Go Fug Yourself
- Thread starter caitlin1214
- Start date
It makes me laugh 
When it comes to Paris Hilton, I prefer not to think of her actually coming from anyone. As far as I'm concerned, she spontaneously generated on a rainy spring day from a pile of fertilizer rife with dung beetles.
But I suppose there are documents that claim otherwise, and so it is that we've come to refer to Kathy Hilton as Paris's mother. And I'm realizing that if we are forced to admit Paris Hilton is a DNA creation, it does make some genetic sense -- the rotten apple doesn't actually plop in a pile of moldy pulp terribly far from the tree.
The outfit itself doesn't tickle my fancy, particularly, but it's fine. [Except for that crinkled skirt; her poor chauffeur is so fired for not having wrinkle-proof upholstery on his seats.] But the shoes are totally ridiculous. They're quasi-spats; the ankle cuff is totally perplexing -- it's as if she wasn't initially planning to carry a purse, and so needed a creative new way to carry Kleenex on her person for any nostril emergencies that might arise. To which I say, "That's what bras are for, lady."
And there's just so much RIGGINGon them. Look, a word to the wise, Kath -- some more Chicken Soup for the Fugging Soul, if you will: If they look like they belong affixed to Paris's Portuguese sex swing, or if indeed that's exactly where you found them, do not remove them from their squallid home; instead, step away from the kegel-pilates apparatus area without touching anything and go bathe your hands in lye just in case.
But I suppose there are documents that claim otherwise, and so it is that we've come to refer to Kathy Hilton as Paris's mother. And I'm realizing that if we are forced to admit Paris Hilton is a DNA creation, it does make some genetic sense -- the rotten apple doesn't actually plop in a pile of moldy pulp terribly far from the tree.
The outfit itself doesn't tickle my fancy, particularly, but it's fine. [Except for that crinkled skirt; her poor chauffeur is so fired for not having wrinkle-proof upholstery on his seats.] But the shoes are totally ridiculous. They're quasi-spats; the ankle cuff is totally perplexing -- it's as if she wasn't initially planning to carry a purse, and so needed a creative new way to carry Kleenex on her person for any nostril emergencies that might arise. To which I say, "That's what bras are for, lady."
And there's just so much RIGGINGon them. Look, a word to the wise, Kath -- some more Chicken Soup for the Fugging Soul, if you will: If they look like they belong affixed to Paris's Portuguese sex swing, or if indeed that's exactly where you found them, do not remove them from their squallid home; instead, step away from the kegel-pilates apparatus area without touching anything and go bathe your hands in lye just in case.
To be sung to the tune of "Sandy," preferably whilst dressed as John Travolta:
"Stranded on the red carpet
Branded a mess
The fuggers will hate this
That you can guesssss
Saaaandy, can't you see
We're in misery
You made a start
It fell apart
There's nothin' good to see.
Your look has flown
We scroll, it's blown
We have to wonder wh - yi-yi-yi
Oh why you wore these
Oh, Sandy!
Oh Sandy, baaaaaaby, someday
If you don't pair ankle boots with all those kooky hems
Somehow, somewaaaaaay
We'll praise you again
We wonder iiiiif you're preeeeegnant
From the chest up, you look swell!
Knees down, it's far from dandy,
Oh Saaaaaandy
(Spoken interlude!)
Sandy, my darlin'
You hurt us real bad.
You know it's true
But baby you gotta believe us
when we say, we want to like you.
(Big finish!)
Your look is blown, all alone
We sit
And wonder why-yi-yi-yi
Oh why
You wore these
Oh Saaaandy"
"Stranded on the red carpet
Branded a mess
The fuggers will hate this
That you can guesssss
Saaaandy, can't you see
We're in misery
You made a start
It fell apart
There's nothin' good to see.
Your look has flown
We scroll, it's blown
We have to wonder wh - yi-yi-yi
Oh why you wore these
Oh, Sandy!
Oh Sandy, baaaaaaby, someday
If you don't pair ankle boots with all those kooky hems
Somehow, somewaaaaaay
We'll praise you again
We wonder iiiiif you're preeeeegnant
From the chest up, you look swell!
Knees down, it's far from dandy,
Oh Saaaaaandy
(Spoken interlude!)
Sandy, my darlin'
You hurt us real bad.
You know it's true
But baby you gotta believe us
when we say, we want to like you.
(Big finish!)
Your look is blown, all alone
We sit
And wonder why-yi-yi-yi
Oh why
You wore these
Oh Saaaandy"
Que? Why do you look at me this way? You've never seen a woman in a red origami minidress before? Bah! Next you're going to tell me it's not normal for a man to drink paint thinner like it's milk! Hahahahahaha! So stop with the sass, little ***** Garners, because the only thing that gives my Marc more seconds of pure half-strength than paint thinner is the sight of me in what he calls my sexy blood clot outfit! He is the teeeeny pequenito stick of celery in my giant Bloody Mary and he LOVES when I say that because it gets him all hot and bothered and he has to go suck on a tomato for two hours, which is what he usually does when he gets excited. Well, when he's not doing ME! For TWO WHOLE MINUTES! OH, YES, THAT IS RIGHT, JUDGY TYPES! So STICK THAT IN YOUR CAMERA and EAT IT!
For General Release: Elisha Cuthbert has given up acting so as to concentrate on her role as Paris Hilton's pageboy and medieval-era manservant.
