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.

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.

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.

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!"

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.

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.

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!"

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.

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

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

Fugfugly Fugfugt

About twelve times a week I announce to myself that I am declaring a moratorium on Kimberley Stewart posts. "She's NOT a celebrity, and she certainly doesn't need any more attention!" I say self-righteously.

Then she shows up somewhere wearing motherf'ing fingerless leather gloves. How am I supposed to resist that?

Bobby Fugly: Fugtergeist

Uh-oh, it's baaa-aack...

This is the incarnation of Bobby Trendy that makes the entire wormhole collapse in on itself, because I think this is actually Bobby Trendy dressed up as Bai Ling dressing up as Bobby Trendy.

Fug Taylor

People often ask whether we discuss a fug before one of us posts it. Usually, the answer is no.

Usually.

HEATHER: Is it wrong to fug Rip Taylor?

JESSICA: I don't think so. He's still in his right mind, isn't he?

HEATHER: ... OR IS HE? ... But seriously, with Rip Taylor, can you ever tell?

JESSICA: He is one of those actors I always think is dead.

HEATHER: Like Gene Wilder.

JESSICA: And then I realize I was thinking of someone else.

HEATHER: Well, you will be pleasantly surprised today to see that he is alive and well and looking rather saucily like he is Rip Simmons, illegitimate brother of Richard, who was exiled from the family when it was revealed his goal in life is to make people fatter.

JESSICA: I think I'm thinking of Rip TORN. ... Who is ALSO not dead.

HEATHER: You have it in for the Rips. Are there any famous dead Rips?

JESSICA: Hmm...

HEATHER: I believe Mr. Van Winkle is no longer with us.

JESSICA: And NOW I'm thinking of Red Buttons... who is ALSO not dead.

HEATHER: Are you sure? Red Buttons sounds dead to me.

JESSICA: Not according to IMDb. Ah, but Redd FOXX is dead.

HEATHER: Bingo! Six Degrees of Dead Celebrities has been brought to you by IMDb, Instant Messenger, and Diet Coke.

The Boss's Fug

Sometimes I look at Tara Reid and just wonder what happened in her childhood that made her think this whole plastic surgery thing was a good idea.

Those are not good implants. They kind of look like she's got two half-grapefruits shoved in there. And when your implants look like that, it's probably best to steer clear of any ensemble that resembles an embellished Warner Cross Your Heart bra, supported solely by weensy teensy straps, because it tends to scare the children. What if those things get loose? IT'S HAPPENED BEFORE.

Actually, I'm sure it's unfair to blame Miss Reid's unfortunate downward spiral of poorly done plastic surgery on her parents. I'm sure they're lovely. Let's just blame Carson Daly instead.

If Fug Is A DJ

Oh, Pink. I hate it when we fight.

This shirt is not you. This shirt is Britney Spears lashing out at the press. This shirt is Lindsay Lohan hanging out with her regular friends, just trying to make sure everyone knows she is edgy and baaaaaaaad and anti-The Man even though sometimes, if the club is dark enough and the guy has been in enough action movies, she will consider secretly pleasuring The Man and pretending not to notice that he is texting his friends about it while it happens. This shirt is Avril Lavigne back when she wore ties and wrinkled her brow a lot and thought that a permanent scowl meant she was Alternative. This shirt is definitely Jessica Simpson on the way to another outing with her hairdresser, miffed that he is pretty much her only friend in the world and thinking erroneously that she is being clever in allowing the occasional dark moment to penetrate publicly her perky facade. In short, the shirt is Stupid Rebellion.

You married a Motocross boy. You have a funky aloof-bisexual vibe. You were the welcome balance between frightening Lil' Kim and vampy Christina Aguilera in that "Lady Marmelade" video a while ago, and outdid both of them. And you have a really scary pelvis. You have a fairly legitimate claim to badassery, basically, which makes the overtness of the sweatshirt rather sad.

I think I actually miss the split-pea-soup poncho. Good lord, Pink, look what you've done to me.

PS: I do, however, sort of love that your hair matches Gwen Stefani's wedding dress.

Basic Fugstinct II

"...AND THEN I SHALL BE CROWNED QUEEN OF THE DAMNED!"

Diana Fug

It felt good at the time, but in retrospect, Diana Ross will regret screaming at her seamstress, "You're out of tulle? How are you OUT of TULLE? A woman can't come floating across dry ice without tulle! People don't pay to see Diana Ross rise up from the mist like a divine eggplant of destiny in some dull, bullshit satin thing! They want to see her looking like a mountain of royal glory dipped in raspberry dream spice! And as Lionel Richie always told me, THERE IS NO RASPBERRY DREAM SPICE WITHOUT TULLE. So I don't care if you have to sew some ratty-ass tutus onto a bedskirt. I don't care if you have to skin Bobby Trendy to do it. MAKE IT HAPPEN."

In Cold Fug

Every girl has one of those days. You know what I'm talking about -- you wake up, you feel a little bloated, and suddenly, you've gone all the way down that uncontrollable slippery slope and landed right in the middle of an insatiable urge to reimagine Truman Capote as some sort of California vegan Hell's Angel.

And so, just know that the next time you end up in that dark place, Pink understands how you feel.

Live Through Fug

A VOICEMAIL FROM COURTNEY LOVE:

Theriously, what you looking at? There'th nothing new or different about my lipth.  They've alwayth looked like thith. No, really. It'th not collagen! I would never do that to mythelf! Franith Bean lookth up to me. I am a rethponthible mother -- WHO ITH NOT ON DRUGTH -- and I have done NOTHING to mythelf that could ever be conthtrued as plathtic thurgery!

Thank you for your kind attention to thith matter.

