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July 05, 2006

Fugga Reid

You know that poster from IKEA that hangs in the home or office of at least one person that you know -- the one that's a grid made of squares filled with different swirls, in varying hues?

Tara Reid took it a step further and turned it into a shirt:

I guess if you're basically a walking target, you might as well be a bit literal about it. And honestly, in many ways this is probably an improvement over most of what's in her wardrobe, excepting the fact that you can see right through the shirt, her shoes pick right up on that transparent theme by being complete plastic disasters, and it's likely she borrowed Tom Cruise's Flowbie to do her hair because she heard it gives bitchin' layers. And, she should go to her colorist.

But other than that, I suppose this could be worse.

Posted by Heather at 02:03 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink

May 23, 2006

The Fug's Daughter

Hot Mess of the Decade Tara Reid is getting messier, although absolutely not hotter:

This is just not...it's just...not....this is just so bad.  And it's not bad in, like, a fun, dumb, chaps-wearing, fur-turban-sporting,  Posh Spice way. It's bad in like a bad, tacky, sad, I Have To Stop And Pick Up Some Ointment, Barefoot in the Esso Bathroom Britney way. Tara, honey, there's a reason no one is hiring you anymore. It's because you're too old -- and look way too rough -- for teen roles, and you haven't fixed yourself up to look like you're suited for any kind of Rom-Com roles at all.

Now, listen, I've seen you deskeezed (okay, like, maybe twice, but still), and you're still cute! You clean up...better than one would expect! Look around! Do you see Rachel McAdams out and about dressed like she just crawled home from a foam party in Ibiza? Is your American Pie contemporary Alyson Hannigan photographed looking like she's been styled solely using cast-offs from streetwalker's White Elephant sale? Does Reese Witherspoon ever FLASH HER TITS? No, no, and she'd rather shoot Ryan in the kneecaps first.

And yet all you do is complain that no one takes you seriously, and why are people so mean to you about all your partying, and why can't you get a job? But here's the thing: you do have a choice. You can either: a) give up on acting, retreat into semi-obscurity, socialize solely with celebutantes 10 years younger than you are,  drink and tan your face completely off, and let your floo-flog hang out all over town, OR b) you can decide that you want to work again as something other than a punchline to a mean joke, and you can put on some sunscreen and some pants, spend a month in Promises, get your publicist to sell "TARA REID'S SECRET PAIN: And Her Triumphant Victory Over Low Self-Esteem" to People Magazine, start showing up places fully dressed like an adult woman, dig out your agent's number and get to work .

In other words, as Heather said to me once, "sack up, ho."

Posted by Jessica at 02:29 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink

March 24, 2006

The Boss's Fug

Sometimes I look at Tara Reid and just wonder what happened in her childhood that made her think this whole plastic surgery thing was a good idea.

Those are not good implants. They kind of look like she's got two half-grapefruits shoved in there. And when your implants look like that, it's probably best to steer clear of any ensemble that resembles an embellished Warner Cross Your Heart bra, supported solely by weensy teensy straps, because it tends to scare the children. What if those things get loose? IT'S HAPPENED BEFORE.

Actually, I'm sure it's unfair to blame Miss Reid's unfortunate downward spiral of poorly done plastic surgery on her parents. I'm sure they're lovely. Let's just blame Carson Daly instead.

Posted by Jessica at 12:09 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink

September 22, 2005

Fugadise!

Ever the mistress of subtlety, I present to you Miss Tara Reid:

If you have to write it on your ass, it might not be true.

Posted by Jessica at 11:42 AM in Tara Reid | Permalink

August 26, 2005

Fug On... Anonymity

Nothing is more mentally taxing than a celebrity who has taken great and clever pains to avoid being recognized:

I mean... Now I have no idea... Who is this? Who could it be? Gosh, I SIMPLY CAN'T IMAGINE. I'm trying to add it up... the "I'm a Roman Hooker" shoes, the dress that looks like a disco ball caught in a fishing net... it's all adding up to something... Gosh, if only we knew someone who is of the habit of showing up places both hammered and dressed in glittering rags that look tailored by an axe-murderer. And if only this crafty siren weren't wearing a baseball cap!

