Celebrity Terror Watch

There has been much online to-do over actor Rupert Everett's alleged-maybe-probably plastic surgery. You may remember Rupert from such movies as My Best Friend's Wedding, where he played the dapper gay BFF of Julia Roberts' character, or from that movie he did with Madonna that nobody saw. Or even from St. Trinian's, when he dressed in drag to play the batty lady principal of a school of miscreants, and whose love interest in the movie was Colin Firth.

And Rupert probably, in your mind's eye, looks like this:

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[Photo: WENN.com]

Or, you know, a bit younger. But the point is, that's a shot from his "before" era.

Here is the "after" shot currently making the rounds on the Intertubes:

You guys, what is going on with Sting?

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Please be for a role. Please be for a role. Please be for a role. Please be for a role. A role that ...is mysteriously not yet on IMDb, sure. But hey, they appear to be under the impression that Ralph Fiennes is not in any future Harry Potter movies (despite being Lord Thingy and kind of, you know, important to the end of the series) so anything could happen. Right? Right? RIGHT? THIS IS NOT ON PURPOSE. STING DOES NOT LOOK LIKE SOME DUDE WHO...LOOKS LIKE THIS. HE IS BREAKING ME. And just look what he's doing to Colin Farrell:

October 7, 2008

How I Fugged Your Mother

As seen on last night's episode of How I Met Your Mother:

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SOMEONE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP.

I don't know who I have to pay to get Jason Segal a haircut but I AM WRITING THE CHECK RIGHT NOW.
I'd like to take this moment to thank Great American Actor Al Pacino for kindly demonstrating for us the dangers of too much bronzer. These horrifying photos were taken a mere day apart. Behold! Beware! Bewail! Be aware that it's possible one of them may actually be a photo of a wax figurine about to be rolled into Madame Tussauds!

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Actually, sorry -- they're both human. I just had a moment of hope thinking that Pacino's Man Makeup was merely the attempt of a waxetician to make a plastic version of him look like a real person, but in fact I fear it was a misguided attempt by his makeup bitch to make him look well-rested or fresh from vacay or something. Personally, when I want to look fresh from vacay, I just put on a huge floppy hat and sunglasses and start talking to people in an exotic, annoying accent. We KNOW he can do that.
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"Dude, what? This isn't the 'Raid Ant-And-Roach-Killer Present: A Tribute To Vincent Gallo' party? DAMMIT. I AM SO GULLIBLE."

I don't swear that much on this Web site, because my mother reads it and I love her, but sometimes a nice, therapeutic four-letter word is the best expression of the depth of my terror -- and when a celebrity comes along and vaults right into the top spot on the Terror Watch index to the point where she redefines it, well, that is when clean language deserts me.

And so: HOLY SHIT, Nancy O'Dell.

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You are not a baseball mitt. GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF.

Appendix: TANOREXIA WATCH TERROR CHART


SEVERE:

Nancy O'Dell. MY GOD, WOMAN. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW? IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR SENSES? DID YOU FALL INTO A VAT OF BROWN SHOE POLISH? ARE YOU AUDITIONING TO BE THE FOOTBALL AT THIS YEAR'S OPENING NFL GAME? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?



HIGH:

Rachel Zoe



ELEVATED:

Jennifer Aniston


GUARDED:

Hollywood Starlet whose agent gave her four gift-certificates to Mystic Tan


LOW:

Sane, sensible, person-colored person

Let me refrain from beating around the bush: P-Squared is starting to look like she spends her evening drinking the blood of virgins, and not in that "she must have made a deal with the devil, she looks so beautiful kind of way." More like, "if a zombie and a vampire had a baby, 45 years later, this is what she would look like:"

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Photo: Splash News]

PHOEBE. GIRL. LESS IS MORE.
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Joey Lawrence: oranger than a traffic cone and more waxed than my kitchen floor. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but WHOA.
There is nothing wrong with really LOVING something in your closet and recreating it over and over again. I, for example, am partial to navy blue, polka dots, and red handbags. And I accept that. However, one must be careful not to fall into too much of a rut. Lisa Rinna, I fear, is edging toward the precipice of Rutsville. Girl LOVES her leopard print. Voila, this week:

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Sexy, well-groomed, tan, pouty: classic Lisa Rinna. And here she is on several recent events:

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Mmmm. Something seems....so familiar here. Like all of these things are just like the other. What could possibly be making me feel thusly? I simply can't imagine. I wish I could put my finger on it. Now, does she look bad? Not at all. Should she maybe invest in something in a stripe? Couldn't hurt.
I'm concerned about Emily Procter. Which is a big deal, because apart from that one episode of The West Wing where she was sort of okay, I haven't thought about her very much other than to wonder if the C.S.I.: Miami people had replaced her with a robot as some sort of strike-year middle-finger to the Screen Actors Guild.

Why am I concerned? Well, here is Ms. Procter from last year's CBS summer party.

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There's almost something Early Faye Dunaway about it -- the hooded eyes, the retro hair, the cool demeanor. Stick her in a beret and Warren Beatty's trigger finger might start twitching spontaneously.

But this is what she looked like at this year's shindig:
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