November 02, 2006
Que? Why do you look at me this way? You've never seen a woman in a red origami minidress before? Bah! Next you're going to tell me it's not normal for a man to drink paint thinner like it's milk! Hahahahahaha! So stop with the sass, little bitch Garners, because the only thing that gives my Marc more seconds of pure half-strength than paint thinner is the sight of me in what he calls my sexy blood clot outfit! He is the teeeeny pequenito stick of celery in my giant Bloody Mary and he LOVES when I say that because it gets him all hot and bothered and he has to go suck on a tomato for two hours, which is what he usually does when he gets excited. Well, when he's not doing ME! For TWO WHOLE MINUTES! OH, YES, THAT IS RIGHT, JUDGY TYPES! So STICK THAT IN YOUR CAMERA and EAT IT!
October 16, 2006
Holaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (yawn) aaaaaaaa.
Dios mio, I'm groggy. I do not know WHY. But I am having such a hard time keeping my eyes open. Mark told me I look muy sexy when I can't lift my eyelids. This was right after he made me play Interview With A Vampire again but I am so BORED with that game, so this time, instead of running away like always, I just let him bite me in the neck so that he would stop BREATHING on me already and let me get back to watching Ugly Betty (which is some show about Salma Hayek's life -- it's sort of funny but Salma doesn't even WEAR glasses so I don't think it's very ACCURATE, which I would never allow because I respect people's stories and that is why I wore all of those spandexy things that Selena used to wear when I did that movie and there were NO GLASSES ANYWHERE and THAT, Salma, is the kind of ARTIST I am).
Anyway, after he bit me I felt so tiiiiired, amores, and I didn't even care anymore whether Salma got her eyebrows waxed any more. Then Mark started telling me how beautiful I am when the blood drains out of my face and that it makes me look like this sexy zombie lady, and then he got all excited and started measuring me and kissing his Home Depot card. He said he was making me a new bed as a surprise. Good. Maybe I can take a NAP on it when it gets here instead of having to fold my arms on my chest so he can see how tall I am when I'm on my back. BORING.
Ayyyy. I'm getting a little bit ... tired of him, you know? Don't get me wrong, he is my skinny toothpick prince of bones, and we spend our days making beautiful music and sunproofing the windows and I am VERY HAPPY. But... well, I was so INTERESTING before. Back when I was wearing sweatbands and pigtails, or making that Ben drink Ultra Slim Fast laced with laxatives so that he didn't look all blown up like a parade float any more. Those were nice times. He may not have showered very much at first but at least he didn't smell like formaldehyde. (That's a mouthwash my Mark uses to take his medicine. He told me it's custom-made, so I can't have any, although after he ate my neck the other night I caught him clapping his hands and squealing that now he could finally put some in the salad dressing. He is WEIRD, mamacitas). I wonder if it's too late for me and Ben. I could take that Farmer thingy he married -- maybe I could just put her in a little cage in the basement.
Nooooooooo (yawn) I don't feel like it. I have no energy, amores. I don't FEEL like grabbing her by the hair and dragging her to the dumpster. I don't WANT to sit there and look at Ben's hair plugs and their dumb Vile Aflac or whatever it is called. Maybe I will go home and break some Alias DVDs. Although Mark might not be awake yet -- he doesn't like to get up before 6 p.m. -- and if I'm there when he gets up I'll have to play a game and I am NOT IN THE MOOD to pretend to run away from "Baron von Nibblehaus" or whatever other stupid nickname he picks out. I will have to hide in my mirrored closet again. He never comes to find me in there. Phew. Good plan.