By the way, how do you like my kicky little necktie? Ithn't it totally Dreth for Thucceth as reinterpreted for the new millenium? No, Dreth for Thucceth. DRETH FOR THUCCETH! Thop acting like you don't underthand me! I THREAR I WILL THROW THITH MICROPHONE THAND AT YOUR HEAD!

Fug Bryant

They told Joy Bryant that this was an audition for the video tribute Olivia Newton John: Still Physical.

They lied. 

Fugbs

I like Judy Reyes on Scrubs. Some of that is because everything Donald Faison touches is gold, and he touches her a lot on that show, but she's great in her part and I feel like that would be a really fun set to go to work on each day. Especially after I found out that the crotchety old doctor once played a priest on 90210 -- he baptised Steve Sanders' baby -- and so I would of course get into long and important conversations with him about whether Jennie Garth had any subtle work done on her face in those late seasons. [SOMETHING looks different. It's the nose, I think, but it's not so different that I can definitively tell.]

Anyway. Judy Reyes. Like her. But given the choice between her costume scrubs and this, I'd choose the former:

It's very ... I feel like this outfit was made by someone who was pitching a Jennifer Lopez movie about a woman who works as a mechanic while she's studying to be a pilot, and late at night at the auto shop she fantasizes about being a stylish and adored air hero, twirling around in her cape and boots and jumpsuit while singing a song about flying the friendly skies (which she's always wanted to do ever since her mother, also a flight student, was tragically killed during her night job as an air traffic controller when she paused to scratch her nose with the orange stick and a pilot interpreted this wrongly and ran her over). Of course, a fiendishly hot client catches her little musical-fashion act -- Leafquin Phoenix, maybe, whose manager will have decided he needs to do some lighter work for fear of crushing himself to death under the weight of his own method brooding -- and is captivated by her fashionable grease-monkey moxie. But tragically, her flight school money runs out, so one night, on a dream date at the Go-Kart track, Leafquin gingerly suggests that J.Lo put on a fashion show at the air strip to raise money for her tuition. And she does, with her jumpsuit-chic flight suits and mechanic's rags -- made by Kara Saun from Project Runway season 1, of course -- and Leafquin sweeps her into his arms and then we cut to three years in the future when J.Lo is flying really large planes and all her crew are wearing formal shorts with boots and ponchos.

Except, of course, J.Lo backs out of Flight of Fancy because her husband has decided it's not important enough, and Leafquin quits the film because he had fallen hopelessly in love with her while imagining their scenes together and needs to go work on something more sinister to exorcise the demon, and the project eventually becomes an ABC Family Channel movie starring Judy Reyes and one of the Stults brothers from 7th Heaven.

That is this outfit.

Natasha Bedingfug

Behold, as Amanda Bynes tries to think of a polite response to Natasha Bedingfield's question, "what do you  think of my cropped demin vest?":

This picture falls into one of my favorite catagories of Celebrity Photographs: the Good Cop/Bad Cop, wherein one of the celebrities (Bynes) looks adorable, and the other is dressed like Schneider from One Day at a Time. It just seems so awkward, and yet also hilarious.

Confidential to Amanda Bynes:  For a while, about a year ago, it looked like you were hopping on the  overnight train to Anorexiaville.  I'm so glad that crisis was averted, because: a) you're so cute and pert and seem so down to earth and charming, and yeah, so maybe I watched a lot of  All That when I was babysitting and therefore am inordinately fond of you and also of Kenan Thompson and apparently I have also seen Good Burger, although I don't know how that happened, but we all have secrets; b) god knows, we have enough PIN THIN WATCHES from Star Magazine right now, and I really don't have room on my plate for another girl whose arm fat I am supposed to be monitoring; c)you're on a show with Jennie Garth and everyone know Kelly Taylor doesn't need anymore drama in her life after being addicted to diet pills, having a cokehead mom, having David Silver see her naked when she got out of the shower that one time, getting date raped, almost getting raped, actually getting raped, killing her rapist, getting caught in a house fire, being stalked, being Single White Femaled and almost murdered, having to go to rehab, having amnesia, being shot, being in a cult, having a miscarriage, and living with Donna. So bless you for looking young and fresh and age appropriate. And for staying away from cropped denim vests. I mean, really. 

Random Fug

If you're going with an aggressively striped-and-ruffled motif like this one, go all the way: install a pulley system, so that the hemline can be hiked up or lowered down a la the window dressing it resembles. Otherwise, why bother?

Fuggie Marsh

No rivalry -- sorry, Paris and Nicole/Paris and Mischa/Paris and anyone who's ever met her and isn't related to her by blood -- is as delicious to me as that of competing glamour models and former Page Three girls Jodie Marsh and Jordan.

They are insane -- both insanely surgically enhanced, both massive exhibitionists, both prone to high-profile relationships with singer and footballers. Jordan -- she of the finger cancer and the adorable baby who was born blind, which momentarily endeared her to a public previously frightened of her -- even ran for something in the 2001 General Election with the slogan "For A Bigger And Betta Future," and got 713 votes by promising, according to Wikipedia, "free breast implants, increases on nudist beaches, and a ban on parking tickets."

Jodie Marsh is not nearly as fascinating -- though she did score a 136 on a televised IQ test right before booted out of 2006's Big Brother house for being an alleged bully -- but she apparently loves catfighting with models. Again according to Wikipedia, when Jordan likened Marsh's nose to "a builder's elbow" and her breasts to "a spaniel's ears," Jodie fought back only by noting that Jordan's nose is "hooked like a witch's."

None of this has daunted either of them. Certainly Jodie has not turned self-conscious about her spaniel's ears:

The effect of the sheer shirt is somewhat negated by our little censorship stamp -- apologies to Conan O'Brien for the fact that we borrowed it from an old sketch of his (we think) -- but suffice to say her blinding high-beams were most certainly switched on. Despite being sort of horrified, I also kind of have to love a girl whose idea of dressing up is to wear pants with her tissue-thin transparent shirt. She's nighttime-soap fascinating. Wouldn't you love to cast her in some sort of Dynasty II: The Nastying?

