Ashlee & Jessica Simpson
Fug or Fab the Cover: Jessica Simpson
Fuggica Fugson
[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]
I'm pleased to see that she's not wearing Daisy Dukes all the time, presumably a phase she's out of now that her country career is dead (or mostly dead, but in a way even Miracle Max can't cure), but: HEM YOUR PANTS, CHILD. You'll thank me when you're no longer in mortal fear of tripping on them, slipping, and splitting open your lip. Which would ALSO be a problem for you because then everyone would try to claim it happened during a fight with Tony Romo or something, and in coming out to deny it, you'd end up giving about ten more interviews in which you say that he's the one and you want to have his tiny babies -- and that means he'll probably break up with you when pre-season football ends. So, see, you're saving yourself a bloody mouth and a nasty breakup if you'd just shorten those bastards, okay?
Fugsica Simpson
[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]
JESSICA: Ugh.
TONY: What's up, babe?
JESSICA: Yuck.
TONY: Speak up, babe.
JESSICA: Everything always seems like such a good idea when I'm at home.
TONY: Word, babe.
JESSICA: And now that I'm out, and there are photographers, like, of COURSE I feel like this stupid dress makes me look like a giant sofa cushion from that furniture sitting on Aunt Edna's lanai in Palm Beach.
TONY: Too true, babe.
JESSICA: And I... wait, what?
TONY: I hear you, babe.
JESSICA: You don't. You're just saying stuff. You're not even listening to my pain. WHY DOES NO ONE LISTEN TO MY PAIN?
TONY: Dude, babe.
JESSICA: I hate today.
You Make Me Wanna Fug Fug
[Photo: Splash News]
PETE WENTZ: Ashlee? You're supposed to be smiling more.
ASHLEE SIMPSON-WENTZ: Pete? Honey pie? You're not smiling either.
PETE: You're the one who said, "Oh, everyone thinks we're having marital problems. We have to be HAPPY."
ASHLEE: Just because I'm not showing my teeth doesn't mean I'm not smiling. See? I have an upturn to my mouth. I'm just being STYLISH. What's your excuse?
PETE: My excuse is that you're not being stylish, and I'm aggravated.
ASHLEE: Said the boy whose pants are riding up over his socks.
PETE: Seriously, what are you wearing?
ASHLEE: It's FABULOUS. You just don't get it. I sewed a cape onto my dress in the shape of an infant sling! That way, I can wear this and bring the baby out with us. Or just use it as my purse. Or just remind everyone that I am both hip AND a grounded mother who always has her child in her heart.
PETE: It's insane. You look like a witch. You're going to catch that thing on a chair and fall over and concuss yourself and probably get amnesia, and THEN where will we be?!?
ASHLEE: On the cover of People?
PETE: ... Hmm. Actually, that's not a bad silver lining. Just try not to have the kid in it when it happens.
Sweet Fugs
You'd think after all the ridiculous uproar over her admittedly INCREDIBLY HEINOUS MOM-JEANS, Team Simpson would have had an emergency pow-wow and realized they needed to get poor Jess -- formerly the jewel in their money-making crown -- some help. Girlfriend CAN NOT DEAL with putting clothes on her bod, and if this is in fact the work of a paid professional, said professional needs to be fired like a flame-broiled Whopper. Giant platform heels + white corset + flannel + Spearsian-style, over-taxed cut-offs = FAIL. Let's all visualize for a moment: put J Simp in jeans (flattering, regular jeans) and she's already looking sixty-five percent better. Daisy Dukes are not ALWAYS the answer, no matter what movie roles you've played. Won't someone STEP IN and give this girl a hand?
