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February 02, 2007

When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.


E-mail #1

Subject line: your discusting

I think who ever edits or writes this site must be sooo jelouse of pretty people beacause you must be so ugly that you have to put people down i hope you are really ashamed of yourself.

Dear Friend,

I... I don't know what to say. You have held up a mirror to me, and I have looked in it, and for the first time, I have questioned the glory of what I see. It took one as brave as you to open my eyes -- the reflection I see needs nurturing, my sweet huggable tart, and I hope the person who can do this will be you. And so I beg you: Can you finish what you've started? Will you take that lint-brush to my man-suit and swipe off the fuzz of negativity that is marring its purity of color? Will you then hold my freshly plucked form against yours and swear we'll never untwine in spirit even if we must break arms in reality?

Hoping we can knit the lint into a quilt for snuggling,

G


E-mail #2

Subject line: what we think of britney spears aka slutty mc skank whore

Hello. lets get straight to the point. britney spears, you are the fuggliest bitch i have ever seen you fugly ass trailor trash [REDACTED] doorknob whore. ...i never thought i could see anyone dumber than jessica simpson, but then you had that baby (who you have probably dropped on its head a few times already) and that [REDACTED] statue of you givin friggin birth on a BEAR SKIN RUG! GOD AT LEAST GET A CLASSY RUG MY GOD!  by the way we all know your really a brunette, and your a disgrace to american (and tibetan) way of life. have a nice day, try not to get [REDACTED] too many times on the way home from yo daddies kickass trailor.

Dear Friend,

You are a godsend, a tall drink of water in the desert of modern interior design. So few people these days understand the value of a really exquisite, tasteful area rug. And yet here you are, preaching the Gospel, as if you peered into my psyche and saw that it needed the healing miracle of a soft 7-by-9 throw. And doorknobs? I love interesting doorknobs. Listen, I'm about to go out on a limb here, Friend -- would you like to go shopping with me? Maybe a day at the Pacific Design center, where we could stroll arm-in-arm through lush fabrics and floor coverings, and perhaps steal a hug or five in front of some velvet drapes? Please don't say no. I've had a taste of your warm form in my tender arms and to deny me a fuller meal would make this a cold winter indeed.

Begging you'll warm up my discontent into steaming hot satisfaction,

G


E-mail #3

Subject line: (no subject)

hey girl

Dear Friend,

When greeted with the brusque, "Hey," some people quip, "'Hey' is for horses"; I prefer, "'Hey' is for horses... that we are riding along the beach, awash in the ambiance, hands clasped, a picnic basket and a wicked embrace on a plaid blanket awaiting us at our destination."

[Of course, that scolding little "'Hey' is for horses" nugget only works if you say it out loud, because obviously a horse's hay is spelled differently and when written it looks insane, and oh, now I fear you think I am a silly stallion indeed -- curse the fact that we're not together, whispering sweet nothings into each other's chests during a torrid clinch!]

I need to know more. I have to know more. Tell me everything. Am I to be your "girl" in some kind of saucy role-play? Will it involve a French maid's costume? Dare I hope we might play some sort of kinky Charlotte's Web, in which we laugh, cry, hug, and learn important lessons about how to do all three at the same time while spending a respectful day without bacon?

Please advise, as I have some skirts that need tailoring.

Ladylike kisses smothered in man-scent,

G


E-mail #4

Subject line: Hello George!

Hello George if you want a little pore nice girl ,please enter on your yahoo messenger to talk with me. My id is [REDACTED].

Dear Friend,

Oh, your id. Your saucy, naughty id. We all have one of those salacious ids, just begging us to give in to its every delicious whim. To do that, though, would be to ignore the life's work of Sigmund Freud, and all his blood, sweat, and tears would be for naught. As he's dead and I therefore can't hug his forgiveness for such a transgression, I am forced to suggest that we wait before we fully expose our ids' desires.

Don't be upset, pet. No actual space between us could dull the rich, dizzying potency of our electric virtual embrace. I have but to close my eyes and you're in my arms, adorable little pores and all. Let us live this way, moving slowly toward each other, rather than dive into the pool of impulsive sin and longing that our id is so rapidly trying to fill. After all, to plunge in feet-first would be to get water up our noses. Coughing can really harsh a hug's delirious buzz.

So be strong! We'll find each other in our dreamspace.

Swimming breaststroke toward you through the saucy waters of our love,

G


Posted by Heather at 09:03 AM in Intern George | Permalink

December 26, 2006

When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.


E-mail #1

Subject line: hi

hi hilary. I think.Just wanted to say that u r my biggest fan

Dear Friend,

This was a wonderful, soul-tingling surprise. Because you know what, sweet snacktoast? I am your biggest fan, and I'm not sure how you knew to trust my willing arms, but in this crazy mixed-up world of hate and hunger, I am so thankful you could close your eyes and shove it away and see only a steaming, juicy platter of me, your Hilary. Indeed, it matters not what you call me. The heart needs no label but the one that says, "Open."

