Fugger: Jenny McCarthy

Jenny McCarthy has kind of grown on me. I must be mellowing with age, but whenever she’s on The View — I know, I KNOW, but the squabbling is sort of addictive — she usually makes me laugh, and I dig the blonde bob she’s been working lately. Her coif is a foul temptress, the kind of hair that cruelly entices me to consider chopping mine off likewise, until I remember that it would end in tears because we have very different hair, so while she looks sleek and cool, I would look like Carrot Top.

Or sort of like this:

It’s not that the curly bob is so bad, actually. It’s just that this ENTIRE look feels ripped from Va-Va-Voom: The Jessica Simpson Story, about that awkward time when Jessica was so desperate for us all to LOVE HER that she over-bronzed and wore horrible curly short wigs that probably cost $1 and tight plunging necklines, to the point that if anyone asked you what color her eyes were, you’d say, “Uh… boobs.” (I know that sounds like every time with Jessica Simpson, but it is one PARTICULAR phase more than any other.) Jenny McCarthy deserves better than to make me think of Jessica Simpson when I look at her.

And more than that, Jenny deserves better than to make me think she’s a hungry cougar. Seriously, I half expect her to announce that she’s spending the summer at the Catskills, where she’ll have rowdy sex and do the cha-cha with her hunky dance instructor during the week and then coo over Jim Carrey when he comes up for his weekend poker games. By which I mean, it’s retro in a creepy/desperate kind of way — you know, that special, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner, but they are more than welcome to put you there, and in fact, I would encourage it, especially because we all know Baby’s sister caught you in bed with her waiter boyfriend” aura.