Met Ball Fug Carpet: Posh & Becks

Bless that Victoria Beckham. She continues to fuel my suspicion that all her nutty getups are merely a ploy to make people look at her, because she knows otherwise we'll all be gazing lustily at the prime cut of man-loin she married.

I'm not entirely sure where the theme comes into play here -- what is she evoking? Nightie Girl? Captain Bedjacket? I Wonder How She's Keeping Her Bits And Pieces Hidden Woman? Not that the superhero shtick was mandatory; just that you'd think wearing a glorified bathrobe wouldn't be Vicky's first choice unless it meant something. Which is precisely why I hope it means absolutely NOTHING except that our girl Vicky wanted people to stare at her all night while they tried to interpret her translucent whim. Naturally, the whole thing only makes me love her more. Pop a veil on her head and she could skulk around Salem for MONTHS on Days of our Lives, haunting the evil Stefano and dropping strange clues at very public places without anyone noticing, despite her unconventional garb. If we have to lose Passions and its castrating serial killer/drunk surgeon reattaching certain organs backwards/Erection of Doom storyline, then at LEAST promise me Posh hurling poisoned paper airplanes at Roman Brady. It's the least the Fates can do.

poll by twiigs.com

Every Boy And Every Girl, Fug Up Your Life

[Photo: infdaily.com]

SPORTY: Don't you love my bangs?

GINGER: Don't you love how I sort of look like I'm taking my aging tips from Madonna, with the yoga and the muscles and the wavy hair?

BABY:  Don't you love daydreaming? Like, say, about a time you can take off a huge wrap that makes you look boxy?

SOLDIER DUDE: Hi, Mom! Can you see me? HI!

SCARY: Don't you love going to the hairdresser to get a piece of Mel's bangs action, and coming away looking older and like a flight attendant on a really cheap airline? Take your unapproved electronic devices and shove them up your arses, mmmkay? Buh-bye.

BABY: Don't you miss Posh?

SPORTY: Where IS Posh?

SCARY: Dunno -- who's the really reedy gay dude down the end, though? Maybe he's her stand-in?

GINGER: He has BOOBS, though. I think I recognize those, actually.

BABY: I thought that was Angelina Jolie!

SPORTY: I thought it was a really big Chuck Norris fan!

SOLDIER DUDE: I thought it was Becks!

POSH: Don't you people just love androgyny? It's so hot right now. Well, it is when you get your rack out.  That's what Roberto said: "Are you a man? Are you a woman? Are you everything? I need to see more of your breasts."

GINGER: Bollocks, now NOBODY will be looking at me. This is awful.

SCARY: Well, I've got a hot tip on where the emergency exits are, if anyone wants the demonstration.

The Fug Girls

It's finally here: The Glorious Ladies of High Camp are back together, dancing, singing or making sounds that approximate it, and no doubt making innumerable amazing costume changes.

[All photos by Splash News]

I loved the Spice Girls the first time around -- who didn't think Geri was rather amusingly cheeky, pinching Prince Chuck's bum like that? -- and am, naturally, beside myself at the prospect of seeing them in L.A. on Friday night. There are few acts that would inspire me to scream gibberish like "ZIG-A-ZIG-AAAAH" in public at my age, and yet that's what I will be doing. Hopefully with a beer in my hand. It's going to be like attending a college party all over again, except with tiered seating, less snow on the ground, and zero chance of me accidentally finding myself in the middle of a keg stand. If I had a Union Jack minidress, I would wear it.

Despite my affinity for Ginger, though, the main event is always going to be Posh -- she who clearly has an awesome sense of humor despite the prevailing perception that she's a sullen cow, she who cracked in her book That Extra Half An Inch that she's always known Joan Collins is her real mother, and she whose clothes are such an amazing source of amusement that I secretly (well, until now) hope that a thousand years from now, aliens discover Earth, dig up a time capsule that's been filled with the entire contents of her closet, and benevolently decide to resurrect the human race on the assumption that we were all that entertaining to behold.

