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November 30, 2006

The Ghost Fuggerer

J.Lo.Hew is sort of growing on me lately, in part because I cannot get enough of her spectacular hair and eyelashes on The Ghost Whisperer, and in part because she's dating sweet, sweet Liebgott from Band of Brothers (whom I accidentally killed in one of my old recaps; I spent the rest of the 10-episode run feeling really guilty about it because not only was he alive, but in fact he was rather helpful at times).

Mostly, though, I have affection for her because I appreciate a girl who's not afraid to have curves. She's healthy-looking, and a little naturally bodacious back-and-rack could do a lot of starlets in this town some real good; also, J.Lo.Hew has never once made me to want to go find her mother, knock on her door, and give her what-for about her daughter's dangerous habits and lost youth. I'm sure her mother appreciates that as well.

However...

I do wish she would learn to CLOTHE her curves properly. More often than not, she's wearing something that makes her boobs look saggy -- or, here, all over the place; between what is spilling out of the bodice up top and how low it seems to be holding everything else, I can't figure out what's happening to her poor chest. The criss-crossing at her waist spreads just low enough that it's making her look like a spangly brocade pear. Unfairly, I would wager. What's more, the cut of the dress hits her calves at their thickest point, and the ankle strap on her shoes is having a slight cankle effect on them.

The whole thing is one big miss, and that's a shame, because she can rock what she's got and a lot of the time she just... doesn't. So snap to it, fair Liebgott. I mean it -- start snapping photos before she leaves the house, to show her what she'll look like on the red carpet. Don't make me ask you twice.

Posted by Heather at 01:58 PM | Permalink

Fugeron Diaz

"Just stay cool, Diaz. Keep it together. I know Justin SWORE that it's not Britney who's been sending me those threatening letters with the words spelled out in magazine and newspaper clippings, which are signed, 'Luv, Britney,'with a little heart dotting the 'i', but I still think it might be her... He said she's not that dumb, but dude, has he SEEN her lately? She's practically writing her own Dumber and Dumbest movie with that Hilton chick, and I'm sorry, but she is NOT the type of person who can eat anything she wants and stay thin, which we all know I am, because any profile written about me between about 1999 and 2004 mentioned that, in addition to how often I like to belch. So he's better off without her and if she wants him back -- how did the letter put it? "I'M GOING TO HIT THAT, BOY-NAME, INFINITY MORE TIMES" -- she's going to have to work on her metabolism and all the burping, because Justin wants a REAL woman. But even though all the security guards know to watch for her, I'm still kind of nervous that she's going to run up and dump a vodka-Red Bull over my head. Maybe this was the wrong outfit. I can't run away in these pumps, and I'm not exactly hard to spot in this shiny gold fabric. In fact, I look kind of like I skinned two throw-pillows that I found at a Joan Collins Estate Sale and turned them into a dress. Why did I DO that? Why didn't Justin TELL me it was bad? Does he not CARE any more? Does he WANT to get back together with the Cheeto factory? DIDN'T HE SEE HER STUPID SHOW? I... phew, okay, Diaz, deep breath. Remember, we talked about staying cool. Just stick your hands on your hips and smile, and trust that one of those cops with tazers will zap her if she tries to get close. And, note to self: If everything goes fine, and you get inside safely, steal one of those tazers to use later on Jude Law. You know it's gonna come to that."

Posted by Heather at 12:05 PM | Permalink

The Talented Mr Fugly

I was watching a commercial for The Holiday last night -- you know, the movie where Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet switch houses, and romantic shenanigans ensue? -- and it occurred to me that I don't particularly buy Jude Law as a romantic lead anymore. I don't know if this is because I know too much about his real-life predilection for nannies and Sienna Miller, or if it's because he's morphed from being this guy:

To being this guy:

I don't really want that guy showing up at my vacation house and romancing me. I'm a little scared that that guy is going to show up at my vacation house and rob me. And while the suit itself is lovely,  this shirt/tie combination makes me want to show up at his vacation house and burn it down:

Something about him just gives me the wiggins, and the wee curly mullet doesn't help, either.  In the ad, there's a scene where he and Cameron Diaz are going somewhere in a car together, and they're all looking at each other coyly, and I am not thinking, "Aw, look! Those two are totally going to fall in transatlantic love!" I am thinking, "He is totally going to murder her and dump her body in some abandoned English field."  Which I am pretty sure is not exactly what they were going for.

