Publicityfug

On this day, when we would under other circumstances be, say, wailing over Keira Knightley's decision to wear a burlap sack and coconut earmuffs to the Golden Globes, or waxing lustily poetic over how dreamy Mad Men's John Hamm looked in his tux, accepting his award, it is a relief that Courtney and Brown Peldon have popped out of obscurity to both bring us great joy and to reassure us that they are alive, and appearing and directing (respectively) in some play called Publicityville, which has but nine friends on MySpace (one of which, at least, is Charlie Schlatter, whom I loved deeply when I was about eleven, thanks to his shortlived stint in the Ferris Bueller TV series):

And they look pretty cute, in that Generically Styled By Wet Seal's Annual Sale kind of way.  You know, the longer I work the desk here at GFY HQ, the more fond I have become of Misses Peldon and Peldon. They just want to make their perfumes, and put on the occasional show in a barn, and if their past  shenanigans include prancing around the woods in satin tunics, or short-lived engagements to George McFly, well, we are all only the richer for it. My goal for 2008 is to run into one of them -- at the post office, maybe, or waiting in line to try on $11 tunics at Forever 21 -- and feel the glorious thrill that comes with spying a celebrity a rare few civilians would even recognize. Kind of like the time I sat next to Brandon Davis at the movies. Sure, he was the worst smelling person I'd ever sniffed, but seeing him out in the wild was like the fugger's version of spotting a rare bird sitting in the camellia bush in your front yard - a delicious but easily obtained prize.

STOP THE PRESSES! Peldon Sighting!

It was just the other day that we were bemoaning the fact that we haven't seen hide nor hair of either of the Peldon sisters in forever. How nice of them to hear our pleas and leave the house! With adorable animals in tow, no less!

Have I gone crazy with longing for them since last we saw them, or do they actually look pretty cute, notwithstanding the concept that Brown is walking around town with her cat in her purse? They're obviously riding high on the glee that comes from having a job, as, according to IMDb, they're set to appear in something called 2001 Maniacs: Beverly Hellbillys as "Rome and Tina Sheraton."  The movie also stars Talan From Laguna Beach (now his legal name), in yet another attempt to best Stephen From Laguna Beach in the acting wars, and seems to be about...maniacs? Whatever, it's just nice to see them out and about. I was worried they were getting overly obsessed with their Etsy Store and we'd never see them again and it was totally bumming me out. For whatever reason, in the three and a half years we've been writing GFY, I've become strangely attached to our Peldons, and I wish they at least had a livejournal, so I could check in occasionally and make sure that neither of them has been stabbed or has taken to her bed, distraught over news that Crispin Glover is squiring Hidden Palms. So thank you, ladies, for stepping outside and in front of a camera once more, so I can remove "wonder what happened to Peldons" from my To Do list and move on to "read the Gossip Girl prequel," like a normal person.

Happy Fugday

Here at GFY HQ, Heather, Intern George, and I would like to wish our patron saint Courtney Peldon a very happy birthday. (There is conflicting evidence about which birthday it is. We think she's actually 26. She MAY be claiming to still be 25, but we don't want to tar her with the old lying about her age brush. Girl, we've all thought about lying about our age. But have you considered the fact that this is going to involve a lot of math, going forward? Think about that.)

No matter what your age, Courtney, we miss your shenanigans.

We miss those days when you used to attend almost anything, wearing something that involved a hot glue gun and sequins. Remember when you were a perfume magnate?  Or the time you got stabbed? Or the saga of your engagement to Crispin Glover? God, that was so much fun. But you don't seem to go out as much anymore.  It makes us sad.  Are you depressed, Courtney? Too heartbroken still to leave the house much? Just real sleepy? Whatever it is, our birthday gift to you is just this: the heartfelt wish that you get up, put on some hot pants and get back out there. You're 25(ish)!  Go out there and shake it! Shake it in the faces of those of us who are aesthetically opposed to hot pants! Get out there and show us up!

Little Fugs in Fugly Boxes

COURTNEY: Forget being engaged to Crispin Glover! I've finally found what will make me famous! PERFUME! WE ARE GOING TO MAKE PERFUME!

KAJ-ERIK ERIKSEN: I have finally found what will make me famous -- this t-shirt!

BROWN: I have finally found what will make me famous -- being the better-dressed Peldon!

KAJ-ERIK ERIKSEN: I mean, come on, I kind of even look like Justin, right? Or maybe, like, his distant Canadian cousin? There's got to be some nepotism I can milk from this shirt, because meeting Girl On My Right on Boston Public didn't really work out so well for me.

COURTNEY: It's going to be amazing when the whole world smells like me! All 45,000 different scents are based on desserts that I used to look at longingly on the craft-service table! Cake, icing, truffle, buttercream, cookies... it's all there! God, I can't wait until we win an Oscar for these. "President Courtney Peldon, accepting on behalf of her company." YES.

