Results tagged “You The Jury” from GoFugYourself

It wouldn't be a country music awards gala if Carrie Underwood didn't wear eleventy-four different outfits through the course of the night. So, people of the jury, get comfortable in your chairs and prepare to sift through the evidence to determine whether a crime was committed. You may deliberate in the comments.

Exhibit A:

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The prosecution frowns that this mirrored dress mostly eliminates her waist, and reflects the red carpet in such a way that it becomes an artistic interpretation of internal bleeding. The defense snorts that the prosecutors are all a bunch of Crabby McCrabbersons, and puts in a call to some wig vendors to see about replicating this coif, because it's cute, and so is she.  The prosecution wonders if this would've been better at knee length, but quiets down when one of the defense attorneys tries to take a pair of scissors to her jeans in order to prove the point that not EVERYTHING needs to be knee-length, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.



Exhibit B:

September 8, 2009

You The Jury: SWINTONfest '09

Know what makes a holiday long weekend even better? Returning to work and finding that SWINTON has been a social butterfly. She's been flitting from flick to flick at the Venice Film Festival, so let's put her cavalcade of fashion on trial, shall we?

First up is this number:

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The prosecution collectively winces and pulls out a giant pair of sunglasses, citing the retina-searing potency of SWINTON's red-orange lipstick. The lead attorney then asks if she needs the number of a good blacksmith to get those hooves shod, and suggests she needs to be fed more regularly. The defense snorts that the shoes are funky, and compliments SWINTON on her choice of navy and the intricate, sleek draping of this dress. At this, the prosecution chortles and submits the following alternate angle into evidence:

Folks are swooning over more of Drew Barrymore's Grey Gardens press tour looks, but I find myself riding the fence, no matter how hard I try to get off because it's giving me unpleasant (not to mention unsightly) splinters. So let's just put her on trial, shall we?

Exhibit A:

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The prosecution opens by asking if Drew borrowed this from a much taller woman, or if it's just that she only shaved her legs up to mid-calf; it then follows with an argument that saddle-shoe/orthopedic sandal hybrids are too aggressive when you're showing so little leg. The lead attorney passes around flyers to raise funds for the American Association of Stumpification, which is trying to build awareness of this tragic national affliction.

The defense leaps up and points out that, okay, while one COULD construe the color as being very Mother of the Bride, it's also very striking and pretty against Drew's skin. As the prosecution begins flipping through a copy of Bobbi Brown's makeup manual to see if there's a chapter on whether it's advisable to match one's eye makeup to one's outfit, one of the assistants begins sneezing and apologizes to the judge, pointing out that he is allergic to hay and therefore Drew's hair is setting off an attack. The defense throws some Kleenex and a bottle of Afrin at the prosecution's table, noting that the peacock hair clip is actually rather cool and the updo is artfully dishevelled rather than ill-attended bedhead. When the argument reaches a fever pitch, the judge bangs the gavel and warns the author of this post that any further ham-handed use of Drew Barrymore's resume in this post will result in punishment.



Now onto Exhibit B:

Good old Carrie Underwood. No matter what's happening in the world, you can count on her to wear at least three different things on any given awards show night, and generally they all leave me scratching my head and wondering if any of them are secretly cute, or overtly awesome, or obviously evil. It's like I have no fugdar with her. That's why the Fug Justice System exists. Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. It's time for Exhibit A in The People vs. Yet More Carrie Underwood Outfits.

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The prosecution opens by noting that this looks like what a witch might wear to her local planetarium. Excited, the defense's second-in-command jumps up and announces that this has given him an excellent idea for his child's Science Fair project and asks to be excused. A prosecutor sneers that, if the idea if stomping on empty aluminum cans and then gluing them to a trash bag, then by all means, go, because then the defense will lose the Science Fair too. Dejected, the defender sits down and swigs from a hip flask. The judge holds him in contempt for not using a flask that straps to the ankle, which is more interesting.

Moving onto Exhibit B:

It seems this year's winner of the Needless Multiple Costume Changes award at the People's Choice shindig was Carrie Underwood, who wore a relatively tame three different dresses -- I mean, if this were MTV, she'd have changed 20 times -- and I can't quite decide how I feel about any of them. So let's put her on trial, shall we?

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you Exhibit A:

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The prosecution leaps to its feet and screams that this is a bit reminiscent of Sarah Larson's unpopular, shiny water-lilies-esque Oscar gown -- but as if this came from Monet's little-known Crabass Period where he threw a massive hissyfit over having to paint the same damn flowers all the time and rebelled by doing a portrait of the wallpaper in his mother's downstairs powder room. The defense narrows its eyes and points out that Carrie Underwood is seriously pretty and could make just about any old wallpaper look good, then casually asks if the pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive parked out front belongs to the prosecution, and sends a paralegal out to it with key. 



Next up is Exhibit B:
September 17, 2008

XFugXFug, Gossip Fug

A number of readers have written this morning to express concern for Blake Lively, who evidently failed to impress last night in her chosen ensemble. In order to tackle its assorted issues, I thought I'd put her triphasic outfit on trial.

Exhibit A: Arrival.

