April 30, 2006
The Fug Life
Dear Paris Hilton,
Put them away.
The 6 Billion Residents of the Planet Earth. We've ALL seen them already.
PS: Despite the fact that you're desperately wearing it open to the waist, that dress is cute, and your hair looks sweet. WHY DID YOU HAVE TO GO AND EFF IT UP?
April 28, 2006
When I was younger, all I wanted in the world was to look like Christy Turlington. Okay, and to marry Robert Sean Leonard's character in Dead Poets Society [in my fantasy, somehow he didn't die at the end. I may have somehow saved him with the power of my adolescent love]. Sometimes, those two fantasies would be confabulated into one fantastic fantasy, where I looked like Christy Turlington in my wedding dress.
I am pretty sure I never fantasized about looking like this, though:
Don't get me wrong: her face is AMAZING, still. She's one of my favorite models ever. But what's with the WAC from the waist up shirt-and-tie bullshit? No one ever ended up in a George Michael video dressing like this.
Posted by Jessica at 03:05 PM | Permalink
Sometimes, I don't even need to write a caption:
But sometimes I can't resist. I don't know who you are, random fug, but trying putting on something that was designed for an ADULT, who is not either a full-time employee of the American Ballet Theatre, or a recent escapee from Bellvue. Thanks.
Posted by Jessica at 11:04 AM | Permalink
April 27, 2006
Just My Fug
So THAT'S how it's gonna be, eh, Lindsay?
A nightgown over leggings -- LEGGINGS! WHY DON'T YOU JUST STAB ME? -- accessorized with a Hefty bag? FINE. FINE. If this is what you want, then FINE It's OVER. I LOVED you. I DEFENDED you. I MADE YOU MY AIM ICON, FOR PETE'S SAKE. And this is how you decide to end it? Well, I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW. Because MY HEART is BROKEN.
PS: The shoes are still good.
PPS: My endorsement of your shoes DOES NOT mean I am NOT breaking up with you, because I AM. But let's all remember WHY I am. BECAUSE YOU PUSHED ME TO IT. It's all YOUR FAULT. I tried to make this work. I tried to COMMUNICATE. But you just wouldn't listen.
April 26, 2006
Fugging Impossible III
Intern George has so many good qualities. He gives great foot rubs, of course. And he's very pretty, naturally. And urbane. And he's very smart. He's also even more obsessed with the Tom Cruise Reign of PR Terror than we are. But best of all, he has a Celebrity Mindreader on speed dial. So, this morning, while he was flipping through our photos sources -- topless, natch -- and came across the following, he offered to give her a call. I think you'll agree that the accuracy of her work is peerless:
From left to right:
Maggie Q: "Just don't look at him. If you don't look at him, he can't hurt you."
Simon Pegg: "I'm so uncomfortable right now. Why is he HERE? Shouldn't he be home with his baby? I wonder if this shirt makes me look washed out. I bet it does. JESUS HE MAKES ME SO NERVOUS."
JJ Abrams: "I'm not even going to face toward him. I can't believe that asshat ruined my movie before it even came out. I wish Jack Bristow was real. Jack Bristow would KICK TOM CRUISE'S ASS SO HARD. And then Lena Olin would show up and HELP HIM. They'd TORTURE THE SHIT OUT OF HIM. MAN. I'm just going to write that scene for my own amusement. Shit, does that mean I'm writing fanfic? Not if no one finds out about it, right? I can't believe he's here. He told me he wasn't coming. Jesus. How did this all go so wrong?"
Michelle Monaghan: "I wonder if I can just really subtlely back away from him. Do you think he notices how much I look like Katie Holmes? But he would never confuse us, would he? No, of course not. God, maybe I should pretend to be sick and just lock myself in my room."
Tom Cruise: "I TRIMMED MY BANGS WITH A FLOWBIE!"
Keri Russell: "Way to totally eff up my big blockbuster summer movie role, MAVERICK. I hate your stupid fucking girl bangs. I can't even look at you."
