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Tom Cruise: Crazy Like a Fugging Fox?

Crazy Tom Cruise
This week a new Tom Cruise video hit the Web, believed to be an internal Scientology indoctrination reel (which we can’t confirm; although Tom’s words are definitely English, they make no sense in the unique order he’s chosen). Cruise stars as himself, a fervent believer who practically vibrates with devotion and punctuates his preaching with disturbingly enthusiastic cackles. It's so weird that you can't look away, and the timing couldn’t be better: Ol’ Couchjumper’s recent canon of cracky behavior has inspired such massive piles of intrigue and gossip that he’s become the subject of a book by professional-unauthorized-biographer Andrew Morton. The book attempts to unveil all the dark secrets of Cruise’s mysterious private life, including his not-so-casual involvement with Scientology — and now that this creepy video has hit the Web, Morton’s no doubt thanking the gods for their impeccable timing. But Morton’s reported inability to penetrate Cruise’s closed ranks has turned a hotly anticipated tell-all into a loosely sourced kitchen sink of a book that may, amazingly, do the Cruise camp more good than harm.

No Golden Globes? Now Everything's Fugged Up

No Golden Globes

As Sunday night approaches and the Golden Globes’ “Night of a Thousand Yawns” press conference looms large and boring, we’re still struggling to absorb the fact that the whole affair will be void of the traditional pageantry. Usually, this is the time when we’re stocking up on Ruffles and dip in preparation for an evening on the couch, wondering if Cate Blanchett will wear Armani (possibly) or something metallic (probably) and laying bets on whether Nicole Kidman’s inevitable Balenciaga will successfully make her look less waxen (doubtful). But this year, no ceremony means no fashion parade: no hits, no misses, no Marchesa. Fine, the sacrifice is all in the name of union labor and whatnot — but will no one think of the outfits?

The Fug Girls' Official Celebrity-Style Mandates for 2008

Heath and Ellen

Yes, it was the year of downward spirals, DUIs, and prison terms, but 2007 was also chockablock with stylistically challenged celebrities digging deep into their pocketbooks and shelling out for some new clothes and coifs — and as a result, of course, positive pro-makeover press. But now that the likes of Katie Holmes, Rihanna, and even — gasp — Fergie are all squared away, we’re turning an eye toward celebs who could use a similar style overhaul in 2008. Take Heath Ledger, for instance. He’s freshly single, starring in the newest Batman film, and generally young and hot. So it’s beyond us why he insists on slumping around Brooklyn unshaven and wearing a porkpie hat. Wouldn’t his career and personal life continue their upward trajectory with more oomph if he put on a sharp suit occasionally, instead of dressing like he’s gone Method to play the Joker? Juno star Ellen Page is poised to collect a lot of Hollywood hardware for her mantel/garage shelf/toilet lid. Yet so far she’s rarely worn anything but black or gray on the red carpet, often with an awkwardness evoking a kid eating her first meal at the adults’ table. With the spotlight headed her way, there’s no time like the present to go a bit more glam: Throw in some color, funk up the accessories, and turn the Everygirl into a woman. Done right, no one will remember who actually wins the damn awards.

The Fug Girls: Since When Is Jessica Simpson a Spinster?

Jessica
Now it really stinks to be Jessica Simpson. When her new boyfriend, Tony Romo, played his worst football game of the season in her presence, tabloids and his teammates alike christened her a walking curse. And last week, the cover of Us deemed her "Tortured by Regret" on the premise that she bailed on her marriage and now can't keep a man. Essentially, at the ripe old age of 27, she's been deemed a washed-up dud. We don't even like her, and we think that's rotten.

The Fug Girls: A New TV Diet for Spring!