BROWN: I mean, it's so easy! I'm basically just wearing a green sailor's dress with a satin cummerbund, and I look totally chic when you stick me next to Ms. Mothballs over there and Erik-Erik Erikerik, or whatever his name is, wearing that stupid shirt he made on Cafepress.

KAJ-ERIK ERIKSEN: Although, you know what, I'm on The 4400, so technically, I don't need this appearance. I have work.

COURTNEY: It was so awesome of my mom to make me this sweater out of my old ballet tutu! It's so multi-purpose. I can use it as Kleenex, I can use it to mop up spills with extra absorbency, and I can reach over a lit candle and accidentally tragically let the flame catch on my sleeves the next time I want my own mortal peril to make the news... "Perfume Mogul In Near-Death Inferno." Imagine the flowers I'll get at Cedars-Sinai!

BROWN: When do you think I should tell Courtney that she works for me? I mean, nobody's around town calling her a perfume artisan, or saying she is already "the best smelling woman on the set," which you KNOW is true, because I am always standing very close to people and they wouldn't let me if I wasn't totally aromatic. I mean, it's nice enough that I'm letting Courtney even stand NEXT to me in that stupid rag. I can't BELIEVE I have to let her think she's, like, involved. Just the other day I caught her practicing some stupid speech where she was all, "You can't spell Courtney without 'CEO,'" and it was seriously all I could do not to go on her IMDb page and add really embarrassing trivia to it.

KAJ-ERIK ERIKSEN: ... Wait a sec, and what is up with the name of this company? "Starring...!" I know all the stupid scents are named after types of actresses or whatever, but seriously, it reminds me of the time I met with that agent and said, "I just finished watching this TV movie, Little Girls In Pretty Boxes, starring my friend Courtney Peldon," and the dude just looked back and me, frowned, scratched his chin and said, "Starring... ???" I mean, come on.

BROWN: Whatever. If I stick with these two, people are probably going to start beating down my door in no time, because I look pretty cool by comparison. And I smell like vanilla dipped in sugar and rolled in pie-crust covered in cinnamon and drizzled in truffled things. What more could a girl want?!?

KAJ-ERIK ERIKSEN: My teeth are rotting from whiffing these twits. God, adding it all up, what am I doing here? Just stay cool, dude. Keep it together... it's almost over... almost... over...

Fugly Fugton

And we're back!  Heather and I had an amazing time at Fashion Week, and thank you so much to those of you who read our work over at NY Mag's Fashion Week blog. But now it's time to take off our stilettos and get back to stabbing people with them.

And who better to start with than our old friend and favorite, Courtney Peldon?

I know. I know.  Doesn't this look like a promotion photo for television movie -- set in 1992, like, check out her Kelly Taylor-style white bike shorts -- in which she's kidnapped and dragged into the woods by a deranged psychotic (played by Kevin Dillon), who fell in love with her during his daily trips to the local coffee shop at which she worked, and who then locks her away in a remote cabin and slowly tortures her, all in the name of love, much like that Sweet Valley High book where Elizabeth gets kidnapped by a crazy orderly at the hospital where she is a candy-striper.

Over the course of the movie, of course, her shiny purple tunic (oh my god, a shiny purple tunic) would get torn and greasy and dirty, and by the time her pals from the coffee shop (a sassy gay played by Nicholas Brendon and a sharp-tongued girl played by Sara Rue) convince the stern, yet handsome cop in charge of the investigation into her disappearance (Neil Patrick Harris, trying to stretch his range, but mostly looking like he's about to high-five someone) that the Coffee Shop Psychotic is behind it all, it will barely even be a tunic at all, which will be a blessing, both for her and for everyone watching this godforsaken made-for-tv monstrosity, which will be called Venti Latte With a Shot of Crazy: The Wendy Sue Ellen Maloney Story.

I really don't know if that's what she was going for here, but I'm pretty sure that, no matter what, our clearly de-engaged Ms Peldon should stay out of the woods.

The Other Fugdon

We have an apology to make.

In all the brouhaha over Courtney Peldon's engagement, possible secret marriage, or devastating breakup, we completely overlooked one thing -- one wee, brown, pointy thing: Ashley "Brown" Peldon herself, the other vital cog in the family fug wheel.

Don't worry, Brown, we would never abandon you -- your leggings, skirt, and baggy orange eruption of a shirt are just as misguided as ever. So dry your eyes, okay, our darling Sateen Queen? We didn't forget. Couldn't forget. Our barbed, prickly embrace will always, always, be open to you. Welcome back to our acid harbor.

The End of the Fugagement

Folks, we've got more disturbing evidence in the case of Crispin Glover and Courtney Peldon's Doubtful Nuptials.

