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September 26, 2006

The Name On Everyone's Lips Is Gonna Be FUGLY!

INT. Night. The party following Ashlee's Simpson's debut in Chicago:

ASHLEE: Can we finally agree that I'm the cute one now? Can we? Seriously, Jess! I'm totally the cute one now.

JESSICA: I can't believe it's come to this so soon. I felt like I had at least five more years of holding you off. But the divorce hit me like a ton of bricks, Ashlee. And then that disaster with John Mayer.  And I've totally gained weight since I stopped working out nine hours a day. Even my hair is, like, all....

ASHLEE: Lank? Lackluster? Meh?

JESSICA: I was going to say, depressed. Those commericals are true, dude. Depression HURTS. It hurts everyone AROUND ME. Aren't you hurting, now, too?

ASHLEE: I feel great!

JESSICA: Nothing even fits me anymore. I made this top from one of the curtins in my hotel room.

ASHLEE: Well, at least you're crafty now that everything else has fallen apart! You know what they say: when God closes a door, he opens a window, or whatever! Your window turned out to be arts and crafts! That's awesome!

JESSICA: I guess. Where's the cheese table around here?

Posted by Jessica at 12:05 PM in Ashlee & Jessica Simpson | Permalink

How I Met Your Fugger

Cobie Smulders is very, very cute. So I really hope she alights from the satin train and tries something else next time, because something about this dress is betraying her.

Unless she is slowly inflating a basketball that's glued to her abdomen, in which case, the dress is exonerated from all wrongdoing, and she should consider medication.

Posted by Heather at 11:04 AM | Permalink

September 25, 2006

Fugsay Lohan

We've been pretty patient with Lindsay Lohan lately. She's allegedly been trying to get it together, albeit with a few missteps and a crotch flash, and we were totally encouraged by the news that she was both dating an alleged clean-living advocate and had a screaming match with her no-good self-involved slag heap of a mother -- not that we advocate screaming at mothers, but since Dina has firmly and unhealthily (for her child) entrenched herself in the "boozy sorority sister" category rather than the "parent" one, we feel little remorse. And so word of their little spat gave us a reason to hope that maybe, maybe, Lindsay was going to shake off Dina's evil talons and get some ACTUAL advice and help from someone with ACTUAL maternal impulses and ACTUAL sense. (It's a crying shame when we feel more motherly toward her than most other people.)

But then, poor Lindsay had her little breakup hissyfit/makeup sex with Harry Morton, and it turns out she's just as unstable and co-dependent as ever. And in many ways, we still feel for her. She's young, she's wasting her talent, and she has no one out there giving her any real guidance except for a guy whose chain of restaurants is named after a particularly repulsive euphemism for female genitalia.

Still, there is no excuse for this:

[Photo courtesy of X17online.com.]

It's bad enough that she is wearing leggings, and indeed, leggings that are wholly exposed. But the real problem is that she's dragging Queen into her bloated abyss of dysfunction. Do NOT besmirch Queen with your ill-fitting, off-the-shoulder, faux-pants-loving fashion crimes, Lindsay! Do not taint Freddie Mercury and his musical legacy with that spandex stink. Please let him break free. He wants to; he said so in song.

And, please don't spill your energy drink, aptly named "Rehab" (I'm not kidding), all over it -- I suspect you need every suggestively named drop.

Posted by Heather at 02:24 PM in Lindsay Lohan | Permalink

Fugge Bryant

Brit Celeb Kelle Bryant (of the poor man's En Vogue girl group, Eternal, and also, according to Google, a contestant on my favorite nonsensical British reality show, Love Island) is not to be trifled with:

Can you imagine what it would be like to be sitting in your seat at the MOBO awards here, minding your own business, thinking about the open bar at the party later, when your seatmate arrives, and she's wearing this? That shit's dangerous. One false move, and you're in for a lifetime of eye patches.

On the other hand, I imagine this stabby little ensemble would make it much easier to make your way to said open bar unmolested.

Posted by Jessica at 12:55 PM | Permalink

The Fug Dahlia

Oh,  Miss Scarlett, you sadden me.