On the other hand, maybe the movie is secretly about serial killers. What do I know? I just hope Kate Winslet makes it out alive. I love her.

Posted by Jessica at 10:19 AM in Celebrity Terror Watch | Permalink

Fugoes

Truly, I should just be thrilled that Hayden Panetierre of Heroes is dressing in classy, grown-up clothes that don't require us to pray she is a) wearing underwear; b) toting seat liners for when she sits down sans panties; and/or c) wearing a very tough-to-crack chastity belt, because she was born in 1989 and we can't abide the idea of anything born while we were in Algebra II deciding to flash some ladybits.

And in all honesty, there's nothing really wrong with this outfit here. But... doesn't she look distractingly like a campy flight attendant? Like maybe Jet Blue has decided to run a promotion wherein a star from a randomly selected NBC show of will start randomly working its flights, peddling peanuts and sodas and those yummy blue Terra Chips that I love so much? Granted, that would be a quick way to my heart, and certainly there's nothing wrong with being a flight attendant, but I'll wager if you asked any of them whether they'd enjoy wearing their uniforms for a big night on the town, you'd hear gales of laughter through which you could faintly make out the words "tight," "itchy," and "panty lines." (But they would NOT respond by stealing little bottles of booze from the planes and drinking themselves silly. Because if there's anything the hideous Gwyneth Paltrow "comedy" A View From The Top -- or as she called it, A View From My Ass -- taught us, it's that America is really freaking sick of Mike Myers. Oh, and also, that a good flight attendant with big hair and big dreams NEVER steals miniature bottles of booze from the aircraft.)

At any rate, I find it sort of unsettling that this dress makes me expect Hayden to chat me up and then charge me $5 for headsets so that I can watch Garfield: A Tale Of Two Kitties and ANOTHER $5 for wine because it's a domestic flight and even though LA to NYC is about as long as NYC to England, I still evidently have to pay to medicate any domestic unease with flying, which is a load of BULL, if you ask me, but nobody did, which is a real shame. And because she's not the evil overlord who made that rule, I'd rather she tried a different dress so that I don't inadvertantly get cross with her for it.

Besides, no offense to Hayden, but we'd rather have Conan O'Brien work our flight. Nothing like a little genial hilarity along with those microscopic bags of generic Snak Mix, not to mention that we'd get to ogle his towering cowlick -- which legend has it is propped up by an elaborate system of pulleys and a paste made from Easy Cheese and molasses. Also, he'd give us free wine. I know it in my heart.

Posted by Heather at 08:49 AM | Permalink

November 29, 2006

Celebrity Skeeve Watch: Billy Crudup

This has been brewing for a long time at GFY HQ, but today, the Terror Watch squad would like to announce officially that Billy Crudup has been put on a high "orange" alert (see Appendix below) for his escalating skeeve factor.

Crudup has struggled mightily with facial outcroppings in the last two years, perhaps under the mistaken impression that his unlikely appeal in Almost Famous would maintain itself through whatever follicular configurations he debuted. But, he was wrong. Very wrong. It doesn't help that he and dreary-guts Claire Danes have had to spend the last little while as Those Cheating Pregnant-Lady-Leaving Bastards, but even without the taint of that nasty little situation and their ensuing collective frowning and aura of total boredom (like, "Uh... well, guess we'd better stay together, then, since everyone's watching... pass me my vibrator? Thanks"), we would still be completely grossed out by the amount of oil he's stockpiling in his hair. Not to mention the rust-colored moustache that, against every bit of my free will, makes me think of... look, I can't bring myself to use the proper term for this act on our site, so let's just say it's reminisce of the kind of painting party only South Park's Mr. Hanky could throw.

