And, yeah, he's got shit to stir and babies to eat and brimstone to boil, but that can all wait, because first he's got to paaaaaar-tay!

But watch out. Because when he rolls over and wakes up in the gutter, just before the dawn, and he has to scamper back to his lair before the harsh light of day exposes his Mark of the Beast to the trash guys, he'll probably swing by your house, ostensibly to ask if he can shower before he heads into the office because you live so much closer to his work than he does and man ALIVE did he get hammered last night, and he'd really appreciate it, you are a PEACH, just know that he is probably actually there to suck your eternal soul out through your nostrils and use it to prolong his unholy Reign of Terror here on earth. So if Mickey Rourke comes knocking at your door, gentle readers, especially if he happens to be wearing what looks like a velvet smoking jacket, take heed. Take heed, take heart, and lock your door.

Posted by Jessica at 02:20 PM | Permalink

August 30, 2005

The Fughome Companion

Look, people, Lindsay Lohan is totally into PEACE.

Peace, and also stealing the tablecloth from her local hole-in-the-wall tequila pit, cinching it, and pretending it's a dress rather than something that can be wiped clean with a damp cloth.

Posted by Jessica at 05:50 PM | Permalink

VMAs: Eva Longoria

Okay, I realize this was part of the whole "anything can happen" theme of the evening, but...

It was only seven years ago that Eva was Miss Corpus Christi. Ergo, her strutting onstage in a complex, confusing bathing suit looking every inch like a pageant princess -- not to mention the fact that she'll do anything for attention, and seriously, WHAT is going on with her hair? -- is not, in fact, terribly surprising. More shocking would have been her showing up in pants and a sweater, without makeup, while loudly declaring herself celibate. Now there's a jaw-dropper.

Posted by Heather at 03:15 PM in VMAs | Permalink

Semi-Unfugging: Fergie

Trust me, this hurts me as much as it hurts you.


[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Let's be clear: I don't like the dress -- mostly, the colors and the bodice. Oh, and the sash. Basically, the whole thing isn't really my cup of tea. She looks like a limon. Juice her and some Sprite would come out.

But... this is Fergie we're talking about here. Fergie. The Urinator. The Whizzing Bandit. The Wet Spot. The Leaky Bladder.  The Trouser Golden Shower. The Ninety Year-Old Urethra. We know this woman's history. We are lucky she didn't show up in a urine-stained pair of formal shorts with a waistline somewhere near her armpits. We are fortunate she left her knee socks and legwarmers at home. The Sweet Baby Jesus is to be exalted for the fact that she doesn't look like Pippi Longstocking on a paper route. In fact, we should consider ourselves downright blessed that she appears to have showered and styled her hair.

So in sum: Dress? No thank you. Lack of suspicious stains and the appearance of an effort having been made? We'll take it, and we'll give credit where credit is due.

I'm sure it's only a momentary lapse of all-out fug.

Posted by Heather at 10:33 AM in Fergie (the Pea, not the duchess), VMAs | Permalink

August 29, 2005

VMA Fug Carpet: Jessica Simpson

I JUST CAN'T TAKE HER ANYMORE:

I mean seriously. ENOUGH ALREADY. ENOUGH! ENOUGH! I am officially, 100 percent, totally and completely, utterly and deeply over Jessica "Is This Tuna or Chicken?" "Buffalos Don't Have Wings!" "Aw, look at my little sister, isn't she -- NO, LOOK AT ME AGAIN!" "I Slept With Johnny Knoxville OH NO I DIDN'T HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT?" "I filed for divorce. NO, I DIDN'T. Or DID I? No. I didn't." "My dad is totally normal, I SWEAR!" "Listen, my marriage is totally awesome, REALLY." "Hey, check out my boobs!" "My ass, my ass, now let's talk about my ass!" "You too can have my Daisy Dukes body...just buy my exercise DVD! And my perfume! And my body glitter! And my line of jeans! And my SOUL!" "Hey, Star Magazine just did an entire two-page article on MY ASS, complete with EXPERT OPINIONS because everyone is JUST THAT INTERESTED IN THE RELATIVE BOOTYLICIOUSNESS OR LACK THEREOF OF MY BEHIND." Simpson.