Now, if only we could get her locked into a dramatic feud Stateside. I'm sure she'd hate Paris...

2Fug

Full disclosure: I hate Elisha Cuthbert's  character on 24 so much. She's so whiny and petulant and every time she appears on screen I am torn between wishing fervently that the mountain lion that threatened her a few years ago had succeeded in his attempt to eat her alive, and thinking that Kiefer Sutherland must indeed be the best actor of his generation to so believably loving toward her. I want to gag her with her own hair.

I also would like to know why it appears that Elisha hasn't bought any casual clothes since 2004:

I admit, I really hate those mini-sweaters. They seem designed specifically to highlight your belly. I don't know, it just seems odd to me to purchase an item that screams, "I'M GOING TO FRAME YOUR GUT!"  But even that would have gotten a pass from me had it not been paired with this Laura Ingalls Wilder by way of my Cousin Debbie's 1982 Country Kitchen Duvet Cover skirt-thing.  I feel like I should be sitting on her, eating Kraft's Handi-Snaks Cheez and Crackers and watching Scooby Doo. Which really isn't the stylistic direction you want to go with your ass. I don't care how traumatized you were by the lion.

Zooey Fugchanel and the Ubiquitous Tights

I think Zooey Deschanel is adorable. At first, I didn't quite get her -- I think that's because I'm one of the only people alive who didn't like Almost Famous, and that's the first time I ever crossed paths with her, if you will. But since then, I've become charmed by her pretty eyes and her spunk (although, you know what, by now I bet she hates hearing that she's "spunky," so sorry about that, Zooey) and by the fact that she knows how to wear eye makeup a lot better than her older sister Emily does.

But one thing I will give Emily is that she does not, as Zooey has been, wear opaque black tights with everything. Often, with the wrong thing.

This looks like it was supposed to be a semi-glam dress, the effect of which was immediately ruined by the school-uniform-quality stockings and the fact that she's standing with her hips jutted out so far as to enhance the unfortunate "bloated or pregnant?" effect its billowy shape already has.

This one is supposed to be fun and flirty. Why the wintry gams, then, Zoo? If it's that cold, just wear a coat, or a dress with sleeves that doesn't bespeak spring. Or did you forget to shave? You know, I once thought tights could conceal that, too, until I realized my leg hair went ahead and poked out through them. Man, that was a rough day.

This one is especially egregious because every girl knows that a pair of tights' opacity is strained when you pull them up over the tops of your thighs. That's just how it goes. The key is not wearing a skirt that's so short you can see the color start to stretch into oblivion. That's, like, rule No. 2 of wearing opaque tights.

The first rule, of course, being: don't wear them.

Party Fug

Well, we've all been here:

You wake up. It's already like 3pm. You had set the alarm for 10am, but then you hit the snooze button. Seventeen times.

But you have this thing to go to. A fundraiser. For AIDS. And sure, you're totally f'ing depressed and you really don't want to leave the house because, for one thing, there are all those people outside and you know they're all going to want to talk to you and shit, but you're can't ditch an AIDS fundraiser because even though you're really depressed and you just want to stare at the wall and  maybe watch a little of the Tyra Banks Show before burying your head in the pillows of the sofa and crying because you're at home watching the Tyra Banks Show, at least you don't have AIDS and you know rationally that you ought to be happy about that, so you manage to get upright and wrap yourself in a sheet you bought at a recent prison auction and go out and try to act like you don't want to die every moment of the day.

Sigh.

Fuglita

Imagine you are a young starlet, who makes a big splash at 15 in a remake of a film about -- well, ostensibily -- a sexually precocious teen grown men can not resist.  It's not even a porno! It's, like,  art!

So how does a young woman follow that up? Whose career does she decide to try to emulate as she transitions from teen actress to grown woman? Jodie Foster? Sarah Jessica Parker? Sally Field?

In the case of Dominique Swain...

...it appears that the answer is "Tara Reid."

2006 Bloggies And You: Partners In Victory

We are very, very pleased and proud to announce that, thanks to our amazingly supportive and cool readers, Go Fug Yourself stormed the South By Southwest fortress in Austin -- well, figuratively; we were actually sitting at our desks in LA screaming Courtney Peldon's name while our good friend Jason did the storming -- and came away with two Bloggie Awards: one for Best Entertainment Weblog and one for Best Writing.

We is real good with this, and think you all did good with your votes. Fine good. Because good writing is really important to ourself.

Seriously, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to vote. That's a really selfless endorsement of our superficial little universe, and we are chuffed indeed -- we always knew that being catty beer wenches at a tavern on Hell's outskirts would come in handy one day. And we couldn't be more excited about our wins if we had walked away with Best New Zealand Blog, in what would surely have been the biggest upset win in Bloggie history.

We wish we could have been there in person, but a) getting fired didn't seem like a good way to roll into mid-March, and b) we didn't have time to shop for a more tailored muumuu, nor even one that didn't have Twinkie stains on it.

Random Fug: Barbara Becker

All hail Mrs Boris Becker and her masterful...er, mastery of eye-catching headwear:

I feel like it was between this and two tennis balls on springs attached to a headband (an homage to her husband, of course), and she decided this was just a wee more formal. Frankly, I've seen more tasteful hattery on Vegas showgirls, although I guess that if we've learned anything from Joan Collins as Alexis Carrington Colby Dexter Dexter Rohan, it's that if you're going to wear a tremendously kooky hat, you might as well do it up right.  And also that if you find out that your son has been painting your son-in-law's office with poison paint to slowly drive him nuts, you should probably just keep your mouth shut.