Based on stills from the Vancouver show, I have this to look forward to:

I had a Sindy doll when I was younger -- she was Britain's stab at making a Barbie, I believe, but she had a brown bob, a way larger head, and wasn't endowed to the point where you were pretty sure she'd topple over if she ever became real. Anyway, my Sindy was a ballerina with glittery tights, and that's the first thing I thought of when I saw this outfit: that Posh was a Sindy all grown up and come to life, with poseable limbs and everything; and, much like my Sindy, it's possible Posh's feet are permanently stuck in the tiptoe position. Hopefully Vicky will not meet the same fate -- Sindy, I believe, turned into a kind of punky she-man who bred My Little Ponies and gave my lone Barbie romantic fits -- but it's only fitting that a woman whom everyone accuses of being plastic would trot onstage in something that evokes my childhood toy.

And do my eyes deceive me, or are these STRETCHY GOLD STIRRUP PANTS?

AND it's complete with matching fingerless gloves. Bless the sweet fashion alchemy that brought us this gold-plated Fembot Spice, for Posh never disappoints. She looks like a Rockette performing a song-and-dance ode to Dot Matrix. I can't wait until she gets to the part where she meets the mog -- half-man, half-dog -- named Barf; that is going to be one heck of an interpretive dance.
 

I Really, Really, REALLY Wanna Zig-Ah-Zig-Fug

[Photo: Splash News]

SCARY: Listen, I just want you all to know that if a tango threatens to break out, I'm here for you.

BABY: I'm just here being cute! It's what I do!

SPORTY: Alexis Colby, reporting for duty. I WANT THOSE OIL LEASES.

GINGER: I wish they still made Skating With Celebrities. Although, I  just had a marvelous idea. Think of it: Spice On Ice!

POSH: These people disappoint me. Why WEAR the dress when you can tie it to yourself?

SCARY: How about Dancing With The Spice On Ice? Oh, wait, my paso doble would MELT THE JOINT.

BABY: Hey Sporty, can I play Krystal in this scene? Or Amanda? Can I? I love you! I just want us to hug.

SPORTY: Do what I say, Baby, or I'll fire you and replace you with a band member that will. I hate you, BLAKE. Make love to me, DEX.  You're mine in the boardroom AND the bedroom.

GINGER: I am a little frightened standing between these two, I'm not gonna lie. Especially if Sporty is itching for a catfight.

POSH: Seriously, WHAT is the point of supporting a lingerie store and its bloody expensive stuff if no one's going to see it in public? SIGH. Nobody understands. I'm five years ahead of all these bimbos.

SCARY: I wonder if this tour is going to be a bad idea. What if I win my dancing show? What if the world needs to see more of me doing the rumba instead of explaining what to do if you wanna be my lover?

BABY: Oh, don't leave us, Mel, I love you! You're so pretty! Here, take Sporty, she'll beat some sense into you! Lovingly!

SPORTY: You're nothing but a second-rate lounge act, Dominique! King Galen, every time you come into my life something awful happens. Krystle, I can't wait to see you leave here with the same cheap plastic suitcases you came in carrying. YOU KNOW THE WAY OUT.

GINGER: Does anyone know what's going on? God, leaving looks pretty smart now. Was I dumb to come back to this thing?

POSH: Bollocks to these boring glittery idiots. I give up. But if anyone wants to make Pretty In Pink 2, call me. It'll be may-jah.

Bend It Like Fugham

TOM CRUISE: IT'S GOOD TO BE TOM CRUISE!

KATIE HOLMES: I am a tall drink of water, aren't I? Suck on these heels, Tom.

POSH: What is Jada WEARING?

BECKS: These people all make me a little uneasy.

JADA PINKETT SMITH: I look JUST like Posh. Short black dress, loads of boobs, sore expression. I'm awesome.

WILL SMITH: This party is OFF THE HOOK! I wonder if the DJ will play  "Willennium" if I ask.

TOM: I'M THE KING OF HOLLYWOOD. I don't even care that Katie threw out the lifts in these shoes. That's right, America. THE CRUISES THROW A TOTALLY BOSS PAR-TAY!

KATIE: I don't care what anyone says. I like this haircut, and I'm going to keep it. I can do whatever I want. I control me.

POSH: Is Jada....she's not trying to look like me, is she? She didn't think this was a Posh and Becks themed fancy dress party, did she? This is awkward. Also, I'm hungry.

BECKS: I think Jada's nipple might be popping out of that pillowcase she's wearing. I better look...over there. And think about something else. Like my muscular, manly thighs.

JADA: Is my nipple popping out? Would Victoria check to see if her nipple was popping out? I don't think so. Keep your bitchface on, Jada.

