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March 31, 2006

Natasha Richardfug

All it took for me to like Natasha Richardson was The Parent Trap. I even forgave her for Maid In Manhattan because she was so likable in The Parent Trap, and that's really saying something, as I have been unable to extend a similar olive branch to any of the following participants in that cinematic bloodbath: Stanley Tucci, Chris Eigemann, Bob Hoskins, Amy Sedaris (well, okay, maybe I forgave Amy Sedaris, but it's partly on credit), Jennifer Lopez (who was already in my bad books, due in no small part to The Wedding Planner), and especially -- especially -- Ralph Fiennes.

The aforementioned paragraph really speaks to the power of Romancing The Quaid, which she did with considerable charm. However, I'm vexed by Natasha's choice of dress here.

Whither your waist, Natasha? That gown gives you the shape of an ethereal oak tree. And you are way hotter than that.

Posted by Heather at 05:00 PM | Permalink

Fug By Nicky Hilton

Nicky tried to put on a happy face, but all she could think was, "I look like Little Orphan Annie with a water-retention problem in this thing. That is the LAST time I let Paris approve my wardrobe without giving her a breathalyzer first."

Fortunately for her, some people may have been too busy gawking at how ugly feet look when squished into clear plastic shoes to really care much about her clothes.

Posted by Heather at 02:52 PM in Paris & Nicky Hilton | Permalink

Coyote Fugly (That One Just Wrote Itself)

Welcome to your Friday Scrolldown, courtesy of Piper Perabo, who is apparently still getting invited to things:

Other than the fact that she looks like she's about to vomit all over the red carpet -- like, if you feel that bad, stay home and keep your germies to yourself -- the top two thirds? Chic, chic, chic. Great dress, great bag.  But the leggings? ARE WHITE PATTERNED LEGGINGS. Just when I thought leggings could not get worse.  What's next? Are we all going to have to start wearing stirrup pants? And then stirrup pants with the stirrup purposefully un-stirrupped? And then unstirrupped stirrup pants with little bows attached to the stirrup, as practiced by Amy White, the most popular girl in my 5th grade class? Because I didn't do that when I was ten and I am not doing it now.

Posted by Jessica at 11:31 AM | Permalink

March 30, 2006

Fugney and Lacey

It would appear that the late, great Carrie Donovan...

... has ensured that she still walks the Earth in the form of our beloved Christine Cagney, Sharon Gless:

It's almost eerie. If you look deep enough into Gless's eyes you can actually hear the whispers of, "Old Navy cargo pants! So chic!"

Posted by Heather at 01:09 PM | Permalink

So NoFuglious

Here's the thing: I've heard Tori Spelling's new show is actually pretty good. And if you think I'm above watching something that features Tori Spelling as herself, including mean jokes about Candy Spelling and her gift-wrapping room, and cracks about 90210, you don't know me very well. Not only will I TiVo So NoTorious, I may break out the last of my U4ia -- although we all know that will tragically lead to my car getting vandalized and my girlfriend burning down my parade float, leaving me 327 messages on my parents' answering machine, and finally giving me what is implied to be a poisoned chocolate cake.  But Tori, Tori, Tori:

Are those new boobs? Or are you pregnant, as we've heard more than once in the last few months? Because they look bigger, for sure, and the Infamous Donna Martin Chest Cavern of Doom seems to be folding in on itself, like a silicone worm hole. And if you are knocked up, does that explain why you seem to be wearing the rumpled sad-sash brocade uniform of a fourth-tier Vegas cocktail waitress? I sort of think it does not. And finally, does the fact that you're posing with occasionally drag-tastic actor Willam (best known to me as Nip/Tuck's sassy, mildly murderous transvestite Cherry Peck) and his kind of totally brilliant Donna Martin Graduates shirt and Salute to Tori Spelling Wig mean you have a fully functioning sense of humor? And if you do, do you find the fact that your fiance went out and got your entire upper body tattooed on his arm as hilariously misguided as we do? And if you agree with that, does that mean that I have to finally break down and like you for being a good sport, and then ultimately actually admit in public that, fine, I'm secretly rooting for anyone who was on 90210 to be happy, or at least delightfully cheesy and newsworthy, and, FINE, I guess that includes Tori Spelling, instead of keeping that my deep, dark, SoapNet-watching secret?