Exhibit A: Courtney Peldon was out AGAIN last night, with Brown in tow of course, attending the opening of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels here in Los Angeles. It appears she is back to her old schedule of attending the opening of anything she can. (No offense to cast and crew of that fine show, of course. I just suspect that La Peldon wasn't there due to a deep love for Lady Fanny of Omaha as much as she was there because her old habits, PRE-ENGAGEMENT habits, require that she go out every night. Lady Fanny of Omaha, naturally, deserves all we can give her and more.)

Exhibit B: She's out, and she's not wearing her engagement ring. Look:

NO RING. (Well, she appears to be maybe wearing one on her middle finger, but that doesn't count.) That's two sightings in a row, in one week, AND NO RING. My friends, I fear that her betrothal to Crispin Glover must be finitio.   [In her defense, this outfit is not bad - I mean, it's basic and kind of boring, and for whatever reason, everything she wears always looks made entirely of polyester, but it's a Tuesday night at the theatre, and all her bits are covered, and overall she looks kind of sweet. She'll find a new man soon enou -- oh, God. I can't take it. I can't believe she and Glover didn't make it! I mean it. I was really, really looking forward to seeing the photos from that wedding. I was gleefully anticipating her maternity wear. I wanted to see them grow old together.  God, I'm SO DEPRESSED NOW.]

Mrs. Fugney Glover...?

Lest you be wondering, yes, the world is still turning properly on its axis, and I've got the photographic proof: Courtney Peldon, alive, well, and fuggin' it up, the way Mother Nature intended.

She is a delight, showing up in a shirt that doesn't even come close to fitting her. I guess that's what happens when you try at 25 to wear the same clothes you wore when you were 10 and thought you looked so grown-up in your fake pearls and pseudo-satin shirt, which you wore because your director on Harry and the Hendersons was your childhood crush Scott Baio, who was so convincingly and dreamily in charge for half of the 80s. ["I want Charles in charge of me," she would weep to her sister as her tears blurred the "Mrs. Courtney Baio" doodles on her Trapper-Keeper.] But, seriously, it's like she found this in her closet, finally rinsed out the leftover cologne smell that she's sworn she would never wash away until they got married, and donned it -- never once actually looking at how poorly it sits on her torso. You can tell by the hem -- low in the back, higher in the front because it's bunching on her breasts and straining to fit them. So what she imagines as a flirty, jaunty little exposure of navel and waxed pelvis is actually just a mistake.

And, not to stir up scandal -- but, Us Weekly won't, so I will: Check out the status of her left-hand ring finger. Last we saw, she was sporting Crispin Glover's engagement ring, but here, her finger is as naked as her abdomen. What gives, CP? Did you clean it and forget to put it back on? Did you loan it to Brown, and she lost it down the back of the couch? Did you pawn it for that prize breeding rat he so coveted, only to find out Crispin sold the rat to buy you some hair extensions? Please tell us your perfect union hasn't faltered, because we were really looking forward to your wedding dress, and to the arrival of wee baby Crispney.

And also... if that's what you chose to wear on your big night out back on the singles scene, then you need more help than we originally thought.

Return Of The Fug: A Peldon Surfaces

Well done, Brown. From a distance the gold decorations on your shirt look like very curious stains indeed, but I'm more fascinated by whatever's happening to your pelvis. [Heh. Your peldonvis. Haha -- see what I did there?]

Sorry. That was ridiculous, Brown, and I know it. It's just... you see, I'm a little giddy. I'm so excited to see you not only back on the red carpet, but completely confusing me to the point where I don't even know what that block of dark cloth even is, that I can't hold back the geekitude.

So tell me, sweet Peldon, is that a skirt? A layering tee that's way too long? A needless and unattractive extension of the brown shirt? A daring way to conceal the presence of an adult diaper? A new advance in cotton chastity belts?

Sigh. This is the family we know and love. Bless you, Brown.

My Fug School Musical

I can't tell if this is just an awful, awful homage to Olivia Newton John in Grease, where she deploys tight shiny pants and heels in order to win back big dumb lug John Travolta and thereby freeing him from the cruel freakish prison of a varsity sweater (the horror, the HORROR), or if Ashley Tisdale just figured that the premiere of a movie called Surf School didn't require actually getting properly dressed.

There is also something awfully Peldon about her overlong t-shirt that reads, "DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR" -- especially the way that, coming from her, you figure it's just a message for that bitch in her on-set chem tutoring session who tried to steal all her answers and then shoved her tongue down the tutor's throat even though she FULLY knew Ashley had called dibs on him, and they're never going to speak again and Ashley just wants her to know that she would rather DIE than disrespect the Rules of Dibs.

Speaking of the Peldons, what do they have to say about all this?

Nothing. Not a bloody thing. They had the gall to show up after two months on the lam, or whatever it was, and actually look decent. Normal, even. This photo reminds me of a box my parents re-use every Christmas: white cardboard, decorated on the sides, emblazoned on the front with colorful, huge letters that say, "DOES NOT CONTAIN WHAT YOU HAD HINTED FOR."

