Go Fug Yourself

Leighton Fugster

Picture it: America, 1995.

Kelly Taylor is going to consider getting hooked on coke, Valerie has arrived and is causing all kinds of trouble, and the influx of belly shirts — and Ray Pruit, whose mama is so poor she can’t afford the second T, is going to smash some pumpkins and push Donna down the stairs — is about to make our collective soul feel like this:
Thanks for the memories, Leighton. Now please stop, because if you make me any more vexed, I’m going to need Botox in about an hour.
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