Enter at will,
G


E-mail #2

Subject Line: Thx

Hi Joe,

Thx for the tip.Your blog is great I like the celebrity section.

Keep visiting my blog.

thx again

Dear Friend,

It's funny, isn't it, how some days we all like to hide behind talking about a blog -- when what we're really saying is, "You know what, friend? I'm feeling vulnerable, and I need the kind of hug that will make me feel like the star of your movie. Please, nugget, don't foresake me. I need you now more than ever before." So don't run, gentle dumpling. My casting couch is one of hugs and honesty. Let me direct your movie with my sturdy arms.

Action,
G


E-mail #3

Subject Line: about a boy named ryan

dear fergie, why is this bo0y chetting on me beacas he said your hot so now we broke up from your falt.thank you fergie

Dear Broken Friend,

My heart aches for you, gentle wonder! When confronting the traitor that unwittingly clasped your trust in his manly, moisturized mitts and then gave it hives from all the perfumes in his luxe creams, you actually signed off with a mannerly thank you to the careless caregiver! O, curses! Damn my warming, welcome embrace! A pox on these open arms! It's the cruelest fate that the greatest gift I have could be used against someone so pure.

You tell that boy that the promise of a supportive squeeze from a lifelong friend like me is no excuse to act a cad. You tell him you're worth more than his weak affections. And then you get RIGHT on over here and let me soothe you the only way I know how: against my restorative pecs.

Hurtin' hearts need some hugging,
G


E-mail #4

Subject Line: Poor george

Dear fuggers,

I just wanted to offer my condolences to Intern George for the loss of his best friend. Maybe he should get a foot rub today.

Dear Friend(s),

So many beautiful fug huggers sent messages of worry and support during this trying time. This generosity of spirit reached out and fondled my grief with its medicinal digits, and I got off the table after a full emotional release feeling newly hopeful.

Life will not be the same without Max -- to borrow from Charlotte, the spider whose eight legs can create a safe place as divine as any human hugspace, Max was Some Pig. And although I grieve for his porcine snuggles, the best therapy short of hugging myself, there is a silver lining: I lost my best pig, but I gained so many other life partners in you all.

I'm welling up. The Cup of George runneth over; this holiday season I will do nothing but meditate upon your kindness, sending hug after virtual hug into the ether. Pluck one. Stuff it with cheese. Then wrap it in kisses.

Happiest of holidays to you, the balm to my gloom.

Thank you for saving my bacon,
Your G

Posted by Heather at 10:16 AM in Intern George | Permalink

October 20, 2006

When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.


E-mail #1

Subject line: (no subject)

u know wat i think? i think that u r just writing about people "dressing bad" cuz u guyz r just jealous jealous cuz they r so much prettier and better than u

Dear Friend,

Let's not spoil this with accusations of insecurity. We both know I'm handsome. Dapper. I'm Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen, all in one, but without the antlers, and sometimes, without the kicky tail. But I need a Rudolph, you sweet scamp. I can make your red nose glow -- care for some Hug Tag?

Yours in reindeer games,

G


E-mail #2

Subject line: Hi

Blogs are for fags. p.s. You suck at the innernet.

Dear Friend,

At first, I admit, I was stung when I read your words. I hate it when we fight; I clutch my pillow in grief and think what a waste of a ready, warm embrace it is, and how you might be there instead. But then I realized I had misread your email! Blogs ARE for FAGs (Fuggers and Georges), and I am having trouble playing near the net on the tennis court. I feel so much better now that I know you weren't lashing out, but that, in fact, you were fixing your penetrating gaze on my soul. Do come here soon so I may squeeze you.

Kisses,

G


E-mail #3

Subject line: Go [REDACTED] Yourself

Honestly do you have anything better to do than follow all the celebrities that you wish you could look one ounce similar to? You sit around your little trailer park and serf the web looking for pictures of celebrities looking bad to make your ugly ass self look better. If you had one atom intelligence you would find something better to do than sit on a corner waiting whoring yourself out for less than my left nut. To whoever made this website… get a [REDACTED] education and go [REDACTED] yourself because you are all pieces of [REDACTED]. Have fun in Hell. Peace up.