Jonathan Rhys Meyers: "Well, this is awkward."
Posted by Jessica at 02:47 PM | Permalink
You Are My Fugsion For Life
Oh my god, it's Crazy Beth from Passions at the Paper Magazine Beautiful People Party! How did SHE get in?
It appears that she just snuck in on the way back from a late Tuesday night run to Rite Aid for ice cream and magazines, judging from the sweatsuit, flip flops and no makeup. Seriously, did she just see the party on the way home from buying Monistat and decide to crash?
But maybe I'm being unfair. After all, Crazy Beth's life is hard. First, her first love, Luis, married that Sheridan Crane while she, Crazy Beth, was stuck at home with her incontinent mother and a very very smart monkey, and then she had a total break with reality and hired killer clowns to kidnap Sheridan and hide her in a pit in the basement -- all the while being aided by a murderous lesbian named Charlie who was in love with her, but who later turned out to be HER FATHER in DRAG -- so she could steal Sheridan's baby and pass it off as her own as a way to lure Luis back, but of course, she also had to pretend to be pregnant, so she was walking around town with a sugar bag strapped to her belly, which of course would leak occasionally, and then people started to suspect that something was awry, so she had to run them down with a car and, oh, it all just got very, very complicated. Anyone would sort of lose the ability to dress appropriately for an event, don't you think?
Posted by Jessica at 11:00 AM | Permalink
April 25, 2006
Mission Unfuggable III: A Play In Three Acts
ACT ONE: THE SURPRISE ARRIVAL
The Place: The Mission Impossible III junket in Rome. Unbeknownst to Philip Seymour Hoffman, his placid afternoon of talking to journalists about the role America's been dying to see him in -- as the Man Who Beats the Shit Out of Tom Cruise -- is about to be interupted by none other than Tom Cruise HIMSELF:
But Tom is not alone. He has brought three things: his weird new bangs, his tight girl jeans, and his total divorce from reality. He thinks, "AT LAST! I have arrived to SAVE THIS PRESS JUNKET! I can just sneak up behind Hoffman and SAVE THESE GLIB JOURNALISTS FROM HIS REIGN OF TERROR If I'm very, very quiet, HE'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT HIT HIM. I'M A HERO! AGAIN!"
ACT TWO: IN WHICH OUR HEROINE IS THREATENED
Tom: Hi Keri! I'm not going to look you right in the eye because my magic powers might kill you, okay? HAHAHAHHAHAHA. Want to see my imaginary Blackberry again? Wasn't that funny that time we did that the other day? I am QUITE A COMEDIAN! Maybe I'll do a sitcom next. DON'T LOOK AT ALL THE BULGING VEINS IN MY NECK. I mean it. Don't look at them, Felicity. I will eat your placenta. I mean it. NOW LET'S ACT LIKE WE'RE HAVING SO MUCH FUN SOME MORE! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!
Keri Russell: [thinking: I wonder if my reflexes are good enough to grab this bottle, smash him over the head, and make a run for it. Dear Jesus, protect me. I'm so scared.] Hahahaha.
ACT THREE: TOM TAKES A SEAT
Philip Seymour Hoffman: It's true, America. He's batshit crazy. What can I say?
Tom: HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH HOFFMAN YOU JOKER. GOD, isn't this FUN?
Philip Seymour Hoffman: I'm not kidding.
Posted by Jessica at 11:32 AM | Permalink
April 24, 2006
Lindsay, Fully Fugged
Lindsay is sort of doing that thing to me that boys do, you know, when they want to break up with you but they don't really want to have to actually break up with you, so they act all weird to sort of goad you into breaking up with THEM. Like, okay, first of all, she's dating Brett Ratner? Linds. Honey. Look, I'm sure he's sort of fun and amusing, but it just doesn't look good for you to be dating him, can't you see that? Why don't you date someone more age appropriate? What about, like...say, Topher Grace? He's a good actor, he's handsome, he's never photographed out and about all drunk and disorderly, he's never slept with Paris Hilton -- as far as we know -- he seems to come from a very stable family, and I'm sure he can read. Doesn't that sound nice? Come on! Don't you want to be in a stable relationship, where you're not ENDLESSLY replaying your daddy issues? No? Okay, fine.