[Amazingly, never once in the 20-odd years we've used that box has it borne the frustrated red pen scars of a quick but vicious grammatical edit from My Mother The English Major.]

So in that sense, thanks, Courtney and Brown, because it's nice to see that you're still out there Peldoning about, but this photo does not contain that for which our APB had hinted (man, grammar is so awkward sometimes). What we really wanted was some crazy. Capital-C Crazy. We wanted "my stylist is Crispin Glover and my coat is made of rat tails, Q-tips, and the hair of a virgin" insanity. Come on! If we can't trust the Peldons to loon it up at the merest hint of red in a nearby carpet, then what or whom CAN we trust?

ALL POINTS BULLETIN: Find Our Fug

Have you seen this woman?

Neither have we.  And frankly, dear readers, we are getting worried. As recently as the Oscars, Courtney Peldon could be found attending the opening of an eye.  And yet she hasn't been photographed for going on six weeks! This is like the Normal Person equivalent of not leaving your house for 7-9 months.  We've had a high level GFY Security Council meeting about this issue (Intern George, whom Heather and I could not bear to let go, took notes), and we've come up with some possible reasons for Our Fug Queen's alarming absence:
a) Beset by rage and jealousy over her engagement to Crispin Glover, Peldon's former paramour Jason Davis kidnapped her and is now keeping her locked in the basement at Casa Davis. He's also forcing Brandon Davis to guard her 20 hours a day, which explains why Brandon has no time to wash his hair.
b) She's terribly busy planning her wedding to McFly. It's quite a complicated event, involving a team of trained rats carrying her 40-foot train. Brown Peldon will officiate, but she will be rapping rather than speaking.
c) She's been on a lengthy conference call with Brown Peldon and Bai Ling, trying to figure out how to make leggings look sufficiently skank-ola. They have already rejected the following suggestions: making them out of mesh, cutting out the ass, and wearing them soaking wet. Currently on the table: cutting them up the sides and then putting them together again with giant safety pins. Bai thinks this is too demure, Brown thinks it is too Hair Metal. They are at an impasse.
d) She got stabbed again, but no one bothered to tell us.

No matter what the reason, one thing is clear: we kind of miss the kid.

Fuggy Holidays

Just when I feared she might have gone into hibernation for the holidays, Courtney Peldon has appeared once more to gift us with that special brand of fug that's all her own.

Were we printing up our own Christmas cards, we would want something like this on the cover. It's a perfect storm of fug -- the hugely unflattering cut, the furious tableaux that occupies 80 percent of available real-estate, the arm straps -- and it's the perfect postcard for us to send as we sail off into our two-week seasonal hiatus. Yes, believe it or not, even cold, dead, tar-hearted vixens of negativity need some warm-and-fuzzy time during the waning days of December.

We invite you to peruse our extensive archives during our absence; we'll be back in full force on Tuesday, Jan. 3, after all the wine and cheese and cake and starches and little chocolates shaped like Santa and egg nog and chocolate martinis and Christmas Eve bangers-and-mash dinners have settled in our round bowls full of jelly, and we're feeling sufficiently less lethargic that we can haul our carcasses up off the couch and sit down at the computer for brief, energizing spells of bitchery.

And don't worry -- we may be gone, but we're still watching. Waiting. [Britney, we know you're going to leave the house again soon enough and venture out in public to pretend you're still happy -- just rip off the Band-Aid, pet, and let us see what you've been moping in lately.]

Happy Holidays! And thanks to all our readers for making 2005 such a blast. We'll see you next year!

Courtney Peldon: Fug or Treat

You've asked for it, and we at GFY are nothing if not attentive to your Peldon needs. So with that, we present to you what we sincerely hope is the photo on Courtney Peldon and Crispin Glover's wedding announcement someday, but which, for now, is simply a record of how this odd couple spent their Halloween:

Can you imagine the union of The Ubiquitous Peldon and crazy Crispin Glover We can see it now:

"Together with their publicists, agents, Bob from Aahs!!, possibly their parents, and the makers of Lithium, COURTNEY PELDON, sister of The Brown One, and CRISPIN GLOVER, who will not get his damn hands off her, invite you to share  in the joy of their marriage -- a union which not only unites one man with his soul's density, but two fine resumes that include: her notable work in Home Improvement, That Movie In Which She Was Accidentally Stabbed For Real, and Jason Davis's bedroom; and his Back To The Future turns as well as that rat movie, and his appearance as a hair-sniffing glassy-eyed head case -- so, as himself -- in Charlie's Angels. The ceremony will be held on the red carpet in front of the Kodak Theater while everyone is inside at the Oscars (so come promptly, because they'll be packing it up during the vows), and the reception will immediately follow at whichever after-party they can successfully crash.