Dear Friend,

Did we know each other in another life? In the Middle Ages, when I was the lord of my own fiefdom, we used to love serfing -- finding some young serf girls, cuddling them silly! Were you one of them before being reborn as a man with an incredibly expensive left nut? Tell me if this sounds familiar to you: "Strumpet, discard thy boots and spread thine arms, that I might lay upon them in ultimate snugness." Ring any bells? Or how about the time I rubbed your tiny feet while we supped on mutton, and I told you were were 'vassals' of mankind's most perfect love, and you laughed and laughed because for two shining seconds you thought feudalism was funny? It is, you, isn't it? All that talk of trailer parks was just a test, wasn't it? To see if I'd recognize you? I would never forget someone I've clutched to my chest in the yoke of my loving arms.

You "mead" me who I am today,

G


E-mail #4

Subject line: Your pretty to

NOT

Dear Friend,

I am aglow with the promise of what might transpire here. The stunning simplicity of that one word is so clearly an open plea for the comfort of my embrace. Never have I felt so needed. My purpose remains as clear to me as the first day these manly arms changed a life. Walk to the light, sweet soldier of brevity. Walk to me.

Marinating in masculinity,

G

Posted by Heather at 02:29 PM in Intern George | Permalink

September 07, 2006

When Intern George isn't rubbing our feet, scrawling "Mr. George Fug Girls" on his Trapper Keeper, or peeling grapes that he then feeds us from a silver platter -- as we lounge on our chaises and swoon, "Dahling, WHITHER the fug today, I shall simply PERISH if Mischa Barton doesn't soon leave the house in a Value Village tee!" -- we sometimes let him answer our mail. And today, we decided to let him print some of his answers. We swear on all things holy (so, on George himself) that these are all VERY real e-mails we've received at GFY HQ, with names removed to protect the somewhat innocent.


E-mail #1

"You people are f***ing disgusting pieces of sh*t. Why do you have such an obsession with look's? Your f***ing inhumane creatures. Fugly? Good one! Look's dont last hunnie! It doesn't matter what we look like ok? What matter's is who we are as a person. I dont think anyone should be on this stupid f***ing site. Your site is disgusting, inhumane, rotten, cruel, full of lies, bullsh*t, random, stupid, ugly, and...HAHA! FUGLY TOO!

GET A LIFE YOU MORON'S! EAT SH*T AND CHOKE ON IT YOU DIRTY PIGS! I HATE YOU! DUMBASS'! GO BLOW A GOAT!"

Dear Friend,

You are upset. Let me hold you. It will be so very soothing. Then we can talk together about how I am living proof that good looks last, and last forever.

But, don't insult pigs. They're really very smart, sweet creatures -- loyal, great pets, and very tasty for breakfast once they're too old to be loyal, great pets. I could never betray one with a goat dalliance and I'm shocked you would ask such a thing of me.

Kisses,

G


E-mail #2

"wat up paris um... i was just wondering if u could send me a sighning ! NOT U FAT HOOKER SLUT HOOR BITCH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1"

Dear Friend,

You seem angry. Let me hold you.

Also, Paris Hilton is many things, but "fat" isn't one of them, okay? Let's not bog down our communication with deceit. That will only hurt us in the end.  True love cannot prosper on a foundation of LIES.

Cuddles,

G


E-mail #3

"How the f**k could you say all of those mean and harsh things about Jessica Simpson???? You must just be jealous cause you know you can never look that good!! I do have to admit i hate how she has been betraying herself lately with maxim and other things ,but still i would like for you to respond back to me what you really hate about jesscia simpson i know you have already said everything but do it again if you hate her so much!!! "

Dear Friend of Jessica Simpson,

I don't know -- I think I look pretty good, sweet lady, and I think you'd agree. So let's not sully our time together with random insults, or hate, or talk of what's wrong with Ms. Simpson -- the details of which you already know, and which so aggrieved you that I can't believe you want them repeated.

No, let's make a little space in time that's just you, me, my villa in Lake Como, and my warm, warm embrace. Instead of getting upset, just let me hold you. I am quite dapper and I smell fantastic.

Smiles,

G


E-mail #4

"hey whaaaaaaats ur you fugers. "

Dear Friend,

I'm not sure I understand the question. But if you're upset, I recommend just looking at my picture for a few minutes and your blood pressure will drop like a stone.

In suavitude,

G


E-mail #5

"you must be really fameis can you call me here is my phone number [REDACTED] "

Dear Friend,

Now, here is where I must breach my calm facade -- although I would very much like to fix this with a hug, I must ask: What are they teaching the youth of today, that people are e-mailing their telephone numbers to strangers on the Internet? Are we still beset by that plague? Have the stories of tragedy in People magazine taught no one of these evils?

Listen to Hip, Hot Uncle George, kids: I don't want you to send personal information to people you don't know. It's not safe and I WILL NOT HUG YOU if this persists. Do you hear that? Go sit in the corner and think about a life without my soothing arms, and I know you'll do the right thing.

A very stern -- but also loving -- frown,

G

Posted by H & J at 01:13 PM in Intern George | Permalink

 

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