WILL: I'm glad I wore my dancing shoes. Wait until I have the DJ play "Getting Jiggy Wit' It." I WILL be gettin' jiggy wit' it.  I can't wait to ditch the rest of these weirdos and have some fun. Although I bet Becks can dance. Look at those legs.

Spice Up Your Fug

At today's announcement of the VERY MUCH ANTICIPATED (at least by us. And George) Spice Girls reunion:

POSH: Oi. My tits are killing me in this thing.

SPORTY: I am just SO HAPPY you guys didn't make me wear that tracksuit!

GINGER: Wait. Is this OUR reunion announcement? Shit. I thought I was going to the photoshoot for the Stevie Nicks tribute band I'm in on weekends. Okay. Just be cool, Geri.

BABY: Baby Spice is HAVING A BABY! Doesn't that make you feel OLD? I'm also wearing a teeny tiny cape. Just for fun! 2 become 1!!

SCARY: SUCK ON THIS, EDDIE MURPHY.

POSH: When this is over, I am calling Karl and telling him never to do this to my breasts again.  Of course, then he'll say something totally surreal like, "BOOB TAPE SHALL BE YOUR HAN SOLO" and what do you say to that?

SPORTY: You know what? I'm not going to do any of those karate-style high kicks anymore, EITHER. It might mess up my cute new hair. Everyone can just DEAL.

GINGER: I hope Mel wasn't serious when she told me to get my Union Jack dress back. I mean, she had to be kidding, right? Those slags at the Hard Rock are totally not returning my calls. 

BABY: Ziga zig AH!

SCARY: Geri better get that Union Jack dress back. If she quits the band again, I swear I'll kill her.

Fug Up Your Life

Oh, Posh. Truly, you are magic.

A Hooker With An Animal Fetish costume is one thing, but now she's prancing around in something that looks like it was never intended to see the light of day unless she has windows in her dressing room. It's just such an unnecessary bid for attention. How many other people as famous as she is -- with as many designer connections -- would feel the need to show up at a "Woman of the Year" event wearing a repurposed body-shaper? Oh, Posh. "Victoria's Secret" does not refer to you. On so many levels. You are a pretty bad secret-keeper.

She has let slip here, for example, the fact that she loves her waxer. And that she got a manicure so that those fingerless Michael Jackson Goes Golfing gloves would show off her nails to their best advantage. And that you will be able to figure out which chairs her derrière has graced by the bum-shaped trail of sequins left behind.

We don't know why there is pocket detailing on something that is so clearly not intended to be worn on the outside (to hold her business cards? Her housekeys? Pictures of the kids? Seat liners?), so maybe that is Posh's last great mystery. She needed one, too, now that she's deprived us of the many hours we would sit around pondering the question of what Posh's underass cleavage would look like.

Maybe I'm not thinking broadly enough -- maybe this is actually a costume. Maybe, in order to provide more interesting footage for her upcoming reality show, Lady Becks is prepping to star as Roxie Hart in a dinner-theater version of Chicago in which she actually has to serve the food as part of the choreography. If that's true, I hope she at least asked the maitre d' before hacking up his uniform jacket.

Seriously, this is so crazy it almost comes back around to being amazing, just like Posh herself. What would Karl Lagerfeld say? Actually, never mind. We fear he'd say something like, "Pants are for the sensible, darling. BE UNHINGED." In which case, mission somewhat accomplished.

MTV Movie Awards Fug Carpet: Victoria Beckham

You know we love us some Posh. We couldn't be happier that she walks among us in Los Angeles, because it significantly increases the odds that we can bump into her at somewhere kind of pretentious, like the Urth Cafe, and convince her to go shopping with us so that we might better understand how her mind works. Because right now, we're in the dark, and we suspect that borrowing Edward Furlong's Terminator 2 haircut and bleaching the hell out of it might have scrambled her brain.

We haven't deluded ourselves into thinking Posh's taste is always upscale. I mean, the woman's blood type is O-Tacky. But a plastic-looking zebra-print dress with a hot pink bra deliberately showing? Vicky, Vicky, Vicky, that is so Latter-Day Britney of you (although we appreciate the omission of fishnet tights that are slowly rotting around your thighs).