The couple is registered at Trashy Lingerie, Nobu, Sephora, and the Kaiser Permanente 24-Hour Pharmacy (West Los Angeles location). RSVP within four weeks, by carrier pigeon deployed to any event with a gift bag. It will find her."

Emmy Pre-Party Fug: Courtney Peldon

Sometimes it's not the clothes that fug up the Peldon -- it's what's beneath them.

In this case, La Peldon seems to have parlayed her D-list status into getting a D-list tan, one as orange, uneven, and blotchy as a pubescent Oompa-Loompa.

Doesn't it kind of look like her mismatched, normal-colored face has been Photoshopped onto another body? Like someone's been having a little pictoral fun with our Courtney -- perhaps even Courtney herself, trying to cover up that she actually wore something far more hideous to this Emmy pre-party?

But no -- no chicanery here, except on the part of the sunscreen/tanning salon/bloated Davis brother who snapped on the protective gloves and slobberingly rubbed in her self-tanner. This is truly La Peldon in all her heinous Burnt Marmalade glory, apparently so greedy for attention that she's even trying to redefine the term "Brown Peldon" so that it no longer applies to her sister.

The Peldons: A Life Raft of Fug

You know what we truly need in trying times like these? More than hope, more than love, more than money?

Peldons.

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Courtney wants you to know that she has been very busy lately, what with all the work it takes to crimp her hair and get fitted for customized knee-pads (no starlet can live without 'em!) and inflate her chest to its irregular dimensions -- not to mention all those situps to Pink-ify her pelvis. She's been so slammed, in fact -- both with that and the riding boots she's trying to break in before she saunters into Vogue and pitches herself as The American Madge: A Country Lass In The Big City -- that she left a clip in part of her hair. But she's going to leave it that way, because dammit, what America wants right now is to keep it REAL.

Brown Peldon, on the other hand, is just happy to be out of the house. She's been living the hip-hip life, see, writing incisive rap songs about drugs and sex that nobody will ever hear while lazing around in bed wearing lingerie and making the pool boy feed her peeled grapes. She's forgotten that when Courtney drags her out for a reassuring photo op during our national nightmare, she might need to do a little more than just throwing on old misshapen Weekend Jeans under her nightie.

But we like it that way. In these times of frightening and dire change, we need a little consistency. We need our security blankets. We need Courtney and Ashley Peldon... now, more than ever.

Von Fug

Ever topical and timely, our pretty little Princess Peldon has reappeared on the scene:

:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

There's one of two things happening here. By wrapping herself solely in Von Dutch, La Peldon is either: (A) desperately trying to attract the attention of A-Kutch, in the hopes that she can convince him to leave Demi Moore for a younger, dimmer bulb, or (B) she is laboring under the delusion that it is still 2003. If it is the latter, I wonder what else she's doing that the rest of us have long since abandoned? Is she still trying to decide how she feels about John Kerry? Is she breathlessly wondering why Simon Cowell is so darn mean? Is she listening to a lot of  Chingy? Is she sadly showing up to the long-destroyed set of Boston Public, carrying a frayed script, and wandering around aimlessly for hours looking for David E. Kelley?  If so, can she thank him for sort of falling off the face of the earth for me? Thanks.

The Fug Queen Is Back, Slowly But (We Hope) Surely

Lo! Two Peldons!

[Photo by Daily Celeb.]

Brown Peldon needn't look so proud of her skirt. I think I had one of those in my old dress-up drawer, into which my mother would dump old clothes and aprons and whatnot so that, as a wee young fugger, I could costume myself and prance around the playroom pretending to be a princess/beleaguered fry cook/prairie heroine/Annie. Of course, Brown Peldon's skirt looks more like she sewed a tablecloth over the tulle dress she wore in her first grade talent show (which is quite possibly the largest audience ever to have been privy to her work).

Our girl Courtney, however -- aside from having feet that are disappearing underneath her too-long white jeans -- has every right to look thrilled. Because she has totally snookered us. She has absolutely passed that shirt off as couture, rather than the exact same tank her sister is wearing, but in fuschia and with a $1.99 lei from Joe-Mac's Discount Party Supplies & Pawn Shop stitched jauntily to the top. Look at her, just gloating over the fact that you are so very fooled by her cunning.

Welcome back, Courtney. It's no cat shirt -- no genie jumpsuit -- but it's madness nonetheless.

Happy Birthday To Our Favorite Fuglet

We here at Go Fug Yourself have made no secret of the fact that we're both baffled by Courtney Peldon -- Who? Why? How? What is that thing she's wearing? -- but we've also grown to love her for her insane taste, scary-large fake boobs, and general ubiquity.

So we're pleased to learn that today is Ms. Peldon's 24th birthday. We'd like to wish her a very happy birthday indeed, because without La Peldon we wouldn't have choked on nearly as much righteous indignation in the past year.

