Fugger: Courtney Love

Freaky Fug Friday: Courtney Love

I think you are all familiar with this week’s subject, and thus, probably won’t be surprised to see what kind of ensemble she’s wearing in this picture.

THE FUGEE: Courtney Love. No resume required.
THE DETAILS: Yes, those are tie-dyed socks. 
CHALLENGE: We’re bringing back one of our favorites: the acrostic poem, last deployed with Juliette Lewis and to hilarious effect. For those of you in need of a refresher, an acrostic poem is one in which the first letter or syllable of each line itself conveys a message or spells a relevant word. Like, writing one about Courtney that spells YEEEOOOW. It can be as short or long as you like. Clicking on those Juliette links will give you a ton of awesome examples. 


You know the drill by now.
Each entry must be posted in the comments of this post, not sent to us by

Everyone can enter as many times as they like. 
Ooooh, those socks are bad. 
Oh Courtney, Fug Nation is going to let you have it.
Only other caveat is that they must all be posted by Sunday night at 10 p.m. 
West Coast time.

Potentially Well Played/Hmm, Maybe Not/What The FUG: Courtney Love

Everything started out so well for Courtney here.

Great shoes, flattering little black dress, cool leather coat — there’s nothing remarkable here, for sure (although I wouldn’t mind borrowing the Loubs and the jacket), except that it feels like Courtney Love needs a bigger pat on the back than most of us just for completing average, everyday tasks — like successfully getting dressed in something that isn’t made of crazy and doesn’t look like she got caught in her skivvies chasing the paperboy down the street after he demanded his two-dollar fee in cash and then deliberately hurled the Los Angeles Times through her garage window.

Then the jacket came off:

If she had just averaged out the sleeves on this dress, it might’ve looked better — instead of one long and one absent, it could’ve been two of moderate length. Yeah, the dress has more interest the way it is — but on the other hand, her right arm seems to be mourning the death of the chalk slate and one-room schools, while her left is in some kind of sinew contest with Madonna. I’m not sure those messages needed to be mixed in one outfit.

And then somehow — inexplicably — this outfit turned into, or ceded ground to, this one:
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Fuglebrity Skin

Courtney, Courtney, Courtney.

[Photo:Splash News]

Actually, I don’t know that I have much to complain about right now. i am weary of the baby-pink lipstick everyone is wearing these days, which makes it look like they are mouthless mannequins. But the dress — or coat; whatever — isn’t offensive necessarily. It’s SHORT, but you know what? I’m really tired. Fashion Week is ending and the Oscars are on Sunday, and I’m all tapped out of crotch jokes. I need to save whatever mojo is left in that arena, in the event that Meryl Streep wears a buttock-scraper this weekend or Mickey Rourke decides to put on a gown with a giant slit up in the vicinity of his business. Know what I mean?

Instead, let’s look at her shoes:


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Courtfug Love

It’s not often that I think to myself, “Wherever Courtney Love is going, I want to go WITH HER.” And yet:

[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

I love the idea that she’s pursuing a new career as some sort of fortune-telling Swami, and I want to be there when she starts some impromptu soothsaying. Like, we could sit down at a banquette and then I’d be reaching for a pig in a blanket on a tray, and she’d grab my hand and say, “The road to enlightenment doesn’t go through cocktail weenies, you f**king crazy motherf**ker! When you crawl into the bottom of a beer barrel and wake up the next morning on your floor covered in Sharpie and wearing a diaper and a Fez, and then you go McDonald’s for two sausage biscuits and a bucket of hash browns, THEN AND ONLY THEN will you discover f**king spiritual peace, you crazy asshole. Meditate on THAT. And get me a f**king Fiji water.”


Fug on to Me

[Photo: Splash]

“Dude, what’s the big deal? I’m just being Courtney. And sometimes Courtney likes to wander around downtown Culver City looking like a downtrodden, underemployed, potentially violent and unpredictable Fraggle. So what? I’M A %#%gG&&$#!@2# ROCK STAR. If I can’t pop out of my Escalade carrying a twelve thousand dollar crocodile handbag and wearing a feather I fished out of that lake thing in MacArthur Park, WHO CAN? So my shoes appear to be made out of trash. DO YOU HAVE THE BALLS TO WEAR TRASH SHOES? I didn’t think so. Besides, I’d like to remind you that I am the woman who allowed a homeless man to suckle her bare teat at a Wendy’s for photographers. This is F#$#%w$#$%(^# NOTHING. So, unwad your panties and send your angry letters to the Official Save Francis Bean Council For Rock Star Offspring, care of Kelly Osbourne, 1221 Derelicte Avenue, suite F U.”


Courtfug Love


Sigh. It’s like the paparazzi have never seen a woman doing the walk of shame from a Great Gatsby orgy before.


Courtney Fug

So far, 2007 looks awfully familiar.

As usual, we can see Courtney Love’s bra, and as usual, she can’t keep her eyes open long enough for us to check the status of her pupils. Although, technically, this photo was taken on New Year’s Eve, so it was still 2006. Ergo, although she rang in 2007 thusly, looking like a zombie whose nose had recently been broken — seriously, what’s up with it? Doesn’t it look flatter? And yet knobbier? Did she bang it against the mirror on the table? We hope not — it’s entirely possible she turned the corner later that day and has now spent the remaining 24-plus hours of 2007 looking lovely and awake, playing Scrabble with Frances Bean before settling down to watch Finding Nemo and her new Sound of Music deluxe edition DVD and then singing her daughter to sleep with the “So Long, Farewell” song we so cherish and which Gwen Stefani needs to keep her grubby sample-happy mitts away from on pain of bitch-slap.

We’re crossing our fingers. And, the lipstick is an improvement, so maybe there is progress on the horizon.