Are you trying to call out to Britney? Are you trying to imply that you have much in common, and yet still much to teach? Are you going to take her under your wing and help her grow an equally outdated short coif so that she stops with the cheap weaves? Because honestly, I could get behind that. If Angelina Jolie is still too busy figuring out how to adopt Lindsay Lohan, then I can't think of another celeb whom I'd rather see yank Britney up by her bootstraps and slap some sense -- or at least, some different crazy -- into her. Can you imagine? They'd eat at The Ivy (or, in Posh's case, just sit there and stir a salad), they'd shop, they'd go to David's L.A. Galaxy games wearing giant sunglasses and cut-up tank tops, and they'd write a book together called The Sister I Never Had, forgetting of course that they both have sisters.

But, Vicky, be careful: Please stop short of hooking Brit up with one of Becks' teammates. We don't need her naming her next batch of children things like Beverly Hills and Sunset Boulevard and Hamlet.

Fug It to the Left, Shake It to the Right

Chanel, of course, is a classic, and there's something fabulous about the composition of this shot: 

I just wish Posh hadn't gone for something SO madly 80s. Cropped aqua jacket...and cropped leggings? Plus her Duran Duran hair? I get it, but it feels so costume-y to me. It's like, I look at her and just smell Poison (the perfume, not the band. You really don't want to smell like Poison The Band, if you can help it. I presume they smell like Aqua Net, cigarettes, hard liquor and bologna). If I were her, I would have swapped out the leggings for a pencil skirt or  proper trousers, or something. And then I would have scampered into the other room to fondle Becks's muscles and giggle. And then I would have called Geri Halliwell to scream "SPICE UP YOUR LIFE!" into the phone.  And then I would have done a series of pirouettes (Victoria is a classically trained dancer, doncha know?) and admired all my expensive handbags. But I would NOT have worn those leggings with that jacket. No, not at all.

Poll by twiigs.com...

Fug and Fugs

[Source.]

BECKS: Just keep your head down, babes.

POSH: Look, I really can't figure out why you suddenly have a cracking great rod up your bum, David. It was YOUR idea.

BECKS: It was not.

POSH: It was TOO.

BECKS: I was being SARCASTIC. When a person says, "Oh, I don't give a rat's bollocks what you wear -- wrap a garbage sack around your waist for all I care," they are not ACTUALLY hoping you'll do it. Get it?

POSH: Well how am I supposed to know that? I thought you meant, "You'd look gorgeous in a trash bag, honey."

BECKS: Certainly not. I'm not your mum.

POSH: Don't be a prat.

BECKS: Look, I was getting sick of waiting. It took you two hours to pick your shoes. Who spends two hours picking out shoes to go with pants that don't even SHOW them, Vic?

POSH: Oh, well, fine, if you don't CARE about the details. Although coming from someone who couldn't be arsed to tuck in his shirt before throwing on grandpa's cardigan...

BECKS: Pipe down, Simon Le Bon. I'm not ALLOWED to have closet time while you're still deciding, remember?

POSH: And I expect you're going to blame that hat on me, too, now.

BECKS: It's the only thing I could find that might help me hide.

POSH: Our reality show is going to be bloody brilliant.

Fugs & Becks

[Source.]

"I don't know what that bloody smirk on David's face is for. I'm going to rip off his bollocks and he knows it. I can't believe he told me my hair looks like I'm wearing a bloody old man's combover. It's TRENDY, you slag-shagging bastard! I don't CARE if the last person with hair like this was a member of Duran Duran. America is going to go PIG WILD for me and THEN who'll be smirking at the person down the row? And THEN who'll have people lining up to have a fling with me, eh, David? THEN who'll be so jealous he's having rage blackouts? ... Oh, don't be cross, David, I'm just taking the piss. I love you and I miss the mad passionate love we make when we're together, because we're in mad and passionate love. In fact, maybe that's what I'll call my show. Me & My Golden Balls: Mad, Passionate Love. Right, David? Right? We're okay, right? ... Dammit. Fine. I'll book myself in for some extentions tomorrow. Want to have another baby? Think about it, okay? Because we're in love. Love!"

Katie Fugmes

[Photo Source.]

GIORGIO ARMANI: Boo! It's me! HELLO!

POSH: God, I'm fabulous.

KAT(I)E: Hi Karl! Hi! It's me! Mrs. Cruise!

