Hell-To-The-Fug

Life has not been kind to Whitney Houston.

Turns out that being married to a preening self-involved smack hound, emaciating yourself, going on national television proclaiming that you make too much money to do crack (“crack is wack; crack is cheap”) and that you would very much like to see receipts proving the allegations that you spent half a million bucks on cocaine, rejecting family interventions, refuting domestic abuse rumors even as your human scrap heap of a husband is being arrested at your behest, degrading yourself on a reality show in which the aforementioned bloated maggot you married — now free from prison — involves himself in your fecal matter, allegedly being forced into rehab by your family and then FINALLY filing for separation from your toxic spouse…

… can really rough up a person’s judgment about what wig to wear.

We have faith, though, Whitney. Once you legally lose those 200 lbs of asshat, we think you’ll be on your way back. But please, don’t let your auntie Dionne take you hair shopping again.