Actually, maybe Mrs Becker should have her walls checked. Slow-working poison is a good explanation for this outfit.

Fugvid Krumh0ltz

Okay, look, I know David Krumholtz plays a wild-eyed mathematician of some kind on Numb3rs, but they're taking the "smart guys can't groom" stereotype too far:

Look at him. He looks like a s3rial kill3r. Once he figures out what time Train A and Train B will cross if Train A left at noon from 200 miles away and Train B left at 1:57 from 60 miles away, he is going to ROB the SHIT out of that m'f'ing train. And you had best not be on it, or else he'll mug you just for the sheer joy of figuring out whether or not he was right about the probability that getting whacked in the face with your handbag would break his nose, given his estimation of the contents' weight and your ability to get a good backswing.

In his madne55, mayb3 he is s33ing tripl3 and thought th3 hat said "666."

Evangeline Fuggy

It's the oldest story in the book -- I mean, really, who hasn't thrown on the closest pair of shoes with their satin bathrobe while dashing outside to grab the paper, and then gotten locked out and decided to kill time until the locksmith arrives by wandering into Grand Slam XIV: The Sci-Fi Summit?

So I totally understand poor Evangeline's plight here. She is brave. [Although perhaps the courageous smile will disappear from her face once the 50th person has asked her to autograph their copy of some crossover fanfic in which Kate meets up with Gina Torres from Firefly and ends up in a steamy tryst while Jean-Luc Picard watches from under the conference table.]

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Paulina Rubio

I was going to suggest that Paulina Rubio accidentally donned this dress backwards, but then I realized it wouldn't make a difference: it's hideous either way. It's drawstring bag/grieving clown couture with an element of "I left the iron on and it burned a hole in the garment." And... is that a luggage tag hanging around her neck? Please, somebody, pick her up and ship her back to the "If found, please return to" address.

FugFug Neuwirth

I'm not going to beat around the bush anymore with you, Ms. Neuwirth. I don't care how good your body is -- and it is good, thanks to genetics and a lifetime of dancing.

You're too old for this outfit.

Dude. I'm too old for it, and you've got twenty years on me.

PS: Is that your thong? Because...really? You're almost fifty years old, and I know this ain't your first time at the rodeo. Surely you know how to keep your undergarments, you know, under your garments.

PPS:  the ribbon around your neck makes it look like you've tied your head on and it's sort of freaking me out.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Bai Ling

Bai Ling Personality No. 8: jellyfish.

That, or she is SERIOUSLY bloated.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Paris Hilton

There are so many ways to go with this photograph of Paris Hilton.

1) Well, at least it's not the kind of cock you expect Paris to drag around with her...

2) Never before has hunting seemed so appealing. Indeed, somewhere in America, Nicole Richie is suiting up in her best bright orange and borrowing a rifle (and, most likely, hiring someone to help her lift it to shoulder-height).

3) Oh, honey, we've already seen your plumage.

4) How unfair that a peacock had to go naked so that Paris Hilton, of all people, could get dressed.

5) We would suspect this is her attempt at playing off of Jon Stewart's "Dick Cheney/Bjork and the swan dress" joke, if we thought she had any idea who Dick Cheney is. Or, indeed, who Jon Stewart is. (They're not Greek enough to make her radar.)

Regardless of which path is the one you think leads to enlightenment, one thing is certainly universally true: She looks more like an aging drag queen than ever.

Eric Fugfour

A bit of advice, Balfour: your tough expression would be much more believable if you weren't wearing a woman's coat.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Pamela Anderson

You know, with Lil' Kim behind bars and unable to fulfill her duties as our nation's captain of decorum, it's thrilling to see first runner-up Pamela Anderson stepping in so assiduously:

Lovely boob tape, dear -- must be industrial strength. But you might want to put the dogs away for a little while. Nobody likes a yappy pup who won't stop making noise and is constantly jumping up and trying to eat your pantleg.

The acting Dread Pirate Parton, who manages to rein hers in so admirably these days (two Oscar outfits, zero embarrassing decolletage), would be beyond horrified.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Haylie Duff

It's not a good sign that the first thing that popped into my head when I saw this picture -- well, after I wondered why Haylie Duff decided to go matriarch-chic here and break into Kathy Hilton's wardrobe -- was, "You know, I really do want to see Transamerica."

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Lizzie Grubman

Ugh. Icky, puckered Lizzie Grubman and her icky, puckered black trim that looks stapled onto the dress as part of some community-service "Gee, sorry I ran over you with my SUV, but I was really tired that night from all the drinking... of WATER... that I was doing" state-mandated craft project sponsored by K-Mart.

Why do people encourage her to leave the house? I can't wait until her overtanned hide turns to chapped leather in about ten years.

Independent Spirit Awards Fug Carpet: Mary-Kate Olsen

In the hustle and flow of the Oscars, we all momentarily forgot that there was another awards show this past weekend: the Independent Spirit Awards, where the nominees get to "dress down," and, as a result, often look much better than they do when they're all trussed into a formal. Not, however, in the case of our former Derelicte Princess, Mary-Kate Olsen:

The good: her shoes (I'm a sucker for red shoes. When Carson Kressley announced on Queer Eye that only whores wear red shoes, I turned it off and haven't gone back ); her skin; her hair color; her body fat percentage; the sassy interview she gave recently where she gave the impression that she wants nothing to do with the Lindsay/Paris/Kimberly Stewart social scene because she finds that all kind of tiresome, and indeed, you never see her out and about with those girls, which I have to applaud; her chunky awesome ring and the corresponding lack of other crazy piled-on accessories; her continuing relationship with Uncle Jesse.