GIORGIO: KARL? I am not Karl Lagerfeld, runt. What kind of IDIOT would think I am Karl Lagerfeld?

KAT(I)E: Oh, wow. I'm sorry. It's just that you're both so... tan. Ha ha ha... ha.

GIORGIO: Quiet, Scientology Spice. Can you not see that I'm trying to start a conga line with the Queen of America?

POSH: That's f'ing right, darling. Thanks to the football deal for David, we're even MORE filthy, stinking rich.

KAT(I)E: That's great, ha ha!  I'm so happy to be here! Kar... er, Giorgio, I just wanted to know...

GIORGIO: BUY A COUNTRY, you delicious pleated diva!

POSH: Too right I will.

GIORGIO: Take the Maldives. No one knows who owns those anyway! Make it Isla Victoria!

KAT(I)E: I think the Maldives...

GIORGIO: LIKE I SAID. Nobody knows.

POSH: I wonder if America will let me have Hawaii. It's closer. I'll pay cash.

GIORGIO: I will make you leis. FABULOUS leis of GLORY. With FEATHERS, just like mama used to make.

POSH: Damn, babes, you're WAY more fun than Karl Lagerfeld. All he does is scowl and glove-slap people. F'ing awkward sometimes if you ask me.

KAT(I)E: Sir, Mr. Armani, if I could just ask you about this dress...

GIORGIO: Or you could buy A SITCOM. We could be in one of those lively half-hour comedy shows! Where we live together and work in a pizza parlor that is also a tanning salon, and have strange neighbors with children who won't stop talking! IT WILL BE HUGE.

KAT(I)E: Yes! And I could play the...

GIORGIO: No, no, I want that Michelle Williams girl -- she's DYNAMITE.

POSH: Tanning and pizza, eh, Giorgio? We could call it Mystic Pizza.

GIORGIO: I've never heard of ANYTHING so divine, my queen. IT WILL CHANGE THE WORLD. Now, CONGA, you vixen! 

KAT(I)E: Mr. Armani, if you'd just look at me for a second, I don't think these weird pleats...

GIORGIO: Child, no shop talk -- not when I'm about to break into the macarena. You know the rules.

POSH: Look at that. Giorgio Armani, following ME around. Wanting to ride MY coattails. My life is f'ing amazing.

KAT(I)E: My life is awful. He won't even look at me.

GIORGIO: Actress girl! We need an inanimate object to be the limbo rod. Can they use you?

KAT(I)E: Thank God I had this smile surgically locked in or else I would be SCREAMING at some people right now and then Tom would make me sit in the audit closet for a week.

POSH: Allegedly.

KAT(I)E: Oh, whatever.

Victoria Fugham

POSH: Er, Karl... Karl, don't tell anyone, but... I'm having second thoughts.

KARL LAGERFELD: Thoughts are for the DULL, darling. BE AMAZING.

POSH: Fine, babes, but my problem is just that I don't think I should have worn this after all. I think I look a bit stupid, actually.

KARL: RIDICULOUS! You are a DIVINE dish served cold. I would eat you with caviar if I could and then polish my glove with the CRUMBS of your GLAMOUR.

POSH: See, David said this looks like a bad rug that the royal family rolled up and stuck in a closet in Windsor Castle. But my sister disagreed -- she thought this belonged in Camilla Parker-Bowles' nightie drawer.

KARL: David is a PRECOCIOUS flesh nugget INDEED. Dip him in mustard. HE IS A DELIGHT. But kill your sister.

POSH: Look, I just sort of feel like a 19th century prostitute, Karl. And I'm not sure it's the look I should be going for now.

KARL: It's like I told that delightful Lindsay Lohan -- "To look like a freak is to be ALIVE WITH FASHION, and also, WASH YOUR FACE IN CHAMPAGNE."

POSH: You're mad as pants, aren't you? You're more bonkers than a shed in a limousine.

KARL: I've grown tired of your complaining. You're just AFRAID TO BE FABULOUS. Now leave me unless your breasts make martinis.