Just who IS this pussycat? Who on EARTH would go out looking so "tara"ble? I'll buy one piping hot slice of American pie to anyone who cracks this DEVIOUS and PERPLEXING MYSTERY. Damn you, Hat of Great Cunning, for being the perfect disguise! A pox on you and your impenetrable shadow!  Obstruction of Fugstice is a crime! One punishable by... more mockery! And poxes! I CURSE YOUR AND YOUR DEMON BRIM FOR BESTING ME.

I am just stumped. That hat was a stroke of genius. Well played, Totally Unrecognizable Mysterious Boozehound Lush. Well played indeed.

Posted by Heather at 03:03 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink

August 05, 2005

Wild On Fug

Okay, Tara Reid. Take a seat, baby, because we need to talk.

You do realize that you have a problem, right? That when your behavior and appearance makes Paris Hilton look like Grace Kelly,  something has gone horribly, horribly wrong? Also, that your new fake boobs are really, really too big and, honestly, that smooshing them down like that is neither comfortable, nor flattering?

Do I have to be blunt here?

Okay.

You're THIRTY DAMN YEARS OLD.  YOUR LIFE SHOULDN'T BE A GIRLS GONE WILD VIDEO TWENTY FOUR HOURS A DAMN DAY. GET A GODDAMNED GRIP.

And buy a shirt that fits. Jeezy Chreezy.  My boobs hurt just looking at you, kiddo.

Posted by Jessica at 06:57 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink

January 12, 2005

At Least They're Covered, But...

There has been progress, but she's not quite there yet:

Image Hosted by ImageShack.us
[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Tara Reid, who despite her small stature is of the biggest moving targets in the entertainment industry, has improved. She is wearing a classy dress, for one thing, and her makeup doesn't make her look like she's been hanging out on the benches between J.C. Penney and Champs Sporting Goods, waiting for some eligible young mallrats to swing by and show her the time of her life.

However, the dress... it looks like it's not supposed to swallow her feet, for one thing, and she probably should have gotten it fitted. But I'll leave that mostly alone, because I'm too busy staring at what this garment has done to her breasts.

We here at Go Fug Yourself are not fond of her boob job already, which is no surprise, but the way this dress hangs, Tara's chest looks three times flatter, droopier, and more pendulous than it probably actually is. Take a closer gander. She looks like she's birthed and breast-fed three children. She's... matronly.

So close, Tara. Keep going, though; you've at least made the turn onto Nicole Richie Blvd., heading north toward a less fugly place.

Posted by Heather at 11:19 AM in Tara Reid | Permalink | Comments (1)

July 06, 2004

American Tart

Tara Reid has officially reached rock bottom. I know, I know, like so many people, I was convinced that the hard partying, the Carson Daly engagement, the sickening pelvis, the dead-end career, and the mascara tracks looked an awful lot like rock bottom, but apparently Ms. Reid one-upped herself -- two-upped herself, technically -- by getting gigantic new breast implants. Because nothing says "Look at me, please, I'm DESPERATE to be treated like a real young star" like heavy-looking implants that the photos, and her fugtastic outfit, depict as drooping, sagging silicone dumplings.

Props -- and at the same time, bitch-slaps, because this chick doesn't need to be encouraged -- to the Scrubs people for trying to make her feel culturally relevant, but even that show couldn't disguise her patent lack of talent, humor, and sex appeal. And then she goes and steps out in public looking like the guest of honor at a roller-disco rave gone wrong.

Can someone please put a mirror in front of this girl's face and show her that she is the senior-class president of Fug Valley High?

Posted by Heather at 04:52 PM in Tara Reid | Permalink | Comments (0)

 

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