Therefore, I decline to comment on her VMAs outfit, even though I could say that she looks like the top of half of a pirate bride paired with the bottom half of, oh, I don't know, SOME IDIOT WHO JUMPED ON THE FORMAL SHORTS BANDWAGON, but I won't, because Jessica Simpson won't go away until we all start ignoring her. Therefore, as far as I am concerned, she was never at the VMAs, she has never been to the VMAs, she has never HEARD of the VMAs, she has never had a hand in either V, or M, and she certainly doesn't deserve an A.

So let's all just go about our business and pretend this never happened.

Posted by Jessica at 01:21 PM in Ashlee & Jessica Simpson, VMAs | Permalink

VMA Fug Carpet: Coco

And speaking of people who needn't have bothered with the flimsy formality of fabric... it seems the repellantly self-obsessed host Sean John P. Diddy Stay-Puft Daddy Combs wasn't the only thing at the VMAs full of hot air:


[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Somebody inflated the balloons before taking off the protective netting.

Good rule of thumb: Don't dress like you charge by the hour just because your date (Ice-T) notoriously used to be a pimp. When the entire community of legal hookers in Las Vegas probably looked at you and said, "Girl, you are cheaper than top ramen," you have erred.

But if you won't be deterred, at least make sure your nipples-the-size-of-beer-cans aren't pointing in different directions. That's unsettling -- plus, nobody wants the nickname Nips Akimbo.

Posted by Heather at 12:52 PM in VMAs | Permalink

VMA Fug Carpet: Brooke Hogan

Brooke Hogan was in the middle of the time-honored wedding shower game Dress The Bride In A Toilet Paper Gown when she realized she was running late for the VMAs!

So she threw on her hooker shoes and ran right out to the show!

Posted by Jessica at 11:35 AM in VMAs | Permalink

VMA Fug Carpet: Kirsten Dunst

Kirsten Dunst, everyone's favorite M.D. of The Sag, danced onto the red... er, black carpet... wearing a very familiar speckled, sparkling sack-wrap:

You might remember that little number from such debacles as, "Mischa Barton Embraces Leggings; Gets Swallowed By Oversized Glittering Drapery."

One thing for which I will give La Dunst credit: She looks way better in this thing than Mischa did. For one thing, it actually appears to fit her, and doesn't look like it weighs 50 pounds as it presses aggressively down on her twiggy frame. However, it's still a droopy disaster of a gown that's one part smoking jacket, two parts bathrobe, three parts Great Aunt Betina at her 88th birthday extravapalooza, and eighty parts exactly what the doctor ordered -- if indeed that doctor is the famed Dr. Sunkentits, and the treatment in question is an antidote to overly perky breasts.

Posted by Heather at 11:10 AM in Kirsten Dunst, VMAs | Permalink

VMA Fug Carpet: Paulina Rubio

Some people think sexiness is about leaving things to the imagination. Paulina Rubio, however, not only seems to disagree with this theory, but appears to believe that imagination doesn't actually exist and cannot be trusted to fill in our mental blanks:


[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

At this point, why even get dressed at all?

Perhaps I'm being unfair -- maybe the hurricane winds blew away her dress liner.

Posted by Heather at 10:51 AM in VMAs | Permalink

August 26, 2005

Fug On... Anonymity

Nothing is more mentally taxing than a celebrity who has taken great and clever pains to avoid being recognized:

I mean... Now I have no idea... Who is this? Who could it be? Gosh, I SIMPLY CAN'T IMAGINE. I'm trying to add it up... the "I'm a Roman Hooker" shoes, the dress that looks like a disco ball caught in a fishing net... it's all adding up to something... Gosh, if only we knew someone who is of the habit of showing up places both hammered and dressed in glittering rags that look tailored by an axe-murderer. And if only this crafty siren weren't wearing a baseball cap!

Just who IS this pussycat? Who on EARTH would go out looking so "tara"ble? I'll buy one piping hot slice of American pie to anyone who cracks this DEVIOUS and PERPLEXING MYSTERY. Damn you, Hat of Great Cunning, for being the perfect disguise! A pox on you and your impenetrable shadow!  Obstruction of Fugstice is a crime! One punishable by... more mockery! And poxes! I CURSE YOUR AND YOUR DEMON BRIM FOR BESTING ME.

I am just stumped. That hat was a stroke of genius. Well played, Totally Unrecognizable Mysterious Boozehound Lush. Well played indeed.

Posted by Heather at 03:03 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink

 

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