Fugbute: The Many Flavors of Posh

Sure, the focus of this past weekend's Italian production of I Know Mothers Cry At Weddings, But Should Mrs. Holmes Be Wailing? was probably supposed to be Kat(i)e's dress. But you don't invite Victoria Beckham, the glorious spice blend known as Posh, and expect her to be wallpaper. No, much like what we think went through Brooke Shields' head when she accepted her invitation to the TomKat Contract Fulfillment Ceremony, you include Posh at your formal occasion because you say to yourself, "THIS I've got to see." And also possibly because she befriended your comatose bride during several shopping sprees and some Paris fashion shows, but mostly, it's because you want to look at how hot her stilletos are while also wondering what new glories she'll pull from that den of wonder known as Her Wardrobe.

Mercifully for us all, Posh did not disappoint, stringing together a buffet of delights more filling for the fug fan than any solid that's passed her lips in three months.

You have to admire her versatility. In the span of one weekend, she showed up as:

1. A crabby school teacher: This strumpet of academia's affection for lip gloss is matched only by her companion's addiction to raiding his grandfather's closet. Bonus: The sweater at least comes with its own lifetime supply of Werther's Originals, so he can toss them into her mouth at her appointed snack times, since she wouldn't dare eat any of the apples left by her trembling students (too much chewing).

2. A yeti. Fear not, PETA, for the jacket is not yielded from animal cruelty -- it's in fact woven from the silkiest, most bountiful man-fur in the Western world: shavings from Alec Baldwin's chest.

3. A cranky pseudo-royal surprised and a little peeved to learn that she is not, in fact, attending a state funeral. Just the death of a family's hope.

And finally:

4. An insane arts-and-crafts fetishist. This one is fantastic. Now, granted, she didn't wear this to the wedding itself; just to some of the paparazzi-baiting festivities beforehand, whatever those were (the official blessing of the pre-nup, perhaps, or free Scientology classes). But there's something so magical about the fact that she ever even put this on at all. She does know the difference between decolletage and decoupage, right? Not to mention that the dress underneath the I-Had-To-Use-All-My-Paste-Or-Else-Ralph-Wiggum-Would-Eat-It sjirt-jacket appears to be sized more appropriately for the closet of Isabella Kidman-Cruise. From several years ago. When she had a ballet recital.

But maybe Posh can use that to her advantage -- perhaps she could use it to push for a starring role in, say, Center Stage II, in which she would arrive at the stodgy American Ballet Academy as a new teacher and try to shake up the stale air by taking her five pluckiest students on the road as a roving band of dancers -- each with their own personalities, outlandish costumes, and hilarious nicknames -- who bring ballet to truck stops, dive bars, and casinos across the country. Peter Gallagher would of course return as the Academy head: "How do you expect to have 1,000 truckers watch you tell us what you want, what you really, really want, if you Don't. Do it. Without UNDERWEAR?!?" And David could get in on the action as the supportive, shockingly virile costumer who teaches her to use a hot glue gun and so much more. 

In all seriousness, though, we can't fathom why Posh hasn't rocketed to larger stardom post-Spice. I mean, if we can allow Jessica Simpson to roam the earth with copious paychecks -- seriously, if I have to see her ONE MORE TIME in that DirecTV ad where her head spends 30 seconds wobbling like a Weeble as she tries to Daisy Duke her way through two insipid lines, I will furiously theaten to cancel my subscription, and then secretly never actually do it because I can't live without the NFL Sunday Ticket -- and if we can anoint Fergie as the comically misspelled Dutchess of the Billboard charts, and if the staff of Studio 60 is actually still getting paid to make that terrible, awful, no-good, very bad program that is snuffing out even Matthew Perry's light, can we not move over and make a little room for Posh? Who cares if she can actually do anything? Outings like this are enough.

Fug Holmes-Fug

POSH: So, er, Kat(i)e... is that what you're wearing to the Chanel show?

KAT(I)E: Yes. Tom picked it out. It's amazing. He said it made me look extraordinary.

POSH: That's lovely and all but don't you think it's a bit... much?

KAT(I)E: Tom told me that now that I'm an extraordinary childbearing woman, I should dress like one.

POSH: Well, you look like an extraordinary childbearing curtain in Chaka Khan's brothel, sweets, I'm just being honest here.

KAT(I)E: Is it not amazing? Really?

POSH: It's not that bad. It just doesn't work for this occasion, babes. I mean, look at me -- aren't we going around together so that you can study me? You want to look chic and sleek, not bleak.

KAT(I)E: You're so smart. This is so exciting.

