December 21, 2007
Happy Fugging Holidays
It's been a merry day at GFY HQ on this Friday before Christmas Day, and we've been hard at work on holiday cheer -- for instance, Intern George spiked the egg nog, Intern George wrapped all our presents for us, Intern George donned a Santa suit and let us sit on his lap for photographs, and Intern George performed a spirited and, at times, sensitive and heartfelt Christmas Carol medley that began with him bursting out of a giant figgy pudding and ended in him hitting the high notes of "O Holy Night" while confetti cannons exploded behind him. [Then, bless him, Intern George cleaned up his mess.]
And what better way to pay forward that remarkable jolly-holiday aura than to supply a photo that embodies the very essence of sugar and spice and everything nice. We present to you the winner of the Cutest Celebuspawn of 2007:
[Photo: Splash News]
It was a tough contest between her and just about every other famous baby, but since Violet Affleck is so adorable and smiley all the time -- especially here in her hat and wee pea coat, playing in the park with her mother -- we can't help but deem her the most darling. We'll take two of them, please, and don't skimp on the cute accessories.
Hopefully the image of Violet will warm your heart throughout next week, which we are taking as a vacation so that we can marinate in the joys of the season and give our computer screens a welcome break. We'll be back Jan. 2 to ring in 2008 with a hearty dose of fresh fuggings. In the meantime, we have one more present for you: news of the existence of this fugtrocious marvel of fabric, passed along to us by a reader, and which we could not help but share. Why? To serve as a helpful holiday reminder that no matter how much you hate that sweater your grandmother is about to give you, it will never, ever be as bad as those.
Happy holidays, and thanks so much for sticking with us day after day. Cheers!
Posted by H & J at 11:31 AM | Permalink
Periodically, as their busy spa and Hyde schedules allow, celebrity experts will join us to answer your questions about how to fug up your life as thoroughly as they do theirs. This week's expert is a mother of three who is currently working on a doctorate in banging her head against the wall, is penning a new Young Adult book called Sperm Hates You, and has developed a sudden passion for the Siberian real-estate market.
Dear Aunt Fugly,
I hate the holidays. They are so stressful. I feel like I have a million things to do and no time to get it all done. This year, the real problem is my husband. He expects me to buy all the gifts for his family as well as my own and I barely know them, Aunt Fugly -- we just eloped six weeks ago! I haven't even met his mom. How am I supposed to know what to buy her? Why is he being so ANNOYING? What should I do?
Dear Mrs. Grinch,
That's a tough situation. My daughter is really busy, so she always buys us gift cards, like the year we all got a $20 credit at KFC, or the time she sent me a coupon for 2-for-1 sirloin at the local market. So try that. Especially if his family is as DUMB as my daughter is.
I can't believe your husband put you in this position. Men ARE real pills, aren't they? They're ALL about jamming us into positions we don't really want to be in. Or, they're all sweetness and peaches and Christmas cheer, and then one day you find out they're burning their yule log in your daughter's pants, at which point they turn quiet and surly and start calling you "Ma'am," and suddenly your publisher wants you to stop writing about parenting and unfortunately the only other thing you know enough about for a whole book would be, like, The Encyclopedia of Unexpected Smells, or How To Swallow Your Swelling Ball of Face-Enflaming Rage And Refrain From Disowning Your Child. I mean, seriously. They're all scum. And since your husband sounds like that kind of asshat -- trust me, I know 'em when I see 'em -- maybe give HIM a surprise vasectomy and call it a GIFT FROM SOCIETY. Right!? YES.
Dear Aunt Fugly,
I have a problem with my ex-wife. I'm still in love with her and I think she's still in love with me. We have two beautiful kids.The problem is that she keeps marrying other dudes! And not like brain surgeons or professors or something. Like LOSER DUDES. Who are sort of like ME, but LAMER and less successful and grosser. This most recent loser was even in a sex tape --like me! -- but with PARIS HILTON, which I think we can all agree is not nearly as awesome as making a sex tape in which you drive a boat with your wang. Right? I mean, I'm right, right? Look, Aunt Fugly, my ex and I have had a LOT of problems (a lot; I might have given her the Hep, for example). But she's awesome and I miss her rack and want her back. How can I convince her to divorce this guy and come back to MY sex swing?
Dear Mr. Tee (HAHAHA, see what I did there? Oh, God, now I sound like my DAUGHTER, I need a drink),
Have you ever considered that maybe it's your fault? That maybe she keeps getting married to random-seeming people, and making bad decisions, and getting drunk, and running off to Vegas, because you are MAKING HER INSANE and she's just disturbed in the head and needs a little PROPER love and guidance and support and a bath?
Wait, I'm sorry. I can't push blame on anyone. I can't be a blame-pusher. Nothing is anyone's fault. [DO YOU HEAR ME? NOTHING IS ANYONE'S FAULT, YOU HEARTLESS BLAME-PUSHERS.] Maybe you should sit down and write her a sensitive letter or a song. Lay down some mad-awesome trippin' love-beats, as my son-in-law says, all about how magical she and her chest are. Call it something like "Rack of Hearts." But don't put any stupid made-up-sounding words in it. Girls hate that. Trust me; one time I had to listen to a two-week argument about that, which ended in a certain person screaming, "OH YEAH, WELL, THERE'S A REASON 'POPOZAO' RHYMES WITH 'SHUT YOUR CHEETOHOLE, YOU DUMB COW.'" You do not want your song to end that way.
