Fug File: fur

New Year’s Fuggin’ Eve

So, I don’t want to spoil Carson Daly’s New Year’s Bangin’ Eve or whatever his special will be called, but apparently Rihanna and Jay-Z recently were either filming a pre-taped performance for it, or were rehearsing. (I hope Shy Ronnie attended.) And Rihanna’s wardrobe once again does not disappoint.

She started out thusly:

[Photos: Splash News]

Apparently they are shooting this special on Hoth. I desperately hope there’s not a portion of the show where she has to slice open Jay-Z and use his innards for warmth.
And then:

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Fug Ling

She’s baaaack. And tackier than ever, thank God. Bai Ling’s short flirtation with sartorial respectability was both boring, and bad for her brand. This is more like it:

[Photos: WENN.com]

That’s right. She’s wearing a tutu with a fur stole. With ONLY a fur stole. I imagine this is what Carrie Bradshaw is wearing in the credits of the porn version of Sex and the City, called… Sexx and the City.  And, like the the rest of Fug Nation, I couldn’t help but wonder, how does one dance when one is wearing naught but a fur stole as a top? Can one do that without flashing one’s nipples to all and sundry? Let’s find out. I fear it is a spoiler to note that the photo after the jump is not safe for work:

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Aretha Fugklin

So, there I was, innocently watching Aretha Franklin sing during the TV special where they light the Rockefeller Plaza tree, marveling yet again at how her boobs are just so incredibly big and wondering if she has back trouble. I don’t mean that to be tacky — there is nothing wrong with her killer curves, and in fact I am all for them; it’s just that whenever I see her, I am mesmerized by her chestal blessings and cannot help contemplating Surprising Things They Are Bigger Than, and tonight what gave me pause is that I think they’re larger than both my infant sons.

Then, though, my gaze drifted to her coat. I cherish the fact that we can always count on Aretha to wear wackadoo cold-weather gear for her performances, and Wednesday was no different:
It’s like her head is poking out a mysterious third sleeve. Check out the close-up:

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Fug City

Although I know it to be true, the concept of all the girls featured in this post being at the same party is amusing, simply thanks to the disparity in their appearances. First, we have Ms Patridge, who looks…cold:

She also looks: conservative, shiny-haired, and fresh-faced, like the president of the PTA, someone you would trust to pick up your mail. On the other side, we’ve got Whitney Port and Roxie “Child of Ken Olin and Patricia Wettig” Olin:

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Real Housefugs of New York

Have I totally lost the plot, or is Kelly Bensimon walking down the street wearing her bath mat?

I’m serious. And this is honestly not even that surprising. Having watched many an episode of every Real Housewife franchise — because I have no shame — I can truthfully testify that Kelly Bensimon DOES seem to be the sort of person who might look down at her bathroom floor and think, “THIS. I’m going to wear THIS.” I mean, she also jogs down 5th Avenue. THE STREET SECTION. NOT THE SIDEWALK. Wearing a bath mat probably seems neither bizarre nor questionable to the mind who doesn’t see anything weird about forcing traffic to follow her at low speeds while she trots through the streets of New York. We should probably be glad it isn’t her shower curtain.


Fugdy Fugda

Okay, Lady Gaga. This is it. You’ve stunned us with bubble dresses, heinous leotards, panty-hose, and countless flashes of your buttock flesh. You wore a hair donut. You carried a tea cup. Fine.

But this is the last straw. YOU HAVE GONE TOO FAR:

[Photo: Splash News]

Tsk tsk, Gaga. You shoved your Little Miss Muffet into an Animal-head tuffet. I don’t care if this is fresh off the catwalk — you are encouraging the use of a muppet as some kind of madcap performance art, while his dead-eyed gaze peers out from under his signature monobrow as if to say, “It’s too late for me. Go now. GO NOW AND SAVE YOURSELVES.” Well, I will. You violate my eyes? Shame on me for looking. You play along with violating a muppet, though, and you are dead to me forever. Or, at LEAST until another slim-pickings fug day. I don’t know. I have only so much inner strength. Suffice it to say that, much the way Animal was prone to doing with his face during his heyday, I hope someone picks you up and uses your crotch as a drumstick.


Fugiola Berafuga

FABIOLA BERACASA: I am here. WHERE is Karl? I must see him.

JULIA RESTOIN-ROITFELD: I wonder why I agreed to stand with this person.

FABIOLA: Take me to him. He will adore this. He will spread me on a cracker and serve me with pate.

JULIA: Seriously, has she not heard of moderation? A velvet dress that looks like she drew a chalk suit-jacket on it, a coat made of Cher’s old wigs, a metal glove AND a ring, and yet more flesh-colored leggings? Has she lost her mind? And do I look like I APPROVE of it by hanging out with her?

FABIOLA: I will say, “Karl, I liked this, so I put a ring on it,” and he will high-five my aluminum hand and baptise me in champagne.

JULIA: I’m just going to pretend I’m not here. I’m in Tahiti… I’m in Tahiti… I’m in Tahiti…