POSH: I was in the Spice Girls. We did a lot of rhyming.

KAT(I)E: I am a thrilling woman.

POSH: Look, I'm going to level with you, Kat(i)e. It's great that you're trying to prop up your boobs, really-- I have made a career out of that -- but the bloody gown looks like it's weighing you down, it's way too much for a daytime event, and Kat(i)e, love, you're not to wear closed-toed shoes with something that aggressive, okay? You might as well be wearing loafers, babes. Frumpalicious.

KAT(I)E: This is so amazing. I can't wait to be a mother. Tom and I are really thrilled.

POSH: Er...what?

KAT(I)E: I am enjoying my courses in Extraordinary and I can't wait to be a Tom Scientology baby.

POSH: Bloody hell, this girl's malfunctioning. I can't work with this, people. Hello? Can any of her minders fix her?

KAT(I)E: The wedding is in two Suris but she's doing thrilled! I am excited to be Scientolmazing! Leah Remini amazatology!

POSH: Oh, bollocks to THIS. I need a drink.

Two Become Fug

Okay. True confessions time: I love Posh. When I read her fantastic autobiography, Learning to Fly, I found myself, against all odds, deeply enchanted by her. There is something about her that is so deliciously over the top and tacky -- yet the book is also very self-deprecating and charming. When I finished it -- it was like 1,500 pages and yet it only covers her life up until she had Brooklyn -- I realized that I want these two to make it work, against all odds. I know that's probably a pipe dream, but I can't help it. I secretly lurve them!

What I don't lurve, tragically, is her outfit here:

And do you know why?

BECAUSE THESE ARE POSH AND BECKS IMPERSONATORS.  Thank God. Prior to confirming this, Heather and I had a frenzied conversation in which we decided if it actually was Posh, she must really be pregnant again -- and god, I hope she is, and god, I hope it's a girl. Can you imagine what they would name a girl? I vote for Versace. Versace Victoria Beckham -- but that if the man involved actually was Becks, then something had gone TRAGICALLY AWRY with his face. I may have used the sentence, "Why would he DO SOMETHING to his BEAUTIFUL FACE?!" Which might have been followed by some gnashing of teeth.

But, thank God, David Beckham has not had a tragic run in with a nefarious plastic surgeon, and Posh has not ACTUALLY left the house in an off-the-shoulder tunic with a tiger drawn on it. I mean, she dresses crazy sometimes, but there is no way she's actually go somewhere dressed in something I owned in 6th grade.

I wish I were a fly on the wall in the Beckham household right now, though, just to hear her scream about this. Heads, I suspect, may roll. No one sends out her impersonator dressed like a model from the Lillian Vernon catalog! No one!*

*Okay, fine. Our sources tell me that Posh actually HAS worn some kind of terrible tiger outfit out and about. So, to sum up: these people are impersonators, but the shirt may in fact by an accurate representation of an actual shirt that the actual Posh has actually worn OH MY GOD WHY IS THIS SO COMPLICATED?

Fug Up Your Life

Oh, Posh Spice.  There are so many things I love about you! I love that you said you'd never read a book, even though you ostensibly wrote one. I love how you were arguably the worst singer in the Spice Girls, which was just packed full of girls who couldn't sing.  I love your marriage to that adorable high-talker, David Beckham, and I wish the two of you would do a reality show, even though if you did, I don't know if I could bear to watch it due to the aforementioned high-talking.

But do I love you enough to overlook the fact that you're going out with Geri "Ginger Spice" Halliwell wearing em-effing chaps?

I don't know. I think I kind of do. There are few people in the world who can get away with wearing actual chaps -- cowboys being primary among them -- but just look at you. You're fierce, even in full-on, ridiculous, leather chaps. CHAPS.  I don't know who you're looking at, but I'm pretty sure the evening is going to end with you having washed down his brains with a nice glass of champers. So, chaps on, Posh. Chaps on. I'm too scared to say anything about them.

Fug World

Here’s the thing: I love Posh and Becks. She’s so deliciously tacky and he’s so…you know, extremely hot in that No, No, Don’t Speak sort of way.

Said dichotomy is well illustrated below:

[Reader submitted photo]

He looks luscious. She looks like her stage name is Luscious.

That being said, I hear her autobiography is really rather brilliant.*

* No. I've actually seriously heard that.