September 01, 2006
VMA Fug Carpet: Jennifer Lopez
Rat-Faced Pipsqueak Jesse McCartney,
You want to know if I'm pregnant, you Howard Stern-blabbing poster boy for runny-nosed puberty accidents? You want to tell everyone I quit Dallas because my Mark ate a sandwich one night and had the strength for two minutes of egg-scrambling ecstasy before he passed out in his coffin again? FINE. Take a look up my uterine pipe YOURSELF, squirrel! Mira! Here it is! Do I LOOK like I caught a raging case of incurable Violet Affleck in my woman-sauna? Could a PREGNANT LADY pull off dressing like the star of Gloria Swanson On Ice? If I was slinging around a bag of womb-fruit, tonto, do you think a hundred Hollywood writers would be sitting around my photo RIGHT NOW falling all over themselves to create a movie for me about a future in which society is populated with a robot race of synchronized swimmers who are not only the most respected citizens of the world, but who double as the intergalactic military, and whose captain -- ME, acne brute! -- saves the world with a specialized blend of sass, leg splits, and choreographed aquatic gymnastics... while also learning to have her cold metal heart feel things deeply in a deep, deep way? NO! I THINK NOT. (Matt Damon, you want the lead? Llamame! Don't tell your oaf friend!)
So, Jesse McCartney, stick your THUMB back in your BLABBY MOUTH, pathetic peach-fuzzed wussy child, and RUN AWAY, before I flap my puffed sleeves down to the Dallas set and cut off all your girlfriend's Lucy Ewing hair. Then she will have to copy my turbanesque head scarf and WHO WILL HAVE THE LAST LAUGH THEN, EH, TOOTHPICK CHILD? HAHAHAHAH!
Also, catch me on LL Cool J's new single, in stores now!
June 23, 2005
"No, no, everyone. I'm fine.
I'm fine. Nothing to see here! Just bringing my wife a Big Gulp. No, no, I told you, I'm fine. Seriously, I'm totally fine. I don't need that IV drip. I mean it. Back off with that shit. I don't need the sugar water. I'm FINE.
Yeah, so maybe I got chased here by a pack of rabid dogs that ate off the bottom of my shirt. So what? Nothing I can't handle. Me and my Jesus sandals and my raggedy-ass facial hair have never been better. Just here visiting the wife! Never been happier. She and I are right as rain! There's no crying about that bitch Garner in my house, no siree! We're both a-okay, and that's not blood on the back of my shirt. Not at all. So step off."
May 24, 2005
Postcards From The Fug
"Dear Ben and Girl:
I am writing a note from my very important tour of venues that don't make me sing more than three songs, which Marc says is my limit, because I am filled with glee. Because, aha, lookit here! You will be shocked to learn that, even if you have the Bennifer II, it is I who has the Electric Boogaloo! The flatness of my abs makes fireworks ejaculate! Good luck getting your stretch marks to have that effect on Ben, girlie!
Oh, and have fun wearing caftans, while I am in daring gold lame harness-looking-thingies that I had George Lucas make me so that I would look like a lounge singer in that alien bar from Episode IV: Jedi From The Block, or whatever that thing was that the kids love. Hip! I am hip. I tried to sew cinnamon rolls onto my head for the costume, but they made Marc cry and go binge on peas. Sometimes I don't understand him, but then I realize that's because he is choking on something and I have to Heimlich some embalming fluid out of his chest. I don't know how that keeps getting in there! But that has nothing to do with you and your stupid bloated uterus, nor my super hot capri pants with a big X that marks exactly where you can BITE me, Special Agent Sydney Crisco! Ha ha ha!
Now shut up and let me stop writing. It's time for me to stop doing my Nutcracker ballet -- wait, why does that always make Marc giggle? Ben Assfleck, why does Marc always say how appropriate that is? Ben?
Bah. Anyway, twirly time is over. It's time for the robot:
Or as my Marc calls it, "Foreplay."
Piss and Vinegar,
The One Whose Ring Was Bigger And Don't You Forget It, Ass Ape!"
May 17, 2005
Okay, look, you. Yes, you, all you party people here at Wango Tango -- I see you thinking. I see those wheels turning, wondering if I am dressed like this because I have just escaped from some kind of insane asylum, and am medicated into thinking that I have wandered out onto the lawn to tell you hoodlums to stop peeing on the begonias. I know you are wondering if my Mark is trying to make me hide my light under a piece of gaffer tape. But you don't get it, hahaha! I win! I have lived in Miami so long, I have had a fashion epiphany! Eureka! I have created geriatric punk!