Because I don't know if I'm ready to do that yet.

Posted by Jessica at 12:00 PM | Permalink

March 29, 2006

Well Played: Kelly Osbourne

Well, who woulda thunk it? Kelly Osbourne's cleaned herself up real nice:

Her make-up looks fantastic: natural, young, fresh, easy, breezy, beautiful, etc, etc. Her hair, at last, apears to actually sprout from her scalp, rather than being something that lives on a styrofoam head on the top of her dresser. And the coat! The coat fits her, it's flattering, it's chic, it's classic.  I would stab my grandmother in the face for that coat. Okay, maybe not my own grandmother. But I would probably stab yours. It's adorable. And so is she. For now.  Well played, young Osbourne. Well played indeed.

Posted by Jessica at 10:58 AM in Well Played | Permalink

LaFugta Jackson

I suppose if you have nipped and tucked your way into an expression of permanent surprise, it makes sense to tailor your wardrobe around that sentiment:

This way, instead of blaming it on bad taste, LaToya Jackson can simply say, "Well, I was just so startled by the fact that my jacket shrank and then the ferret clipped to my belt tore a scrap out of it, all of which exposed the fact that I was forced to wear a bra top that didn't fit because it's laundry day. Still... happy face! Happy face!"

Posted by Heather at 06:19 AM | Permalink

March 28, 2006

Last Week For Shirts!

Friday is the last day to order an "I Hate What You're Wearing" t-shirt; since we are not making extras, there won't be any leftovers we can offer in a fit of benevolence, so make absolutely sure that if you want a shirt, you order it this week.

Because, come on, admit it: You hate what that person is wearing. You hate Ugg boots, you hate ponchos, you hate gaucho pants. You could hate boleros, or designer jeans.  You probably hate boho skirts. Or, in a bizarre "collapsing the wormhole" sort of way, you might even hate the "I Hate What You're Wearing" shirt somebody across the room is showcasing.

Regardless, don't miss out on your chance to passive-aggressively let your feelings be known.

Posted by Heather at 05:00 PM | Permalink

Fuggifer Aniston

Dear Jennifer Aniston:

Message received loud and clear: You're healthy, you're happy, your womb is most certainly open for business, you're knew all along that your last two films were crap, you most certainly are NOT co-dependent on Courteney Cox, you seriously had no idea Victor Kiriakis was alive all that time in New Salem and you aren't sure when he's going to get a story of his own on Days, you had no idea Joey was still even on the air, you're pretty sure the perpetually unemployed David Schwimmer is pitching a Friends spinoff sitcom entitled JuRossic Park in which his paleontologist character dabbles in science with hilarious and hungry results, and you really, really, REALLY don't want us to make you our victim.

So, fine, we won't -- well, at least not of anything except fashion.

That ruffle looks like hormone therapy gone horribly, horribly wrong.

And WEAR A COLOR, for the LOVE of GOD. This is getting thoroughly predictable and boring. The last time you were out in a dress that was anything other than black, at least as far as I can research, was October, and that dress was in the boring-beige family. Going back from there, it's all black until I hit the 2004 Emmys, when you wore the white and gold strapless number.

That is a long time without color. And you wonder why we think you're depressed all the time. EXPERIMENT, Jen. Liven things up a little. Dare to dream! Challenge yourself to step into the wild that is navy blue! Shock yourself by exploring purple! Go on walkabout in the perilous Australian Outback that is green! Don't turn your back on the world!