We can only dream of what glorious celebrations might be taking place today, to honor this sweet creature. Fortunately for us, we can sate that craving through history, with photos of Courtney's 23rd birthday party; we can at least revel in The Fug That Was. And there's no better place to start than with a view of the cake that her friends and family lovingly ordered for the pointless starlet:

On my birthday, I won't be happy unless my relatives order a giant sheet cake from Von's that is decorated with a photo of me posing in a bra and panties. For Courtney, clearly the only way to express appreciation for her presence in this world was to ask people to eat her breasts.

And then things took an eerily prescient turn:

She's so happy with her knife. So innocent. So blissfully unaware of her fate. Courtney! Stop! Put it down. I know you're probably ashamed that you're wearing a green shirt with some sort of Satanic cat on the front, but please, don't let the devil's pussy infect you! Put down the knife! Knives are stabby! For the love of God and fug, put it --

Sigh. It's so sad to see yet another young girl turn to cutting. [And let's not even start on wondering which part of her body she chose to eat.] Odd that only half a year later, a friendly instrument of slicing just like this one would find its way through her for real.

We're happy you're well now, Courtney. Please come back to the fug. You haven't been out and about much lately, and when you have been, nothing terrible has graced your form. We're going through withdrawal here.

Goodbye, Fug, For, Like, A Minute: Our Once And Future Fug Queen

I don't mean to alarm you guys, but... Courtney Peldon -- Forever Our Fug Girl -- is back, and... well, she's not dressing like a two-bit whore:

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

This ensemble clearly says, "Twenty-bit whore."

Actually, we have to applaud La Peldon for choosing something relatively tame for herself. Sure, she has some painful-looking camel toe, and we have minor issues with her shoe choice -- especially as it pertains to the handbag -- but, c'mon, this is Courtney Peldon here. We're lucky she isn't somehow dressed as a shoe.

Perhaps -- and I'm not advocating fashion terrorism here -- she got some the sense stabbed into her? I don't know.

And frankly, I sort of hope not. Because we here at GFY missed Courtney Peldon while she was recuperating from The Knifing Felt 'Round The World, If By "World" You Mean "My Living Room," and we would be lying to ourselves and everyone else if we said we wanted her to return from this incident with a sense of decorum.

Obviously the bathtub gin is getting to our heads. But we can't help it: We like our Peldon confusing, fugly, and inappropriate. We like her obscure. And most of all, if she does dress up as a shoe, we'd like her to be a leopard-print thigh-high boot, or a marabou slipper-stiletto.

For Immediate Release: DON'T BE SO STABBY

We here at Go Fug Yourself would like to make it clear that we are not in any way responsible for the recent and unfortunate stabbing of Courtney Peldon. As for the rumors that the stabbing was orchestrated by a crazed Go Fug Yourself follower, we know of no such person, and we're also pretty sure that we just told her prop guy to sneak into her house and replace all her bustiers with turtlenecks. At no time, did we use the words, "knife," "stab," or "make it look like an accident, dude."

We could not condemn this sort of senseless act of violence in the name of fashion more strongly. Stabbing is rarely the answer.

We wish Ms Peldon a speedy recovery and look forward to seeing her next sartorial disaster on the red carpet. Get well, Courtney!

The Fug Code

"I pledge allegiance to the Fug of the United States of America. And to the fugpublic for which it stands -- one caftan, cut like a minidress, stuffed with boobs, with cleavage and leg-baring for all."

Wonderfug, Your Newest Superhero

It's too bad she didn't have this dress at Halloween, because Courtney Peldon could have gone as a broken bottle of Pepto Bismol:

Hey, Courtney, nice move with the massive cutout in your dress -- that bra endorsement deal will come through in no time. Unless it's not deliberate, and in fact the fashion police really did show up on the red carpet and attempt a violent arrest. But, no, sadly, this getup smacks of carefully wanton exhibitionism, so we're going to have to wait another day for Officer HolyGodWeDon'tWantToSeeUpYourWomanPocket to whip out his truncheon and sic the attack dogs.

What could be better than a Peldon fug?

A Peldon-Ling extravaganza:

[Both photos courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Courtney's hole has gone from being a careful side-skimming affair to being an escape hatch for her right breast. She is probably so excited and aroused by the fugocity of Bai Ling's hot pants, yellow heels, and electric blue legwarmers that she can't keep the ladies in check. Her breasts are clearly lesbians.... Or fugbians.

There's A Fug on the Field

This just in!

Photo Courtesy of Daily Celeb.

Ashley Peldon, sister of Courtney Peldon, has retired from her career of... um, you know, whatever it is she actually does... and has reimaged herself as a deranged Foot Locker employee, mid-rampage, or, perhaps, as sexy referee, except without the "sexy" and with more of the, "Oh my God, that's not a good look for you. Or anyone. Ever. Seriously, put on my coat."