Or, just knock her up. APPARENTLY THAT WORKS TOO. GOD.
Dear Aunt Fugly,
Listen, I am seriously having a problem. I am dating this guy who is like really famous in Texas, which is where I grew up. Let's say he's the most famous guy on the Dallas Curling Team, okay? And people are REALLY INTO Curling around here, okay? Like REALLY INTO IT. Anyway, I went to one of his curling matches and it's like all of a sudden he could not curl AT ALL. He was like the WORST CURLER EVER all of a sudden. But instead of being like, WHY CAN'T TONY CURL ANYMORE? all the papers are blaming ME for him being all sucky all of a sudden! Like I am the REASON he's a cruddy curler now or something. Aunt Fugly, I have done a lot of stupid things in my life, but I am not MAGICAL. I can't change people's CURLING SKILLS. It's SO UNFAIR. I got BOOED at the Sonic yesterday. I can't live like this anymore, okay? I need to be able to get onion rings in peace. And I really like this guy! I've had really bad luck with men since....a while. What should I do?
Jes -- er, I mean, "OJ" Simpson
Well, I can certainly understand your pain, honey. We all know at least ONE person in life who suddenly sucks at things they used to be good at, like curling, or bathing, or singing, or basic speech. Am I right? Haven't we all been there, when suddenly someone you love is not performing the way you expected them to, and it makes you really freaking mad at them but you have to bite your tongue and love them anyway because otherwise you might never see your grandchildren again? Are you WITH ME? Who among us HASN'T taken the blame for stuff that is NOT OUR FAULT, like, what are we supposed to do, STAND OVER THE BED and STRAP THE CONDOM ON FOR THEM OURSELVES?!?!?! WE ARE ONLY HUMAN AND THERE IS ONLY SO MUCH WE CAN DO TO STOP SOMEONE ELSE FROM BEING A COMPLETE GODDAMN MORON. So you know what you should do? JUST GIVE UP. Seriously. It's over. You tried. People suck. Disappear somewhere nobody will ever find you, where they don't have gossip magazines or Nickelodeon or HAIR EXTENSIONS or any of that goddamn stuff. I'm so tired. Please make it stop.
December 20, 2007
Thank you, Lynn Whitfield, for kindly demonstrating for us why a bubble skirt with pockets, of a certain length, is a bitch:
You are fifty-four years old. And you look AWESOME. You look EASILY 15 years younger than that, for real. And I feel like if this skirt had been just a wee bit shorter, you would have officially been the first 50-something to pull off anything in the bubble skirt genre. As it is, unfortunately, you appear to have come down with a mild case of Stumpiphobia. We've all been there, though, and luckily, the cure can be found in the bottom of a glass of champagne. Go drink to having discovered the fountain of youth and drunk dial your tailor.
Posted by Jessica at 11:35 AM | Permalink
You Know You Fug Me. XOXO, Gossip Fug
ED WESTWICK: Man, it is SO HARD to keep my clothes on these days.
PENN BADGLEY: It's okay, America. I won't take my clothes off until we're both completely ready to go to the next level together.
CHACE CRAWFORD: I'm BAAAAD. Check it! My hair is messy! And I DIDN'T SHAVE! Take THAT, world!
ED: I have so much pretend-sex for my day job that it's just impossible to wear these scratchy "shirts" any more in the real world. Does anyone want to have sex NOW, by any chance? I'm pretty much ready. One good deep breath and this thing is going to come right off.
PENN: Whereas I won't breathe deeply until we are both completely sure we're ready to breathe deeply together, because I respect you and your feelings. I am your perfect boy. Trust me.
ED: SNORE. As if! Which one of us is the dark brooding bad-boy hero, huh? Whose mouth do you want to wash out with soap? TONGUE soap?
CHACE: ME! Mine! I'm not a good boy! I'm SCRUFFY and everything! I didn't even floss last night!
PENN: Whatever. The point is, I'm so charming on my show that I could probably pull off wearing Ed's "shirt" and you'd call me a sensitive poet. See, I'm like the junior McDreamy. You'll find me in your Happy Meal along with a really cute toy we'll name something adorable, like Mr. Puddles.
CHACE: Screw poetry! It's for geeks! I haven't written a poem in weeks! ... Wait, that one didn't count, did it?
ED: Just relax, Chace. If I might paraphrase the Gospel According To The Pussycat Dolls, loosen up your buttons, baby.
PENN: Whereas I will only loosen your buttons when you and I feel emotionally ready to take that step together.
ED: You bitches are so boring. I'm going to go home and cut holes in my pants.
Posted by Heather at 10:28 AM | Permalink
Fug the Cover? Uma Thurman
When I originally pulled this Bazaar cover with Uma Thurman, I remember thinking, "Oh, UMA. No."