... No, Jen, I was serious about that last thing. Don't turn your back. Because that thing is really unflattering from that angle. Is it poorly made, or just ugly?

Kisses,

GFY

Posted by Heather at 10:38 AM | Permalink

Letter of Fug: Part Forever

Okay, hi, y'all.

So, I'm finally out and about again, all right? I got sick of moping around the house, just wiping down the kitchen counters over and over and over again. I mean, there's only so many times you can clean up after your husband before you just want to rip the hairs right out of his head and the only thing that was keeping me from snatching that filthy man bald was watching my bootleg tape of Justin's dailies from that movie he's making where he has all the tattoos and I really didn't want my mama to catch me doing that again and also the tape is wearing out, so I thought I'd take a shower finally and go out to lunch:

I don't want to brag or anything, but I cleaned up better than you thought I would, didn't I? I know I did. See, I've been doing these Windsor Pilates tapes at night when I can't sleep while I'm waiting for Kevin to come back from the 24-hour recording studio ( I don't want to talk about his CD, so don't ask, because if I tried to say anything about the CD I might start laughing and then I would never stop and then I would probably start throwing up and I hate barfing). And I got my extensions taken out because Jamie Lynn said they looked cheap and you know I never used to think she knew what she was talking about, but then she got a 97 on her driver's test and now I think she might be kinda smart. So I look decent, right?

So that's all good and stuff, but the real reason that I'm writing this Letter of Truth is because I have to say something about this crazy statue of me:

I guess it's of me having Sean Preston and it's supposed to be pro-life or something, but OH MY GOD Y'ALL I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO EMBARRASSED ABOUT ANYTHING IN MY ALL LIFE. Stop looking at it, please, y'all. Seriously, please stop looking at it. Oh my God.

Okay.

Okay, first of all -- oh my God, I'm seriously so embarrased -- first of all, I don't know what's going on with that lion's head rug thingie, because for one thing, there weren't any rugs in the room where I had the baby and for another thing, if Cedars Sinai even HAD rugs, I really don't think they would be rugs with heads because don't you think that would scare the baby?

Are you still looking at that picture of that statue? Please stop looking at it. Oh my God, I can't believe this thing even exists in America. Shouldn't it be illegal to make a statue of some lady you don't know? I feel like it should be, especially if she is ALL NAKED IN IT, oh my God. Anyway, it's also totally, like, wrong because I had a Caesarean section with Sean (and could someone please explain to me what that has to do with the salad? Because who would name a salad after an operation? It's so weird.  But everything I ask my mother she just starts laughing and then she sighs real big and lights another cigarette). So, anyway, in addition to being GROSS and like a total VIOLATION of my CIVIL RIGHTS as an AMERICAN, it's also totally inaccurate, or whatever.

AND OH MY GOD I JUST HAD A TERRIBLE THOUGHT. WHAT IF JUSTIN SAW IT? Oh. Oh. OH GOD. God, I am so embarrassed, y'all. I really want to die. I just want to die. What is WRONG with PEOPLE? Who MAKES A STATUE OF SOMEONE ELSE HAVING THEIR BABY ON A CREEPY BEARSKIN RUG? I don't care if it's just a joke. It's disgusting and I am disgusted and also totally grossed out and if you look at that picture again I am removing your name from the Britney fan club mailing list and I will NOT put it back on. EVER.  EVER!

Okay. Okay. I'm going to lunch and I'm going to try really really hard not to slap or divorce Kevin today because you're supposed to stay together for the children even though I am pretty sure that's not going to work out either and I also am just waiting for my lawyer to call me back, and when she does, I am also going to see if I can sue that person who did that sculpture for like degradation of culture, or something, but listen, I MEAN IT about taking you off the mailing list if you keep looking at that statue. I WILL find out you looked at it and I WILL take you off the list and I will NOT unban you, EVER because you are DISGUSTING.

Okay. So, bye

Britney

Posted by Jessica at 05:55 AM in Britney Spears | Permalink

 

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