Fug Kisses
[Photos: Splash]
Here is the thing about these jeans: they might look great on you if you have abs that could grate cheese and little-to-no body fat. On the rest of us, they just emphasize Inner-Thighs-Through-Belly-Including-Hips, which is something I want in my pants about as much as I want Tony Romo to come over and throw a boiling vat of chili in my face. I mean, if you just mentally move the waist band of these jeans down about two inches, girlfriend looks 100% better, am I right? The sad thing is, I'm sure the tabloids are going to jump on this with a replay of Star's infamous "IT'S NOT A FAT SUIT" headline, when really, J Simp's probably gained a pound here or there because she's not working out 8 hours a day anymore and who can blame her? She's in love! She's WORKING A CHILI COOK-OFF. She's not made of stone, people, and I suspect she's naturally a curvaceous girl. The fact of the matter is that we all know she'd probably look freaking great if she would just burn those pants and salt the ground. See, this is why I always vote for flattering jeans. Forgiving pants = more sandwiches and far less agita from people squawking about the remainder of your minor holiday weight gain. Also, more sandwiches = much greater happiness. It's like one of the fundamental rules of basic math.
Fugcy
OH J SIMP. Just the other day, Heather and I were talking about how we used to kind of hate you and wish fervently that you would go away and now we are really kind of rooting for you and Tony Romo and worry that you are lost without the loving embrace of girlfriends who will remind you that you are a beautiful girl and then gently tell you that red ruched satin is a LOT of look and that perhaps you -- who naturally already HAVE a Lot Of Look -- might be better off in something maybe less festive but also a bit more subtle, no? No? Okay, the thing is called "Fancy," after all. Go with God, then, kid. But please stop talking to the media about how Romo is the wind beneath your wings and the light of your life and the man who makes you want to be a better woman and someone who had you at "hello" and the star of all your Celine-Dion-video-inspired fantasies, because you KNOW that's just bad luck. Okay? Good. I'm glad we had this little talk.
Fug the Cover: Jessica Simpson

So, I was having my usual Monday night -- deep-conditioning my hair, watching Gossip Girl, eating delicacies wrapped in bacon, drinking heavily, worrying about my investments, thinking about boys, and catching up on my blog reading -- when I came across this particular delicacy (thanks to Girl With a Satchel). Cleo is an Australian magazine, and it looks rather entertaining, although I suspect I always think foreign magazines seem more entertaining than American ones just because I can't find them easily here and they therefore remind me of the kind of kicky vacation I cannot afford. That being said, I am pretty sure -- just from reading the cover! -- that I HAVE "shoppers dysmorphia," and also that I probably need to read about penis sprays, if only so that I can turn to my dining companions the next time I'm at brunch and go, "So I was reading this article about penis spray..." But we need to talk about J. Simp. Sweet merciful hot pants, I will give someone a dollar if they can get Jessica Simpson to appear on a magazine cover without looking like (a) someone just hit her on the head with a two-by-four or (b) as if she's a Fem-Bot whose settings are stuck on KILL WITH EXTREME BOREDOM. Really, a whole dollar. I know it's not much, but shouldn't we all be taking what we can get right now?
Come On Fug
So, that is...how to put this? Unflattering? Please tell me she's doing some skit in which she shoves a pillow under her dress to simulate pregnancy -- as I did as a child on occasion, much as I would use a towel on my head to simulate being a nun/being a bride/having long hair -- and not that she's chosen a dress that makes her look....well, more protrude-y than she actually is. Although, frankly, even when one is out shopping for a prankster gown in which to play mom-to-be to really put the fear of God in one's boyfriend, one can always pick something that didn't look like it fell off the back of the truck heading toward the Dress Barn outlet. Am I right?
Fug On Over
But here's why I am skeptical of it working: She is TOTALLY pandering. All of a sudden, she's back in her Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots and knotted button-down shirts, or she's on-stage in stuff like this:
[Photo: Splash News]
HONEY.Your career is not a stage adaptation of Big Business; you, therefore, do not need to style yourself as though you are playing the Bette Midler "rural twin" who likes to yodel at the county fair. Country fans are not idiots; it is wrong to assume that, just because you wear something that looks like you stitched it together from picnic-basket liners during a really boring hayride, they will stop booing you and start hugging and toasting marshmallows. These people will not appreciate being talked-down-to -- or styled-down-to, as it were -- by a girl who thought tuna was chicken and, worse, thought acting stupid made her adorable.
Also, put your tongue back in your mouth. You don't know where that air has been.
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