So, Billy, to borrow from your Mastercard commercials:

Shampoo: $5.99

A Gillette Fusion (you are going to need all 5 blades): $9.99

Shaving cream: $2.29

Not looking like Kevin Federline's older brother: Priceless (yet also a very affordable $18.27 plus tax, so why the haste?)

Additional Note: The GFY Terror Watch squad would also like to announce that Wilmer Valderrama has been ejected from the "Guarded" category for looking really rather presentable lately, and not at all as if he hasn't slept in three days. Congratulations, Wilmer. He has been replaced by Chad Michael Murray, who, while appearing relatively physically clean, is a Hilton-banging cheating douchebag pig-dog and therefore merits placement on the scale.

Thank you, and remember: Practice constant vigilence.

Appendix: SKEEVE WATCH TERROR LEVEL CHART

SEVERE:

Kevin Federline

HIGH:

Brandon Davis

ELEVATED:

Michael Madsen

GUARDED:

Chad Michael Murray

LOW:

Jake Gyllenhaal

Posted by Heather at 11:29 AM in Celebrity Terror Watch | Permalink

Fug the Cover: Nicole Kidman

So, I have a long and tortured history with Nicole Kidman.  Or, more accurately, with her hair. See, I love her red Moulin Rouge hair. I spent a goodly portion of that movie thinking, "Man,  Ewan McGregor is cute. Her hair is FANTASTIC.  Ooh, he can sing, too! No, seriously, I want that hair to be coming out of my head." And so on. I mean, come on:

She's the prettiest consumptive ever! I would kill you to have that hair. I'm sorry,  I'm sure you're perfectly lovely and I do appreciate your readership, but I need to have long, shiny, wavy red hair.  When I have that hair, finally I will be happy.

And when Nicole stuck to that hair color (or an approximation thereof)  in real life? Oh, it was a delight!

Pretty!

Pretty! (Hi, George.)

Pretty!

Then, of course, we went through that long, painful blonde period. God, that was hard. Why, I asked myself, would someone with pretty, pretty red hair decide to wash herself out like that? Why? For one thing, what kind of example are we setting for Lindsay Lohan? (Remember when our biggest concern about Lindsay Lohan was her hair color, and not the fact that she NEVER WEARS PANTIES ANYMORE? I wish I'd known how lucky we were.)

So, when I got December's Vogue, my first thought was, "THANK GOD, WE'RE BACK TO THE RED!"

My second thought was, "ACK!" Because either Anna Wintour wants us all to stick our fingers in an electrical socket before we leave the house, or Nicole Kidman cut in front of Anna Wintour in the cocktail line recently and only now is Anna enacting her sweet revenge.

Listen, I can handle the kooky futuristic chain mail mini-dress because, you know, it's Vogue, and they go there sometimes, but if this is the future of hair, we all best sell our shares in VO5 and get ready to style our hair with those little blow torches they sell for creme brulee.

Posted by Jessica at 08:27 AM in Fug The Cover | Permalink

November 28, 2006

Paulina Fuggio

The first time I saw this photo, I thought that Virginia Madsen had suddenly and tragically fallen on very hard, very confusing, and unexpectedly incontinent times.

Then I realized it's just crazy old Paulina Rubio, wearing what look like the Wicked Witch of the West's version of ruby slippers and swaddled in bedclothes.

So, really, just another Tuesday.

Posted by Heather at 10:02 PM | Permalink

Amy Fugling

Oh, no!

It appears that Amy Irving -- bored on a slow, chilly Tuesday -- decided to throw caution to the wind and join that cult that's always hanging around the Brentwood Country Mart.  What the heck! They've got these festive gold robes,  after all, and they keep promising her eternal life! And the outfits go with her favorite summer sandals! It's going to be fun.