What sort of penalties does one call as a sexy referee, I wonder? "Roughing the scrotum"? "Unnecessary use of tongue"? "Ineligible receiver"? Regardless, I call a time out.

Brother Of Fug

Can we talk about Jason Davis for a sec?

Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.

The New York Post called him "bulky," which is, I believe, the new "husky." They don't mention that he appears to have made a coat of Fozzie Bear, which is surely against truth, justice and the American way.

Apparently, and deliciously, Jason "Brother of Oily Bohunk and Mischa Barton Lover Brandon Davis" Davis is the current paramour of Go Fug Yourself's Queen Bee: Courtney Peldon. Can you imagine the wedding those two would have? The ginormous fur puffers on the men? The sliced-to-the-crotch, slit-to-the-navel wedding gown? Bridesmaid Mischa Barton kitted out in something that resembles a shredded tarp?

Please God. Please let Jason Davis and Courtney Peldon get married. Please, please. She would be really happy with all of his money. He would be really happy with all of her...all of her. And I would die happy from all of the delectable fug.

The Fug Queen

We hate to admit it, but we're becoming sort of relieved that Courtney Peldon is continuing her streak of baffling and omnipresent celebrity without the accompanying fame and regular work, because it means we don't have to watch her practice any craft but the art of fuggery:

Enjoy the pink bra she's wearing under that translucent blue tank top; revel in the alternately tight and billowy skirt-pants -- clingy where it counts (hello, budding camel-toe!), loose everywhere else.

And it's always good to accentuate Things In Which One Might Do Yoga with bejewelled shoes.

Kabbalah Fugs: The Sisters Peldon

Throw a party in honor of a book about a piece of red yarn, and all the stars come out to play. To wit: BOTH Peldon sisters came out of their fug chambers to support something they don't actually wear:

Now, from the hips up, Courtney looks normal. From the hips down, she appears to have left on half of her wet suit. Or her bike shorts. Or her wrestling tights. I don't know what is going on there, but I do know it's comforting that she can find a way to fug up a simple white tank top.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, Ashley Peldon, sister of Courtney Peldon:

You know, she might've had me if she'd thrown a white tank under that coat, which is a bit cute on its own. But instead, she thought to herself, "You know what makes ME feel like a natural woman? SEQUINED PINEAPPLES," and threw on that that shirt and some lipstick that looks like she glued the Mystical Bracelet of Power to her mouth.

She's no Courtney -- not yet -- but the foundation is certainly there for a rich lifetime of fugly choices in the highly imitable (if you are blind, or super drunk) style of her scary sister.

I leave you with this:

I figured it out, guys! Courtney Peldon is in the circus. That's who she is.

Young Fug

Hey, almost-unrecognizable-and-surprisingly-mannish Amy Davidson, listen up: One simple rule of fugging oneself is matching one's hat with one's eye shadow:

Guys, consider yourself warned: If you persist in voting this year, we cannot be held responsible for the fate of your genitals.

And finally, because it's always worth noting, somebody still needs attention:

Is that shirt really made to make it look like she's wearing a bra outside her clothes? Or... is she actually wearing a bra outside her clothes?

At least her mother finally put a collar on Courtney, so that if she gets lost people will know who she is so that they can return her. Of course, knowing this family, the collar probably says, "Please return to: Ashley Peldon," which would render any good samaritan stumped.

Who The Fug Are You?: Courtney Peldon, Our Pointless Queen

Her relevance to society -- and photography -- still eludes me, but I've at least figured out what La Fugdon should have starred in: Sleepover.

She's certainly dressed like she thinks she's at a slumber party, albeit one for women like her who are 23-going-on-35-going-on-19. I just picture her sitting in front of a giant makeup mirror dabbing perfume on her neck from a crystal bottle, purring, "Satin is in. Feathers are in. Vaginas are in. Add crimped hair, which is NEVER out of style, and this outfit is a winner."

Emmy Fug Carpet: Courtney Peldon

[Photo courtesy of Zap2It.com.]

We're really busy at Go Fug Yourself this morning, thanks to the Emmys, so this one is a DIY. Fill in the blanks: [ADJECTIVE] [ADJECTIVE] Peldon [VERB] [DERIVITIVE OF FUGLY] [SYNONYM FOR DRESS] at the Emmys. [INSERT VERSION OF "WHO IS SHE, ANYWAY?" HERE] Peldon [VERB] [SYNONYM FOR CRAZY AND/OR BLIND] and [ADJECTIVE SUGGESTING POSSIBLE MENTAL ILLNESS]. Peldon's [SYNONYM FOR OUTFIT] [VERB] [SYNONYM FOR UGLY]. [INSERT SNIDE COMMENT SUGGESTING PELDON MAY BE ATTENDING EMMYS AS A SEAT FILLER.]