The bad: that dress. This long, voluminous, bit-part-in-Hidden Tiger, Flying Whatever type outfit works best on tall girls, who won't be overwhelmed by all the fabric (like, Mandy Moore maybe, if she wanted to go a little goth).  And while we all know M-K loooooves to bury her light under a bushel of dollar-a-pound vintage, this is just too much on her tiny little frame -- which, thank God, doesn't look as scary little as it used to. Add to that her too-long hair, and it's all just too much. She looks like she's playing dress-up in clothes that were made for a woman a foot taller than she is.

The ugly: that New York Minute has been surprisingly absent from my late-night cable rotation lately.  And shut up: the ten minutes that M-K and A spend in the House of Bling beauty salon getting made-over -- in a kicky montage, of course -- are pure bliss.

Oscar Fugshion: Pocket Watch

I love pockets. I use mine all the time. Much as I am hooked on cute purses, sometimes it's just easier to jam some cash and an ID into your trousers and not have to worry about, say, leaving your purse in the car, or under your dinner table, or the windowsill at Union Station during a fairly high-traffic time of day. Not that any of these things has happened to me.

However, there's a reason evening gowns don't have pockets. Two reasons, actually.

1. Sandra Bullock.

2. Amy Adams

Look at them: Amy and her pretty hair, her pretty smile, and her pretty eyes, and that bizarre breastplate thing on the front of her dress; and Sandy, whose gown has that strange black-mesh stuff that looks like lining gone badly awry, but who has grown into her face with age and looks a lot better now that her tattooed biker husband is making her love herself enough to eat (take notice, starlets). In short, these women, depsite some torso-related dress-design oddities, are lovely.

And yet, they are unable to resist the temptation of the pocket, so they're standing there with their hands jammed into their skirts. It looks ridiculous. It's the sartorial equivalent of smacking one's chewing gum, which makes even the most sophisticated Wrigley addict look like a cow chewing cud. So stop cudding yourselves, ladies, and resist the allure of the headline-grabbing gown pocket that will, in the end, grab you in its awkward clutches.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Marley Shelton

Hilary Swank at the 2006 SAG Awards:

Marley Shelton at the Vanity Fair Oscar party:

Same rumpled-bedsheet idea, slightly different execution. But for a couple reasons, Hilary Swank gets away with it a bit easier.

1) Sure, it wasn't a great concept when Swank did it, but at least she did it first -- meaning she didn't have the benefit of picking up an In Touch and seeing a cautionary photo of somebody attempting to pull off this semi-tragedy. Whereas Shelton had ample chances to stumble upon this photo of Swank, which we saw about 100 times in various magazines and blogs, and think to herself, "Wow, doesn't it look like Hilary only wore that because she's been having a lot of trouble getting out of bed in the mornings, because of her depression about her broken marriage, and so wearing this dress helps her trick herself into thinking she's actually still in bed? Poor Hil. Hope she makes it through. At least she got a pedicure."

2) Bubble cleavage tends to make breasts look fake. Whereas Swank is using the ugly hoo-ha to build up her bust, giving an illusion that there's more under there, Shelton's is pushing things so far in and up that her breasts have that special spherical silicone look we've come to know and love as a sign of implants. And maybe hers are, maybe they aren't, but the point is, it doesn't matter: When something's fake, you rarely want it to look fake. Exhibit A: Hilary Duff's expensive yet rabbity veneers. Exhibit B: Reese Witherspoon's "emotional" Oscar acceptance speech.

3) Seriously, Shelton's dress went way more overboard on all the adornments. Insane. It's the California King sheet set to Swank's full/queen.

4) Swank has the benefit of not wearing a pair of shoes that, until recently, held a well-documented three-year monopoly on Kirsten Dunst's feet and could therefore be construed as so, so, so overdone by now.

5) Trim your bangs, Marley.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Aerin Lauder

Aerin Lauder, whose face is familiar to anyone with a subscription to Vogue,  is Estee Lauder's granddaughter. She's held loads of high-powered jobs at places that make many of the things that you buy at Bloomingdale's and then smear on your face in hopes of holding the wrinkles at bay.  By all accounts, she's fairly down to earth. (And "by all accounts," I mean, "by what I read in W," so take that with the proverbial grain.) At the very least, I know from seeing pictures of her in the many, many glossy magazines I subscribe to, she owns a lot of outfits.

Surely one of them would have worked better than this:

The cut of this dress reminds me of a shirt I own,  aa button-up shirt that I love, but which has an unfortunate tendency to unbutton on me whenever I, say, get out of my car or take my handbag off my shoulder. I am on constant Bra Alert in this shirt.  And as far as Bra Alert goes for Ms Lauder: RED ALERT, AERIN. RED ALERT.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Stephanie Seymour

Never one to exhibit any sense of occasion, Stephanie Seymour followed up last year's Vanity Fair party assfest with another converted piece of lingerie:

I suppose, technically, she's more covered up this year, but it's still only a dress in the loosest sense.

Where last year I felt like she thought she smelled an orgy and came running, this year I think she had choreographed a safari-themed Vegas revue in her head entitled Cheetahs, about adulterous feral, feline femmes, and showed up in costume to woo rich backers with all her "come pitch a tent in my wilderness" jokes.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Sean Young

Okay, what is going on with Sean Young?

She's too young to be dressing the way she has been lately. This is the Oscars, Sean! You're still hot! Why are you all covered up all the time? Where is the Sean Young of old, who was all audacious and sexy and crazy and fun and mildly unhinged?  How did you go from that to looking mostly Amish all the time? I ask this question seriously: do you have a rash? Because I feel like I haven't seen your arms in three years.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Jessica Alba

I don't care if it seemed in appropriate that the star of Honey got to present an Academy Award -- Jessica Alba looked freaking hot at the Oscars.

Gorgeous dress, natural landscaping up top that's not cramped and pinched, glowing skin and a pretty updo... if I looked like this in that dress, I would probably never take it off.

