Fugger: Jenny McCarthy

Creative Arts Emmy Awards: Fugs and Fabs of the Rest


Let’s close the book on this sucker, and start mediating on whom we want to see look totally cracked out and/or fabulous (ideally both at the same time) at the Standard Issue Emmys a week from tonight. Lena Dunham said on Twitter this week that her dress “looks like cake and feels like sweatpants,” and I can’t wait to see what THAT looks like.

[Photos: Fame/Flynet, Splash, Getty]

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New Year’s Fugging Eve


Come for the giant coats, stay for the ribbon diaper.

[Photos: Getty, me]

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Billboard Music Awards Fug Carpet: Black and White and WTF All Over


As more and more pictures rolled in, I finally snapped and e-mailed Jessica, “EVERYONE NAKED AND DUMB AT THIS THING.”

[Photos: Getty]

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Fug the Show(s): New Year’s Eve Countdowns


I was going to say, “I don’t know why I bother to watch these things,” but that would be a lie: I DVR them SPECIFICALLY so that we can all have a laugh at whatever hopeless shenanigans are passing for Exciting. New Year’s Eve. Entertainment. It’s like the universe wants to remind us all that the calendar may change, but fug is forever.

[Photos: Splash, my phone]

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Fugloween 2012


Here are two things I’ve learned from doing postings this Halloween: 1) I am pretty sure Chris Brown’s costume is going to make your head explode, and b) I’d best not even try to ID most of these costume for fear of angering Fug Nation when I get it wrong. Some folks are REALLY disgusted that I happen not to have seen Moonlight Kingdom. It’s like I personally knifed them, just because I can’t watch or get to the movies as much as I’d like. Please forgive, Fug Nation. I hate it when we fight. At LEAST wait until I can acquire and don some leggings as pants, so that your disappointment can be complete.

[Photos: WENN, Fame/Flynet, Pacific Coast News, Bauer-Griffin, INF]

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Fuggled Out


Jenny McCarthy has kind of grown on me. I must be mellowing with age, but whenever she’s on The View — I know, I KNOW, but the squabbling is sort of addictive — she usually makes me laugh, and I dig the blonde bob she’s been working lately. Her coif is a foul temptress, the kind of hair that cruelly entices me to consider chopping mine off likewise, until I remember that it would end in tears because we have very different hair, so while she looks sleek and cool, I would look like Carrot Top.

Or sort of like this:

It’s not that the curly bob is so bad, actually. It’s just that this ENTIRE look feels ripped from Va-Va-Voom: The Jessica Simpson Story, about that awkward time when Jessica was so desperate for us all to LOVE HER that she over-bronzed and wore horrible curly short wigs that probably cost $1 and tight plunging necklines, to the point that if anyone asked you what color her eyes were, you’d say, “Uh… boobs.” (I know that sounds like every time with Jessica Simpson, but it is one PARTICULAR phase more than any other.) Jenny McCarthy deserves better than to make me think of Jessica Simpson when I look at her.

And more than that, Jenny deserves better than to make me think she’s a hungry cougar. Seriously, I half expect her to announce that she’s spending the summer at the Catskills, where she’ll have rowdy sex and do the cha-cha with her hunky dance instructor during the week and then coo over Jim Carrey when he comes up for his weekend poker games. By which I mean, it’s retro in a creepy/desperate kind of way — you know, that special, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner, but they are more than welcome to put you there, and in fact, I would encourage it, especially because we all know Baby’s sister caught you in bed with her waiter boyfriend” aura.

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