The Fugdon Sisters

Maybe it's the gin talking, but I think I'm falling in love with the Peldon sisters:

Look at them! Brown Peldon is wearing a jaunty James Spader in Pretty In Pink If He Were A Girl Whose Grasp of Current Trends Is About Six Months Behind The Rest of Us-type fedora and clutching her bedazzled-Coke bottle handbag, and Blonde Peldon is...being supportive in a midriff-baring satin top? I don't know.

They just seem so happy together. Can't you imagine their lives? They've got money from...something...and so, instead of working, they spend most of the day trying on a series of increasingly shiny outfits, jumping on their respective beds, and brushing each other's hair. Later, there's probably some crying about, you know, their empty, empty souls or something, but then there's probably also some sunbathing and a pedicure so it all evens out.

I smell a Peldon sisters reality show, people. And it smells like a potent cocktail of peroxide, Nads and sweet sweet desperation.

Who The Fug Are You?: More Courtney Peldon

Courtney, give up. I don't care what that guy told you to get you to sleep with him -- you're not getting the part of Jeannie.

This outfit is 360-degrees of fug. The decision was never about whether or not it's bad, but which part of it is the most wrong: The tye-dyed fabric, the fact that it's jumpsuit-esque, the fact that the pants blouse mid-calf, the fact that the picture makes it seem like there's a chance she's wearing light stockings with her open-toed shoes, the limpness of her hair, or the pink lanyard thing dangling from her skull?

This looks like it was made for someone ten inches shorter than she is. There's some uncomfortable pulling and tightness in the crotch region.

Here's a thought, Courtney: JUST STOP SHOWING UP. It's much easier.

And don't even get me started on her sister's dress. It makes my eyes throb.

Mystery Fug

I know we just recently visited this territory, but the repeated appearance of Courtney Peldon at various events alongside people of demonstrably greater purpose in the acting world begs the question: Seriously, and we're not kidding, who are you, Courtney Peldon? And why do you keep showing up places dressed like a buffoon and posing for photographers in impossibly cutesy, saccharine contortions?

In a SHOCKING turn, Courtney has gone with something short and form-fitting, with thigh-high boots! Who could've predicted it! The strange stain-like blotch is an interesting wrinkle. It's very hip to run around town looking like you just dropped a meatball on your lap.

But who is this bozo? Aside from guesting on episodes of Boston Public and MTV's Undressed, Courtney Peldon hasn't done that much -- but she has achieved one remarkable feat: At the ripe young age of 23, she has given herself the look and feel of a 32-year old woman who is desperately trying to trick people into thinking she's 19. It's quite a stunning achievement.

Perhaps the question is, who the hell does Courtney Peldon think she is? I suspect she thinks she's Hilary Duff or Kaley Cuoco, but really she's some hybrid who has tricked people into thinking she might be Hilary Duff, so they'd better not turn her down at the door, or else she'll start singing as a form of torture. There's a touch of The Insanity in her always-wide-open blue eyes, and there's a touch of the ho in all of her clothing.

I mean, honey, if you HAVE to advertise...

IMDb is no help as to understanding this Courtney Peldon thing -- her bio names her, first and foremost, as "Ashley Peldon's older sister." Okay. And who the hell is Ashley Peldon? "Younger sister of Courtney Peldon." It boggles the mind. I mean...

Who wears this to a CELEBRITY GOLF event? Don't they know that "golf clubs" are a THING and not a mad-hip party place? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE AND WHY ARE THEY INVITED TO THINGS? That only encourages them to put on hooker shoes and pose! Stop the madness!

Courtney Fugdon

Somehow, I recognize Courtney Peldon's face, and know her name, despite the fact that I've never seen anything she's ever been in, and the only project on her CV that I recognize is the MTV soap/trainwreck, Undressed, which wasn't known for showcasing stellar thespian efforts, to say the least. She was recently the beneficiary of a piece in The Star which said, basically, "Courtney dresses like a two-dollar whore, but she's a good sport about how we make fun of her crappy outfits, so thanks, Courtney!"

To which I respond; Courtney, you dress like a two-dollar whore. What is going on here?

Those are boots that Julia Roberts's character in Pretty Woman would have rejected as being "too trampy," even pre-Gere-Makeover. And what's she wearing around her waist? Is that a... what is that? Is it an angora obi? Did she decide to wear one of her mini-skirts as a belt? Is she attempting to single-handedly resurrect Units, except this time, fluffier and with less 80s Japanese influences? Or is it the hem of a fuzzy strapless top, the rest of which is buried under her wifebeater? And the skirt? Is that pink Astroturf? Is she auditioning for the role of a PowerPuff Girl? A heretofore unknown and clearly kinda sluttly PowerPuff Girl?

No, seriously. Who is Courtney Peldon and what is wrong with her?