Which is why I'm confused that when Alba did, she went so far in the opposite direction.

I don't even know what that is. A suit? A belted dress? A trenchcoat that's hiding some kind of white cotton jersey thingamajig underneath it? All I can tell for sure is that she forgot to throw shoes into her bag that would look good with it.

She's still not fugly, per se, but that move from A to B... she went from glowing Oscar goddess to the headlining speaker at a conference for mathletes, whose rousing speech entitled, "Putting The 'Sin' in 'Sine'" led to a huge jump in Texas Instruments stock and some naughty experiments with graphing calculators.

Oscar Post-Party Fug: Naomi Watts

Is Naomi Watts really so sick of being called Kidman Lite that she's begun dressing like she got mugged by fabric store for children?

Or is she just really, really bad at dressing to deter suspicion that she's pregnant?

Oscar Fug Carpet: Fuggifer Aniston

I think that, in this moment, even Jennifer Aniston knew this was a wasted opportunity.

Yawn. A black dress and hair around her face. And a too-long necklace that's fighting with the neckline of the limp-rag-looking gown she threw on in the limo. Totally boring and uninspired and exactly the theme we've seen before. It's everyday Jen, not glammed-up Jen.

How about trying an updo, lady? I know that's a strong chin, but it's not like she's never worn her hair up before. I've seen Friends. Play. Get a little creative. Isn't she walking the same breakup line Jessica Simpson did -- becoming best friends with her hairdresser?

Incidentally, the dresses most people talk about with Jen are the red strapless sheath and the ivory-and-cold strapless empire-waisted gown, neither of which -- Aniston, pay attention -- is black. One exception, if I remember right, was a low-cut cleavage-barer, which at least flaunted her figure. This dress does none of that. And given the PR war raging between Team Aniston and Team Jolie-Pitt, the fact that a small-screen star struggling to own the big-screen was invited to present at the Oscars had to be considered a great opportunity -- and perhaps even a leg up, since Brangelina was busy gestating in Paris. But Jen played it safe, played it typical, on a night when she could've taken chances with color and style to look more glamorous than we're used to seeing her. Wasn't this all about seeing her on par with all the movie stars, not as a TV star trying to break into the In Crowd?

And, even a little, wasn't this about sticking it to Team Jolie and showing off her bod and knocking everyone dead, instead of looking bored and rolling her eyes during red-carpet interviews?

Boo.

Wouldn't You Like To Be A Fugger Too?

Now you can, with a fresh round of our "I Hate What You're Wearing" t-shirts, redesigned for 2006:

It's the satisfying way of making sure you've told everyone what you think of their shirt, or that skirt with those shoes -- and that bag! Yikes -- without actually having to tap them on the shoulder and utter the words.

Important: The shirts are on pre-order only through March. Meaning, if you try and order one in April, there won't be any. We're not making extras and we won't have any lying around. It's now or never, and you have until March 31 to decide.

But here's a little gift for all our loyal readers: If you use the offer code "fug" when you check out, you'll receive 10 percent off all other unisex, girlie, baby, and "more" Glarkware merchandise (note: this does not apply to our shirt, or things under the "TWoP" or "friends" section).

So, order today!

Or, order tomorrow, or next week, or even at the end of the month. But don't order in April, or you'll be out of luck, and this beacon of passive-aggression will pass you by.

Fug on, fuggers!

Oscar Fug Parties: Lindsay Lohan and Sharon Stone

FADE IN:

SHARON STONE: And lemme tell you ANOTHER THING, Leslie!

LINDSAY LOHAN: Lindsay.

SHARON STONE: That's what I SAID. Lemme tell you ANOTHER THING, LESLIE. What you NEED to DO is land a role where you show the world YOUR COOTER. But you show it in a REAL CLASSY WHITE OUTFIT. REAL classy. So there's like a....DISPARITY betweeen the COOTER and your OUTFIT. WHAT'S WRONG?

LINDSAY LOHAN:  You're...just saying the word "cooter" really loud.

SHARON STONE: SORRY. Okay, SO THEN you spend the next five years dressing REALLY GOOD.  Like, CLASSY and GLAMOUROUS.  People are like, "sure, we all saw her cooter, but MAN, can she WORK A TURTLENECK." HEY, is that the guy with the CHICKEN SATAY?

LINDSAY LOHAN: I...don't know. Um, it's been great talking to --

SHARON STONE: SO THEN people think you're an okay actress and BEAUTIFUL and then SCORCESE puts you in a MOVIE and you get a GOLDEN GLOBE and then YOU MARRY A GUY and take a lot of TIME OFF and then your HUSBAND gets his FOOT EATEN OFF by a DRAGON at the ZOO and then you have a BRAIN SOMETHING and then more stuff happens and THEN you realize NO ONE IS HIRING YOU ANYMORE and so THEN you decide to -- WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?

LINDSAY LOHAN: You're just...it's...um. I'm...nothing. I really should go say hello to Meryl --

SHARON STONE: FUCK MERYL STREEP I'M TELLING YOU THINGS. So THEN you decide to make a REALLY PORNY SEQUEL to the movie where you show your cooter LIKE I MEAN REALLY PORNY and THEN you show up at the OSCARS in a dress that shows your NIPPLES and HAS UGLY PURPLE APPLIQUES OF BUTTERFLIES and you do your make-up using the FREE SAMPLES AT RITE AID with your eyes CLOSED. And then --

LINDSAY LOHAN: Oh god.

SHARON STONE: THEN you do your HAIR in a WIND TUNNEL! And then everyone WONDERS what the hell happened to you. ISN'T THAT A GREAT PLAN FOR YOUR CAREER?

LINDSAY LOHAN: [polite laughter] I really need to go now. But it's been great talking to you.