But you're still looking, and thinking. Don't think I don't know. I see you watching your magazines and your Alias and talking about Jen II and Ben Affleck and wondering if I am raging furious about her fruity ovaries! But you are all crazy. DO I LOOK FUCKING FURIOUS? DO I? I did NOT get so angry that I got tangled up in my necklaces and can't get them off. Does this look like angry hair? No! This is my "Edith and Mergatroyd down at the salon say I look prettier like this" hair! This is my "Get out of my hot tub, you paparazzi shitclown" hair! THIS IS NOT ANGRY HAIR ABOUT THAT WOMAN AND HER STUPID FAT WOMB.
Ah, sorry. It is just so hot up here, on this stage where I sing professionally. I would like to see that Gardner hussy sing her silly love tunes to Ben on a stage this big! Ben doesn't even like singing! He told me once that if I didn't stop singing he was going to eat his own ears! Aha, so how will she feel once she is raising a baby with Vincent Van Affleck over there? Hahahahaha!
But I don't care. I do NOT care if he knocked her up like a goddamn door. LOOK AT MY ABS. I can't do crunches with a fetus living in there! She can HAVE Ben's wang! It is all bloated and puffy anyway! I prefer it when my men look like beef jerky. So adios, bitches! You can think all you want -- I AM SO HAPPY I COULD JUST BEAT THE CANDY OUT OF YOU UGLY WHISPERING HUMAN PIÑATAS! ... Now, where the HELL am I?!?
May 03, 2005
To my beloved amigos on The Block,
[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]
Hola, my sweet bestest friends! Yes, you! From The Block! You know who you are! [And that is good, because my manager doesn't remember, and if he doesn't know, I don't fucking know and it means you haven't written me fan mail, which is only because you don't have the address, no?] [But, you can't have my address.]
Anyway, I just wanted to say hello, in case you miss me checking in with you. It has been so long! I have been through so many songs I wrote myself, and borrowed diamonds, and handbags, and phases -- currently, I am in the modest phase, can you not see? Of course you can't see... my ass! Ha ha ha! I have also been such a joker. Marc always says that he is sure that I am funny. He also says that I have never been more fascinating, now that all I do is walk around behind him and smile, and talk about babies and throw darts at photos of that Britney. Marc says I look so much nicer when I am letting him lead me and I am staring at the floor.
But this photo, this one is for you, to show you that J.Mo -- my modest side! -- is in full effect and is incredible. I am in my prime. I am satin! I am pleated! I am wearing sleeves that could eat The Block! There is more fabric in this dress than in the sum of what I used to wear in a year. I'm so into fabric! Fabric is the new naked! Marc told me, the last time we lay next to each other in the bed, that when I am lying there hidden by white satin sheets, I look like an angel. And so I took my sheets and I sewed and I strung and I made myself a dress that I can also use as a slipcover when I am on tour! I look like a goddess! I am a muse, and I have inspired millions! Look, I just inspired Marc to eat some cashew nuts -- you don't know how hard that is; he doesn't like to eat between skipping meals -- and a P.A. on the set of my new movie told me that I inspired her to become an acting coach! I am changing lives! These sleeves, the ones your lovers could fit in -- and they want to! -- have tricks up them.
And yet, I just... I have been pensive lately, see. Don't you see? Look at my face. I am pouty. And my Marc, he always says I look drunk when I pout, so I try only to pout when I am acting in a movie and the script says that my character is drunk, or sad, or brokenhearted, or relieved, or confused, or secretly happy, or outwardly joyful, or laughing. Yet here, I pout. Why? Because you never call. You never write. I write. Oh yes. I wrote a whole song for you to let you know that even though I'm on Oprah and I'm rich enough to buy The Block -- ten times! Twenty! -- I still really know where I came from, and you can tell by the number of times I say "block" and "Bronx" and by the way I now live in Miami (that is code for "block," friends!). And by the fact that I married a skeleton with a mullet. Aside from the fact that we are madly, desperately in love, and we sing songs and stroke each other, my Marc is a symbol of our passion, preciosos! He IS The Block: Hard, sharp corners, small enough to walk over about a million times a day. When I make sweet, passionate like with Marc, it is like I am liking each one of you! Five minutes a day!
