Fug File: Look Into Pants

Stefugnie Pratt


Honey. We need to talk.

That necklace is as big as your thigh, child. For the love of God, take a break from the show and get right with yourself. Write a book called Eat. Pants. Love. Then live its message.

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How The Fugch Stole Fugmas


AGAIN?

And not even on stage this time? You’re not Courtney Love, girl (and that is a good thing, TRUST ME). Since your mom won’t say it, I will: GO TO YOUR ROOM.

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The Pretty Fugless


Holy MOLY, Momsen. I don’t even know how to be funny about this. I get what Taylor’s perception of herself is, I think, but SERIOUSLY?

I know you think you’re a rock star now and everything, but it bears repeating: YOU ARE SIXTEEN YEARS OLD. WHERE IS YOUR MOTHER? MRS. MOMSEN, I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU ARE OUT HAVING COCKTAILS WITH DINA LOHAN AND TOASTING YOUR AWESOME PARENTING SKILLS THEN I AM GOING TO … shoot, what am I going to do… aha: I AM GOING TO CONTINUE USING ALL-CAPS UNTIL YOUR DAUGHTER PUTS ON SOME MOTHERFREAKING CLOTHES. YES. TAKE THAT.

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Mean Fugs


Dear Lindsay:

[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

Do you and yours run your wardrobes like a fantasy football draft? Are you and Ali and Dina sitting around cross-legged on the carpet, taking turns picking as many of your favorite layers as possible before anyone else can get them — and then later realizing you accidentally didn’t draft any bottoms that weren’t hot pants? Is Ali running around town wearing nothing but two pairs of leggings, some jeans, and ripped denim shorts? Because otherwise, you just look like a hooker with a court date.

Hugs,
Heather

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Fuggia Rules


Okay, Lindsay.

[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

I am weary of you trying to tempt the world into giving you an impromptu pap smear. If you want to be naked that badly, just have a pool party. It’s that simple.

And as for this:

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Can’t Fug The Moonlight


Obviously, I don’t know what LeAnn Rimes is going through right now.

[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

But if I were allegedly seeing a dude with whom I’d cheated on my husband, and whose very angry wife keeps giving vitriolic quotes to the tabloids for use in articles where I am made to sound like a shameless harlot whose groin is a sin magnet, I would maybe lean away from wearing shirt-dresses that look like I just dashed out of the waxing salon to feed the parking meter, before going back inside and getting a nice married-man-grabbing Brazilian. It just doesn’t seem wise, you know?

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