SHARON STONE: I used to be YOUNG LIKE YOU. CALL ME!

Oscar Fug Parties: Sienna Miller

Okay, now she's just f'ing with us.

Last night, at the Vanity Fair party:

Okay. It's totally shapeless - and I hate what I can see of the shoe -- but she's comfortable, right? Because if there's one night when you should favor comfort over glamour in Los Angeles, it's OSCAR NIGHT, right? Right? Who's with me? Oh, wait.

The night before, at a pre-Oscar party:

Please note, this has the exact same collar as the dress she wore above, which begs the question: are these dresses detachable? Because while we've all loved a detail on an item and tried to duplicate it on other pieces, wearing something this distinctive two nights in a row, on nights when you know you're going to be photographed is just, well, bizarre. Frankly, I can't see the rest of this frock, but if it's short, there could potentially be something somewhat 60s and fetching about it, but this is a look you wear once, and then follow up with something totally structured and fierce so you don't look like you're all obsessed with, like, housedresses.

Two nights before, at the Independent Spirit Awards:

Wait, what was that I said about housedresses? Sweet cracker sandwich, woman. It's called a waist. Find yours.

Oscar Fug Carpet: Lauren Hutton

Imagine you're one of the world's first supermodels. (Not Janice Dickinson, though. She might be totally coked out -- we said, might, legal-type people -- but she'd never pull this kind of stunt.) And say you're going to the Oscars.  And say that despite being on the other side of the half-century mark, you're totally gorgeous and aging really gracefully. So when you open your wardrobe, what do you decide to throw on?

Sure. A tribal crotch shield,  be-pom-pomed cropped pants and mocs. That makes perfect sense.

Oscar Fug Carpet: Naomi Watts

Poor Naomi Watts. After all that "KING KONG IS GOING TO MAKE YOU A STAR! A STAR!" schtick she -- and we -- got fed all last summer,  she's still kind of "that girl who's friends with Nicole Kidman. Wasn't she in that long movie with the ape?" (Take a note from Charlize, Naomi: starring with a huge gorilla is rarely a good career movie). If that weren't bad enough, now there's this:

I don't know if all that flimsy balsa wood-colored hoo-ha along the bodice is supposed to draw our eyes away from what looks to me like -- to borrow a phrase from Star Magazine -- a baby bump, but it mostly makes me wonder if her breasts got caught in a wood shredder on the way to the Kodak.

PS: Color won't kill you. Maybe give it a try!

Oscar Fug Carpet: Charlize Theron

Charlize Theron goes for her third Oscar nomination in as many years for a role in which she uglifies herself:

Unfortunately, The Sad Tale of the Serial Killer Christmas Bow That Just Wants Union Representation does not have very good buzz.

Oscar Fugshion: Good Things Come To Those Who Fug

Here in Los Angeles, there is no day more sacred than Oscar Sunday.  The entire town shuts down, as those who have not spent the last month in a frenzy of dieting, bleaching, waxing, colonics, or bribes all trek frantically across the city bearing dips and drinks....and dreams. And nowhere is more frenzied than GFY HQ, as the office rings with the clack-clack of the teletype, screams of agony over the proper structure of Ziyi Zhang's name, and the constant moaning, "won't someone please wear something ugly?"

Those prayers, of course, were answered in the form of Charlize Theron's Massive Shoulder Wound-Bow. And in countless other ways that we plan to mercilessly enumerate...as soon as we crawl out of what we call the Clooney Coma: a very serious but incredibly pleasant form of paralysis that takes over the average American once she's spent over an hour looking at George Clooney in a classic tux. Neither of your faithful fuggers can bear to be bitchy when in the throes of the Clooney Coma. And, readers, we have it. We have it bad. Experts predict that we won't snap out of it until approximately noon, PST.

At which point, we promise, the fugs will fly fast and furious and no one -- no one! -- will be spared.

Except Clooney. Just look at him:

Sigh. 

Until noon, faithful readers. Stay alive. We will find you.

Celebrity Fugdos

There seems to have been an influx of crazy hair on the red carpets lately, illustrated quite well by three appearances at a General Motors event by celebs who have been driven -- oh, yes, I DID just go there -- to the brink of coif insanity.

First up: Jenna Elfman, "accomplished comedic actress" and devotee of L. Ron Hubbard, whose past work I hope turns out to be the force behind the mysterious Dharma Initiative on Lost (hey, they are/were both ABC shows) ; and Sarah Chalke, actual accomplished comedic actress from Scrubs.

Elfman's hair is crispy, crunchy, and a little messy -- just how I like my potato chips. I'm unsure how she settled upon it as an actual hairdo unless she a) wants to bag a GM endorsement deal by pretending she just whizzed over in her impossibly fast, surprisingly luxe Pontiac Solstice, or b) actually did ride in on a cyclone. Chalke, on the other hand, just looks like somebody told her the grievous lie that headbands completely hide bedhead. The effect is very My First Dance; Dakota Fanning has probably already clipped this and put it in her Oscar Style Book.

And then, despite the fact that he's not so much a celebrity as a celebrity-banger, here's former USC quarterback and soon-to-be-bajillionaire Matt Leinart.

Is it raining there on the carpet? It doesn't look like it, but that would seem to be the only explanation for this "Bachelor Bob meets Adam Levine meets something from Ben Stiller's collection of wigs to be deployed for cinematic parody and hilarity" disaster. It looks plopped on his head with all the ceremony one would afford tossing a garbage bag into the dumpster. The pervy-perilous glint in his eye that says, "I'm'a suffocate you later with my 'pigskin,' you dirty dead minx," certainly doesn't help.

Yet that thing definitely makes him look lot more sexually ambiguous, in a way; this might be Nick Lachey's signal that one half of the same-sex couple everyone's rooting for might finally be ready to settle down -- or at the very least, sit around brushing each other's hair talking about boys and calories and dreamy, dreamy Jake Ryan.