Then let's talk about the outfits.
The thing about this outfit is that almost -- I said almost -- every individual piece of it is fine. Working from the bottom up:
- the shoes? Sweet God, those are cute.
- those cropped little jeans? Cute!
- a white tee? Who can find fault with a white tee. Not me!
- the vest...made of....ties? Well....maybe it's an homage to Kelly Clarkson's Skirt of Ties in From Justin to Kelly. Comedy gold!
- the bag? Terribly chic!
- the hat....okay, the hat you stole from Fez. Don't lie.
- that f'ing pashmina with those IDIOTIC ARMWARMERS make me want to KILL SOMEONE, but at least they're a pretty color, right? And, um, you're kinda coordinated, right? So that's good.
But together? All this together? It's so Crazy Destitute Nutjob With Great Shoes. THAT'S NOT A COMPLIMENT. Even the paparazzo behind you is all, "girl. PLEASE."
A Memo From GFY Headquarters
You know how when you were a kid and your Mom would go away for the weekend for some reason, your Dad would totally be all on top of shit for like all of Friday night, and you'd get your bath on time and he'd pretend to make you eat your vegetables and you'd pretend to eat them, like usual, and then maybe he'd let you stay up a LEETLE later than usual, just to watch The Gong Show, but then it was straight to bed, and it was all very parental and business as usual, but then by Saturday afternoon something had happened and it's like 1pm and you're both wearing your jammies still and you're all like, "Daddy, can I have cake for lunch?" and he's like, "SURE! Bring it in here, and I can finish teaching you poker! Make sure to bring a piece for the dog!" and it's really fun, but by 5:30pm on Sunday, you both sort of have a stomach ache and somehow the dog got lost FOUR TIMES over the weekend and there's a very strange smell in the living room but neither of you knows where it's coming from and then your mom gets home and you're both very very relieved to see her, because that means order will once again be restored, and you kind of forgot how pretty she is and how good she smells -- like soap! And maybe a little bit like coffee -- and thank God, thank God she's back?
Well, kids, that's gonna be the situation around here for a little while, because someone somehow found the time -- in the middle of our very busy schedule of eating peanut butter with a spoon, watching Melrose Place on SOAPNet, doing our real jobs, making fun of people's outfits, and working on that fort we're making out of Diet Coke cans -- to go and get herself married. So until she gets back from her honeymoon, it's just you guys and me, and that chocolate cake. I'm going to try my damnest not to stink the place up on my own, but I'm not making any promises.
However, I am going to kick off my Temporary Solo Reign of Terror by appointing myself an intern. I call him George:
Be nice to us.
Posted by Jessica at 05:03 AM | Permalink
April 21, 2006
Okay, readers. This one hurts me. It hurts me a lot:
WALLACE SHAWN, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING? No! No! Althought I admire the sentiment behind your plea for peace, DON'T WEAR THAT SHIRT WITH A SUIT! No! No! Again, I say no!
And why is this so painful for me? Because I LOVE Wallace Shawn. How can you look at that face and not love this man (albeit not in a Tom Cruise I LOVE THIS WOMAN kind of way, at least not in my experience)? First of all, he was, of course, Mr Hall, the lovable hapless teacher in Clueless -- which, hello, who doesn't love Clueless? It's the first movie I ever walked out of with the reaction, "That was hilarious! I need to go buy some clothes immediately," a reaction which basically informed the rest of my life -- and, then, of course, in The Princess Bride, he taught us all both never to get involved in a land war in Asia, and, more importantly, to never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line. Those are important life lessons, people. Which is why it is almost INCONCEIVABLE that I have to say something mean about him...but Wally! Oh, Wally. I don't know what Cher Horowitz would have said about this get-up, but I suspect it would not have been super-complimentary.
Posted by Jessica at 02:19 PM | Permalink