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The prosecution sneers at the semi-haphazard layering on display and gears up for a rousing chorus of "You've Got To Pick A Pocket Or Two." But before it can burst into song, the defense jumps in to point out that it was probably somewhere in the low 60s in New York last night, so the layers may have had an actual purpose. The judge sustains that objection and the defense celebrates with a kick-line.



Next up for your consideration is Exhibit B:
Well, I've gone back and forth and around in circles on this Fergie outfit. I am just about ready to pull out all my hair and move to Alaska, where Geo Beach can do a whole episode of his show on how blogging there is way harder than anywhere else because -- oh, I don't know, my fingers will be too cold to type, or something.

So I'm going to turn it over to the professionals and let you be the jury.

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The prosecution is ready, having been gagging over the giant dried-out-looking braid for about three hours now, noting that they haven't seen a rope that unappealing since the one their seventh-grade gym teacher made them climb in class. Since the defense momentarily passes out from the potency of its rope-burn flashbacks and subsequent lifelong inadequacy issues, the prosecution charges forth with the suggestion that this is not Fergie at all -- that the Fergie WE know would never stick a disco belt over a clashing caftan and call it genius, which therefore forces them to conclude that Fergie skipped this event entirely in favor of making lasagna with Josh Duhamel, and sent her waxwork in her place.

The defense stands up and congratulates Fergie on that choice, because really, given the choice, we would all rather spend the evening making lasagna with Josh Duhamel; the prosecution objects, claiming the defense is simply trying to woo the jury by tweaking its hormones. Forced to make an actual statement, the defense decides to point out that the red parts of the fabric are really pretty; that the hot pink, while maybe a little overly bold, does at least add some drama;, and that it's all light-years better than when Fergie wore cropped ties and shirts tucked up into her bra. Confident in a victory, the prosecution shotguns a case of Diet Coke and breaks into a rousing rendition of "My Humps," until the defense -- misinterpreting "a rousing" as "arousing," hops on You Tube to look for some of Duhamel's greatest hits from his days on All My Children, forcing the judge to send the jury out to deliberate.

June 19, 2008

Fugcock

So, it turns out Charlize Theron is in Hancock. Are you surprised? I am. From the previews it seems like the movie is just Will Smith flying around and being cranky and doing the smashy-smashy for two hours, with occasional asides from Jason Bateman. (To be honest, though, that's probably enough for me to go see it, because Will Smith's action movies are a guilty pleasure of mine and the brilliant Jason Bateman is a non-guilty pleasure, so that right there is a savvily mixed cocktail of awesome.)

But yes, apparently Charlize -- an Oscar winner, but hey, who cares about stuff like that when Will Smith is wearing tank tops? -- tags along for some of the ride, kind of like making sure there's beer at the party for dudes who don't drink the hard stuff. However, the jury is having a tough time rendering a solid verdict on Ms. Theron's various outfits. That's where you come in, sweet readers.

Let's start with London:

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The defense is busy drooling (just like the guys behind her in the photo), so the prosecution takes this moment to jump in and suggest that one should never stand like that while wearing a dress that's cut so severely, because it makes you look backwards, and as if you have shoulder blades for boobs. Also, her shoe looks a half-size too big, and it's all a little bit The First Lady Attends A State Funeral. The defense chokes back a randy comment about her legs in favor of pointing out that ANYONE showing up at a funeral in a dress cut that high would put the "fun" in "funeral" and should therefore be considered a hero.


Now let's jet back in time, to Paris:

Much as Gwyneth got roughly to third base with her obsession with microminis, Natalie Portman has been doing heavy flirting with ruffles this year at Cannes. And I'm doing a lot of waffling on whether I think they're pretty and flirty, or kind of crazy. Don't get me wrong, I love waffles. Just not mind waffles. So you, dear readers, need to put on your special baby-soft clicking glove of judgment and prepare to be the jury.

Exhibit A for the prosecution:

The defense argues that this is quite pretty and elegant on her, and is an amazing color. But the prosecution wants you to know that the ruffle flipping up around her chest could have been a valance in another life. Or in this one, until twenty minutes before Natalie left her hotel.

Exhibit B:

The prosecution whispers furiously with each other -- one of them was heard to say, "You're telling me you wouldn't try that on if you had her figure? PLEASE" -- and then feebly suggests that a strong breeze would expose Natalie's portman to the world. The defense raucously chest-bumps each other and stars singing "Livin' On A Prayer."

Exhibit C:

 

The prosecutors are momentarily at a loss for words, because this is another really lovely color, but they're about to recover long enough to note that this is the sort of thing -- and, indeed, the red number as well -- would ONLY look good on someone as tiny as Natalie Portman. Anyone with an inch to pinch and real-woman hips would look like a very cold Christmas tree.  Meanwhile, the defense is making margaritas and toasting the fact that, really, who cares how it would look on a normal person if Natalie looks cute in it? The prosecution responded by passing them a note that said, "STOP LAUGHING AT US. It's sort of old-looking! Right? What if she's giving someone bad ideas? Also, can you pour us one on the rocks with salt?"

And finally, Exhibit D:

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