Random Fug

Socialite and heiress Lydia Hearst looks understandably ticked -- when she threw that huge trantrum about why she doesn't have any Greek shipping heirs and Paris has had two, she thought she was so clever petulantly shredding a pile of her family newspapers that she didn't realize until it was too late that her dress accidentally went through as well.

On a separate note, I hope Lydia Hearst soon becomes involved in some sort of scandal or well-covered social-scene hilarity so that Saturday Night Live's Will Forte can play her in a sketch. Come on, drug-fueled three-way with Lindsay Lohan and Benicio Del Toro! Come on, bar catfight with Sasha Cohen over which is tougher to land, a triple axel or George Clooney! BRING IT, ladies.

Fugson and Fugshaw

"Gee, thanks for getting dressed today, Rita. Who the hell does she think she is?" Kate Capshaw snarled to herself, unable to stop glaring at her former friend's bodacious rack. "She should have TOLD me. I ASKED her if she thought I should still wear my Ellen DeGeneres suit, even though it had fallen off the hanger and sat in a crumpled heap at the bottom of my closet. And all that ho said was, 'Sure, why not?  I mean, I'm gonna be casual -- I'm mostly trying to wear something that draws attention away from Tom's serial-rapist Da Vinci Code hair.' I thought that meant a loud color or something, but nooooo, apparently what Rita was thinking was, 'I'm going to throw on something that's essentially without a front and that makes me look like an aging milkmaid, in the hope that some horny boy executive looks at me and says, "Hmm, milkmaid... MILF-maid, more like," and then gets all hot and bothered to make me the new Anne Bancroft.' HOW DARE SHE upstage me. I wonder how she'd feel if she knew that I totally lied when I told her that she looked better than Julia did in Runaway Bride. And big goddamn deal if she produced My Big Fat Greek Asspile. I was in Space Camp, goddammit! That is some serious emotional shit! I was in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom! All she really has is that scene in Sleepless in Seattle where she cries about a frickin' movie. TRY CARRYING THE MOVIE, RITA. Oh, sorry, you can't, you're too busy fluffing and plumping your breasts for their next close-up. HA HA HA HA HA I hate her SO MUCH. Just WAIT until the Oscars, Wilson. It's ON. And I am NOT introducing her to Leafquin Phoenix."

Pump Up the Fug

Back in the day, when I was a young lady just learning about boys and how alluring, yet annoying, they could be, I had a huge and powerful crush on Christian Slater, thanks primarily to his role as totally f'ed up but dreamy nihilist Jason Dean in Heathers.

If there were any lingering residuals of that crush left today, this would have killed them dead:

Dude? Don't.  Slater has said that he refuses to leave the house without a hat because the hairstyle they've given him for Bobby is so bad. To which I say:  don't be such a girl.  Go outside with your weird-ass hair and wear it proudly. Because then people will say, "Dude, what's with the hair?" and you'll say, "oh, it's for a role," and then they'll think, "Huh. I had no idea he was working. Good for him." Whereas now, when you're going to a formal event wearing a baseball cap that matches your tux, people just think you're going bald.

Maria Mefugnos

Maria Menounos is very pretty, taller than you'd expect, and very slim.  So WHY she chose to wear this outfit is beyond me:

Aside from the fact that the pants de-emphasize the length of her legs and can be described stylistically as "avant-garde French clown," the whole outfit manages to make her look oddly and unnaturally dumpy. It's not that she looks heavy or anything -- it's just an aura. Look at it. Something just sort of seems off.

Indeed, the weird way it frumps up her figure is reminisce of those TV commercials for terrible weight-loss pills or potions, where they take a really fit woman and CGI some extra weight onto her in a totally unrealistic way where you can just tell something's wrong about it. And then they backbrush her hair so that she looks extra downtrodden, and make her cross her arms over her chest and frown and whine at the camera, "I'm out of shape. And diet alone isn't working!!!! What can I do????" Cut to her poping a pill or drinking some kind of powdered gunge, and then suddenly "two weeks later" she's not only 15 pounds thinner but completely ripped, and walking on the beach in a tiny bikini while a hot pile of male muscle laughs at whatever she just said about her asparagus diet. At which point she beams into the camera, "I feel fantastic -- and I look it, too! Thanks, Dynapoxilactiphan-Omega-10-X-Plus!"

All of which is a healthy indicator that Maria should eighty-six the pants and the poncho-sweater-throw rug.

Random Fug: Alex Fuggelley

Oh my God, former Young and Restless actress, I'm really happy that you like your abs, but you're about twenty years too old for this shirt -- no matter what your face lift says.

In fact, I feel like not that many people twenty years her junior would even really wear this today. She was probably sitting at home chewing on some Pepcid and muttering, "I was booted off Y&R and replaced with that younger-looking bitch, but she's gone now too and I have no jobs coming in, so it's MY TURN to show them how friggin' YOUNG I can look! It's time to ho it up, these-kids-today-style, so LOOK OUT, Los Angeles, because mama's gettin' naked!" Whereas, say, Hilary Duff is sitting at home snorting, "Transparent ruffled shirts are the hallmarks of a woman desperately clinging to hipness and echoes of her girlhood," except it got blocked and muffled by her veneers and came out sounding more like, "Um, ew."

A Fugly Home Companion

Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself, Skeletor. You're lucky we decided not to run the photo where your right breast is full-on exposed because the dress is tenting itself around your bony, awkwardly posed frame.

Remember when we gave you credit for looking better and healthier? We rescind that. The other day, we saw a guy use one of your arms to pick his teeth after a meal. That was the closest you've likely been to food in six weeks. Put things -- other than boy meat, please -- in your MOUTH, honey, not in the opening just to the north.