But now that I am looking at it again, I don't know that my first instinct was right. (Bear in mind that I hadn't had any coffee at that point. What was I doing, making judgment calls?) Sure, she looks a bit orange and I don't know that this is the most flattering pose for anyone (it looks more and more uncomfortable the longer you look at it, though it's ostensibly casual), but....you know, she's hot. And she looks recognizably like herself. And I kind of appreciate the fact that "TEN LEG LIFTS THAT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE" isn't splashed over her forehead.
And then I saw the OTHER Bazaar cover (I guess one is for subscribers and this one is for newsstands):
This cover girl looks like she was created in a lab using the DNA of Uma Thurman and Heidi Montag. So what do you think?
December 19, 2007
My Super Fug-Girlfriend
All Uma Thurman wants this Christmahanukwanzukah is a proper pair of gloves, so that she no longer has to strap on some oven mitts to get through the cold New York winter.
At first this reminded me of that episode of Friends where Phoebe's old flame Charlie Sheen comes to town right as she gets the chicken pox, so they spend the entire episode making out with potholders taped to their hands to dissuade them from any sexy scratching of their scabs. In THAT instance, I get it -- it's bad to pick at those suckers, and all his problems aside, I can totally respect the importance of macking on the Ma-Sheen.
Unfortunately for Uma, though, I realized this is ALSO reminisce of another classic TV moment.
Well, "classic" in the sense that it aired on a network which no longer exists; if it's hip to call any old ratty thing "vintage" just because it's old and pre-worn, then I'm going to go ahead and call this UPN-era Top Model moment a classic. Also, it was hilarious. That photo is basically porn for shellfish fetishists. Although I'm sure Tiffany up there would have enjoyed her zodiac shoot a lot more if she'd known it would one day lead to Uma Thurman comparisons. Uma, however, might want to rethink the contents of her winter-weather clothing trunk, because the day she evokes a reality-show supermodel-wannabe SHOULD be the day Satan has to turn up his thermostat -- and I hear his goosebumps are popping up apace.
Posted by Heather at 01:53 PM | Permalink
Fug the Cover: Mischa Barton
Could someone please explain to me what the deal is with Mischa's teeth here?
Right? I mean, she looks generically lovely here -- although not entirely like herself -- but....a bit rabbity, no? And I don't think I've ever thought that about her, not in all the years I spent complaining about how wooden she was on The OC. She almost looks like she's got a retainer in. And other than prompting me to waste twenty valuable minutes that I should be spending wrapping gifts or quaffing wassail on deep thoughts about Mischa Barton's dental situation, this cover has also led me to waste hardcore cookie-eating time on thinking about the 10 MASSAGES THAT'LL CHANGE MY LIFE. For one thing, that sounds dirty. For another, are there really TEN? I can't help imagining the poor writer assigned to this story, stuck on massage number seven and frantically asking her co-workers if they can think of ANY life-changing massages, AT ALL, so she can finish this thing and head down to the pub with everyone else. This wassail's for you, Tatler staffer.
So, Janine "Northern Exposure" Turner is doing this for a role, right?
I mean, she's still beautiful, but there's something going on here that screams, "I'm playing the title role in a kicky biopic of Carol Channing," and Janine Turner is a lot of things -- according to her website site, she is: the author of a new book about single mothers; currently appearing in a Christian yoga DVD; the artist behind a CD featuring "60 minutes of New Non-Vocal Meditational Renditions of 'Traditional Hymns,"' and also raising a passel of Longhorns which she will sell to you if you promise not to eat them, which, you know, I applaud people who pursue a wide range of interests -- but she is NOT yet a remarkably active 85 year old, as far as I know.
Although I am compelled to add that it seems that Carol Channing recently married (for the fourth time!) her junior high school sweetheart (!), who contacted her after she said nice things about him in her memoirs, and she 's been gallivanting around California to raise awareness for the need for arts education in public schools. So she's not a bad person to emulate when it comes right down to it (I sort of am in love with Carol Channing thanks to the Wikipedia-ing I ended up doing when I was innocently trying to figure out how old she is, and I am not ashamed to admit it). But maybe it's advisable to wait to adopt the LOOK until you are of the appropriate age to actually pull off Kicky Old Broad.
This is the part of the day when we get emails saying, "that is totally not Janine Turner. YOU'RE an old lady. Put on your glasses!" So I direct you to the close-up:
Is she...in a play? No, seriously, I want to know. Otherwise, I just don't get it. Don't wake up with that bone structure and muck it up with Channing Hair, is what I always say.
We won't even get into the eyeliner.
Posted by Jessica at 10:08 AM | Permalink
Congratulations to Arden Wohl, whose unique approach to clubbing attire has led to the greatest invention since the historic Jump To Conclusions Mat.
[Photo: Splash News]
They appear to be Crotchtrot Pants, teaching nimble suitors how to foxtrot their way to the promised land. If the faces on her t-shirt are part of the advertisement,there are about eight satisfied customers. Sadly, if we go by her expression, Arden is not among them. Oh, but cheer up, pet -- it's almost bedtime, and when it gets here all you'll have to do is floss and take off your boots.
Posted by Heather at 09:05 AM | Permalink
December 18, 2007
Fug to Love Me