Posted by Jessica at 11:15 AM | Permalink

Fuggis and Fugney

Dear Diary,

So, I totally have a new friend to tell you about today! It didn't really work out with Nicole when she was blonde (and between you and me, Diary, she is even less fun with the brown hair -- I mean, what's the point of having dark hair if you aren't hiding weed underneath it?), and, like, oh my GOD, dude, Kimberly Stewart was really NEEDY. She called me ten times a day until I made her cry that last time, and I SWEAR I caught her rooting through my bathroom trashcan, picking out my old extensions and taping them to a hair clip. Which, EW -- it looked EXACTLY like a hair clip from a drugstore, and not the FUN kind of drugstore, so GROSS.

Anyway, so I found this new blonde person now and I think it's going to work out because even though she kind of already worships me, she attracts WAY better photographers than Kimberly did. And, she's going through a totally rough time right now because she's getting a divorce, so she wants to party and dress up and stuff and get really dirty and freaky, which is my FAVORITE THING EVER to do. Like, this one time, I put on my favorite red party dress of that week, and she got out this old thing she used to wear when she and her husband played that weird Ice Dancing game where they were at the porn Olympics, and we decided to go out and party. And it was, like, TOTAL sisterhood, you know? And it was SO SWEET because we were really cold, and she remembered that her ex-husband had a bunch of old pieces of panty-hose in his drawer from the olden days when he would stick his head in them and then throw over a 7-11 (she used that word -- "throw over" -- I don't really know what that word means but it is so Law & Order I can't even STAND IT and I think I'm so good now at saying the word that I should probably order up a part on one of the episodes, right? Do you think they deliver?). But anyway, so we had these pieces of panty-hose but there were only two, so we each wore one -- me on my right leg, and her on her left leg, which I swore was her right leg, but she kept telling me it was her left and that she would know what her own left leg looks like since she was BORN with it, DUH, and you know what? I don't know what her left leg looks like, and maybe it looks like it's on the right -- there ARE people who are born that way, I'm pretty sure, and if she's one of them, then maybe we should start some sort of charitable manicure program that benefits the Righty Left Children or whatever. It's a good idea.

Anyway, it was soooo fun -- she's like the sister I never had! Sometimes we sit up all night and drink vodka from baby bottles and talk about boys and divorces and our music careers -- apparently, she had some albums and shit, but I don't REMEMBER Pamela Anderson having a record or anything, do you? But she got all mad and screamed that she did too have more hit songs than I did, and she didn't seem to like it when I called her out and said I'd never heard of any of her songs and that she would need to PROVE it. In fact, she ALSO didn't really like it that much when I called her Pamela, but dude, I KNOW Pamela Anderson when I see her -- like, those things are KIND OF hard to MISS, you know? They're bigger than Nicky's head! So anyway I told Pamela to shut up and finish her Zima and she kind of got upset again but then once she was done chugging it and then shotgunning her Bud Light (she said her mom calls it a Trailer Martini -- how kicky and retro! Also, does Pamela Anderson HAVE a mom? Wicked!) and then everything was fine again.

Can't wait to see sister Pammy tomorrow! We're gonna get tattoos that say P&P Music Factory (even if she IS lying about having all those albums) and it's going to RULE. I talked her into it after the third bottle of Jagermeister. She said it would be even better because Kevin would hate it ("Kevin" is how you say "Kid Rock" in Michigan speak -- they are so funny up there!). Whee! Paris and Pammy!

Sloppy kisses,

P

Posted by Heather at 08:22 AM in Britney Spears, Paris & Nicky Hilton | Permalink

November 27, 2006

AMA Fug Carpet: Sarah Silverman

Okay, Sarah Silverman:

Just as long as you don't start aping Paula Poundstone's ACT, too.

Posted by Jessica at 02:34 PM in Misc. Awards Shows | Permalink

 

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