I do all this for you, and it's been years now, and nada. None of you ever come to visit or come to my premieres. No, you leave me to hang out with my rich friends and my cowhide husband, shitting on gardenias and carrying handbags and wearing enormous satin sleeves -- all without anyone around to envy me! Who am I if no one wants to be me? Why, then I'm no better than America's Other Sweetheart, Meg Ryan, and... dios mio, I don't want to talk about that!
Anyway, I have to go, all this pouting is making me want to go stand a few feet behind my husband. But one last time -- behold me in all my Casper-inspired glory, so that I can haunt your dreams like the fashionable ghost of love that I am!
Mrs. Jennifer Lopez Noa Judd Anthony
March 07, 2005
I present to you Jennifer Lopez, taking the old phrase, "She could wear a potato sack," very, very literally:
The light wood heels on her boots make her look like the latest from Jennifer Convertibles.
January 27, 2005
My Fug Don't Cost a Thing
In a desperate attempt to outrun the paparazzi, Jennifer Lopez cut through neighbor Rue McClanahan's back yard, becoming inextricably entangled in the older woman's guest room curtains, which had been hung on her clothesline to dry:
Late for a premiere, Ms Lopez allegedly said, "eh, screw it," and just cinched it.
August 30, 2004
VMAs: Fugly From the Block
I am Jennifer Lopez and I am so very happy! Look at me kicking up my heels in pure glee! Glee! I'm gleeful! And why? Have you seen my husband? [I haven't seen him tonight myself because we're sort of pretending we're not married, but come on, girl, you saw those paparazzi photos I released to the Star.] My whole life I've been dreaming about this man, you know? Our relationship is so, so real.
Oh, there he is! Lookit him! Look!
I have dreamed -- yes, mi amores, dreamed -- about someone like Marc. He's so... weensy and bird-like and man-tanned and Living Dead-y. What girl doesn't long for a man who looks embalmed? He's my own adorable little leathery Manoerexic, Tanorexic Marc! I tried to put him in this handbag I have here, but his left arm wouldn't fit, no matter how I tried. My handgun takes up a lot of space in there.
Okay, enough about Marc. Let's talk more about me, America. Are you not totally wild about my hat? I am. I wear it a lot. You've probably seen it before. It's part of my Zorro costume, the one that my stylist won't let me wear out of the house. She'll see the light soon enough -- and by "soon enough," I mean, "When the brakes on her Land Rover stop working." Hahahaha! I'm sorry, I don't mean that. Forget I said it. Forget it.
And check out the shoes! I carved them myself out of the ivory tusk of an elephant I had killed for me, and then I popped them into the toaster oven until they turned that nice nutty brown color. They're part of my new J Lo shoe line! And how do you like the ruffles on my dress-thing? They clash, don't you think? They're so kicky! Like my new movie, Shall We Dance, which will be in theatres in November. Go see it. Seriously, America. See it.
Speaking of the dress thingie, isn't taupe a deliciously festive color? Someone told me I looked like a walking See's Candies Butterscotch sucker, but I fired him. Do candies wear sparkling sequined belt? Do candies wrap themselves in spandex-satin that totally squashes their boobs down? No, sir, they do not!
How about my ugly jewels? None of them match! In fact, my entire outfit is all about not-matching. Because, and I don't know if you've heard this, but I'm totally real. Seriously, don't be fooled by the rocks that I got... because they're ugly! Hahahahahah! Did I mention how fucking happy I am? I'm so very really really happy. I am not upset about that whole no-wedding thing with WhatsHisName -- Bob Fleefleck? Bill Kerfluck? Brett Whoffleck? -- at all. Not at all. I am totally over it. Totally, totally over it. So over it. Write that down, America! J Lo: HAPPIER THAN FUCKING EVER.