The man standing behind you is clearly thinking, "I know, bro. I can't believe this chick would cover up that ass with a jumpsuit! Criminal!" And he -- although crude -- is not entirely wrong.  Because you look  like a terribly chic prisioner, like this is a prison-issued jumpsuit that you have sassed up in the name of keeping up your spirits and maintaining your personal style while you await trial. But while I am sure your spirits are high and your body is comfortable, you can not be considered innocent while your pant legs appear to be PEGGED.

Posted by Jessica at 10:22 AM in Scarlett Johansson | Permalink

Fugliette Binoche

"Mon dieu! It turns out I have to keep up with the bleach! Who knew?!?"

Posted by Heather at 08:00 AM | Permalink

September 22, 2006

You Are Fuggin' Voxy

We owe a big debt of gratitude to a lot of people for the fact that Go Fug Yourself continues to exist, and one of the biggest is to Typepad, which hosts our fair blog. The fine people there have gracefully put up with our traffic lo these two years and counting, and they have never once told us they want us to stop associating their good name with people like Tara Reid and the Hiltons. For this, we are immensely grateful.

And so, it's our pleasure to do a little promotion with Six Apart, the company responsible for Typepad. Certain speedy Go Fug Yourself readers -- specifically, the first 1,000 to sign up -- will get to play around on Vox, a free invitation-only blogging service they're developing.

Fug_tile Basically, in addition to offering you space to blog and post photos and videos, Vox is a way for you to control your community of readers -- like, say, if you want to share stuff with your parents, without them also running into entries about the guy you hooked up with on Thursday night, or the time you vomited into their washing machine and managed to clean it up without telling them. Or, you could go the other way and make it friends-only; that way, because you know exactly who all your readers are, you can safely post personal photos without worrying that your father's business partner will find the one of you at the bachelorette party -- you know the one -- and send him the link.

You can also use Vox in conjuction with stuff you've already done with Flickr.com, YouTube.com, Amazon.com, and our old pal and partner-in-crime Photobucket. But, although it's free to use, it is invitation only, so this is the easiest way for you to get in and give it a whirl, and then bring in whomever you want.

So, get thee over there and savor a bagel with cream cheese and Vox. Watch the quick brown Vox jump over the lazy dog. See the Boston Red Vox play. Inhale some Voxious fumes. Sing Britney Spears' hit song, "Voxic." Whatever floats your boat. Just go forth and enjoy.

Posted by Heather at 04:00 PM | Permalink

Fugly Fug II: Playtex Boogaloo

Much has been made about Fergie Ferg's song "Pedestal," in which she delivers what she imagines is a scathing criticism of a blogger, or all bloggers amalgamated into one Symbolic Blogger, for saying things about her from behind the safety of a computer screen.

And while we can understand why that's frustrating, the root of the problem is that she just gives us so much fodder. From publicly wetting herself to her myriad fashion crimes to things like the shirt she wore out in public that we fugged yesterday, there's just so much darn fodder there.

Such as the sequel to yesterday's photo, which we like to call Exhibit C-Cup.

We rest our case.

Posted by Heather at 01:44 PM in Fergie (the Pea, not the duchess) | Permalink

Well Played: Kristen Bell

We have fugged Kristen Bell a lot. So this is going to be a refreshing change:

Heather and I saw a fair amount of La Bell when we were at Fashion Week, and it seems like she learned a lot from her stint there -- and she didn't, thank god, pick up that she should put on some shiny silver leggings. Simply put, I love this: I love the color on her, the cut works with her petite little frame, the hair is good, the nails are good, the shoes are good -- it's all good. It's simple and flattering, but not boring, and best of all,  it's not too overwhelming on her, which is traditionally where she goes off course.  Yay!

See, we're not bitches all the time.

Posted by Jessica at 12:02 PM in Kristen Bell, Well Played | Permalink

Fug.C. Chasez

J.C. Chasez went from heartthrob to Tara Reid bedfellow (allegedly... wouldn't want J.C.'s lawyers coming after us for slander) to failed solo act to quaint old fellow who sits on the porch with a handful of Werther's Original in his sweater pockets -- that is, when he's not daydreaming about the remote-control trolley running through is apartment.

Aw. Would you be his, could you be his, won't you be his neighbor?

Posted by Heather at 10:44 AM | Permalink


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