Her new duties include: fetching Paris's mead; picking lice out of her hair, and the hair of her ladies-in-waiting; carrying in the boar's head for her dinner; shining and rust-proofing her suit of armor and weaponry; brushing and powering her wigs; emptying her chamber pot; escorting the trumpeteers which announce her entrances and exits; and, of course, escorting Paris's bedmate for the evening to and from her royal suite. We wish Elisha the best of luck in this, her new -- and very retro -- career, and congratulate her on being able to throw together the appropriate livery on such very short notice.
Her new duties include: fetching Paris's mead; picking lice out of her hair, and the hair of her ladies-in-waiting; carrying in the boar's head for her dinner; shining and rust-proofing her suit of armor and weaponry; brushing and powering her wigs; emptying her chamber pot; escorting the trumpeteers which announce her entrances and exits; and, of course, escorting Paris's bedmate for the evening to and from her royal suite. We wish Elisha the best of luck in this, her new -- and very retro -- career, and congratulate her on being able to throw together the appropriate livery on such very short notice.
Okay, fine. We're LOOKING AT YOU. Are you happy now? Sigh.
You are like the Lindsay Lohan of the skating world. You started out so sweet and adorable and lovable and clean, winning our hearts at a very young age, as did she. Your mother is dead; her mother is deadly. Your beloved coach tragically died; Lindsay's handlers probably occasionally wish they were dead. You eventually turned to booze to dull the pain; according to her own statements, La Lohan likes to party. You crashed your car into a tree; Lindsay wipes out approximately three times a week. You wrote two books, Oksana: My Own Story, and Secrets of Skating; Lindsay has probably read a book, and if she were to write one, we would absolutely buy it. We remember your successes fondly, and although we are very happy that you went to rehab, we wish you didn't dress like an addled cocktail waitress employed at a 80s Hair Band-themed bar called Poison's, although we do wish such a bar existed, because we would start working from there; we remember Lindsay's successes just as fondly, and know she would probably start hanging out at Poison's as well. Which is all well and good -- and now we're kind of excited about hanging out at Poison's with LiLo. She would totally read entries over our shoulders and yell out which of our victims were "[insert expletive here]s," and then if we fugged her she's totally get mad and yell at us and write things about us on the bathroom wall, but eventually get bored and wander over with a plate of wings, and we'd make up -- but, really, do you WANT to be the Lindsay Lohan of skating?
I guess it's better than being the Tara Reid.
Exclusive! A secretly obtained excerpt from The Secwet Diawy of Baba Wawa:
Nov. 13, 2006: Twuly, I'm at my wits' end, Diawy -- sometimes, I want to scweam with bottled-up wage! Have you ever twied going to an event with Opwah? The woman does not STOP wunning into people's photogwaphs! It's all I can do not to THWOTTLE her. It's a GALA and I'm wapped up tighter than a Cwistmas gift in twenty-thwee layers of hot-pink taffeta, stwiking my most distinguished pose in fwont of all these people with camewas, and WHAT DO YOU DO but sneak in and upstage me with your Cwayola-colored makeup and EVEN SHINIER clothes? Don't you WESPECT who I AM? I am BABA fwickin' WAWA, Winfwey! Wosie and I could fold you up and fit you into ONE of my EXTWAOWDINAWILY MASSIVE SLEEVES. Do you hear that? So DO NOT CWOSS ME, or else you will take a little time to enjoy the view, all wight... the view of my DEATH PINCH. MAYBE THEN YOU WILL WEGWET THIS!
Nov. 13, 2006: Twuly, I'm at my wits' end, Diawy -- sometimes, I want to scweam with bottled-up wage! Have you ever twied going to an event with Opwah? The woman does not STOP wunning into people's photogwaphs! It's all I can do not to THWOTTLE her. It's a GALA and I'm wapped up tighter than a Cwistmas gift in twenty-thwee layers of hot-pink taffeta, stwiking my most distinguished pose in fwont of all these people with camewas, and WHAT DO YOU DO but sneak in and upstage me with your Cwayola-colored makeup and EVEN SHINIER clothes? Don't you WESPECT who I AM? I am BABA fwickin' WAWA, Winfwey! Wosie and I could fold you up and fit you into ONE of my EXTWAOWDINAWILY MASSIVE SLEEVES. Do you hear that? So DO NOT CWOSS ME, or else you will take a little time to enjoy the view, all wight... the view of my DEATH PINCH. MAYBE THEN YOU WILL WEGWET THIS!
Oh, Jordan.
Of course you're dressed like a bride as envisioned by the cast of Strictly Ballroom. I expect you to start tangoing dramatically at any moment.
You know, there are celebrities who are so over-the-top with such regularity that their campiness becomes a delight -- like Cher -- and Jordan is one such celebrity for me. As much as we mock her -- and as easy as she is to mock -- imagine how disappointing it would be if she showed up looking modest and understated. In fact, I challenge her to go bigger! Start wearing live birds in your hair, Jordan! Wear a skirt stitched together with Christmas lights that you can turn on and off with the flick of a switch attached to your right boob! Invest in a bodice made entirely of tinsel woven together with baby hair! Go big or go home!
Of course you're dressed like a bride as envisioned by the cast of Strictly Ballroom. I expect you to start tangoing dramatically at any moment.
You know, there are celebrities who are so over-the-top with such regularity that their campiness becomes a delight -- like Cher -- and Jordan is one such celebrity for me. As much as we mock her -- and as easy as she is to mock -- imagine how disappointing it would be if she showed up looking modest and understated. In fact, I challenge her to go bigger! Start wearing live birds in your hair, Jordan! Wear a skirt stitched together with Christmas lights that you can turn on and off with the flick of a switch attached to your right boob! Invest in a bodice made entirely of tinsel woven together with baby hair! Go big or go home!