Gladiators
With Hollywood's warring writers and producers seemingly spending more time on PR statements than negotiations, it's going to be a long, wretched winter for television fans. To patch scheduling holes, networks are rushing out "mid-season replacements" (everything from game shows to reality hours) — essentially, shows that are handy in a pinch, but weren't good enough to debut in the fall. It's the idea that if there's no water at the oasis, we'll just drink the sand; too bad for them we're not so easily satisfied. However, we ARE easily bored without our stories, so if our holiday wish for a speedy, fair strike resolution is impossible, then it'll take some crafty TV-diet substitutions to get us through the drought. Here are a few simple swaps: American Gladiators. The show that brought us such spandex-wrapped warriors as "Turbo" and "Zap" obviously occupies its own vital place in TV history. But it also ably replaces the absent 24. Think about it: Jack Bauer runs a lot. He sweats. He does things to America, for America. And he likes to hit people with blunt objects. If he'd had the wherewithal to do it all with a Speedo and a tennis-ball cannon, you'd never even know the difference.

The Fug Girls Can't Hardly Wait to Put on a Bikini

Jennifer Love
Somehow, despite having a hit show on CBS, Jennifer Love Hewitt has always been best known as that girl from adolescent sob-fest Party of Five. But thanks to the recent combination of a revealing black bikini and a paparazzo’s long lens, she’s now most famous for the contours of her thighs. While having our cellulite plastered all over the Internet would have us crying into a bottle of tequila, Hewitt’s reaction — a quiet, sane post to her blog — was both low-key and dignified. So we’re wondering two things: Who knew Jennifer Love Hewitt, of all people, would become our real-girl hero, and why was she the first person to hit the high road?

The Fug Girls: Introducing the Good Boy

Chace
For the past year, the tabloids have been obsessed with Bad Girls and the rotating cabal of shaggy, greasy party boys who love them. But as public patience with self-destructive dim-bulbs like Paris Hilton and Britney Spears wanes, mags have cooked up a new dish for us to salivate over: the Good Boy. He's sanitized, sexually harmless, and above all, as bland as an egg-and-egg omelette. In short, he is Gossip Girl's Chace Crawford. Nothing against Crawford: He's coming into his own playing troubled, rich pothead Nate Archibald, and it's possible he secretly digs astrophysics, dog shows, and racing unicycles across shaky rope bridges. But if he is that well rounded, we won't read about it anytime soon. The boy's appeal lies in his intense (but not intimidatingly intelligent) eyes, carefully mussed hair, and TV show aimed squarely at the squalling teens who buy multiple copies of magazines so as to tape the pictures to their bedroom ceilings. Even his maybe-girlfriend Carrie Underwood described Chace's appeal thusly: "He's got cool hair, he's a nice height, and he just has beautiful eyes." How profound. Will they register at Sephora?

The Fug Girls: A Report Card for 2007's Lawless Ladies

Lindsay Lohan
We were delighted by Tuesday's news that Paris Hilton's first major humanitarian effort involved encouraging people to stop making alcohol available to a roving gang of binge-drinking elephants in India. Given Paris's countless inarticulate, heavy-lidded avowals that she would devote her post-prison life to charitable work, it seemed poetic than one of Hollywood's most visible drunk party animals would gravitate to staging an intervention for actual drunk animals. Tragically, her publicist debunked the rumor, but it was too late: We were already reminiscing about the Summer of Legal Shenanigans, wondering how the midterm report cards of our favorite famous celebrity miscreants would look — and whether, as they promised, things are going to be different this time.

The Fug Girls Would like to Stop Being Gyllenspoon-fed

Gyllenspoon
For months, the tabloids have obsessed over the alleged on-again, off-again courtship of Reese Witherspoon and Jake Gyllenhaal, countering their coy denials with blurry paparazzi photos and stories like “Reese’s Rebound Joy” or “Jake’s Brokeback Heart.” On paper, this intrigue should be interesting: two eligible A-list stars possibly bunking together, one with an Oscar and ex-husband suspected of cheating, and the other the subject of countless gay rumors who is coincidentally — or not — best known for getting fake-freaky in a mountain tent with Heath Ledger. So why can’t we be arsed to care?

The Fug Girls: It's a Halloween Roundup!

Halloween
Hollywood is already practically one big costume party, so it's unsurprising that celebrities go nuts dressing up on Halloween — the one night of the year they can let their inherent terrible taste run wild. But don't let our festive holiday eye-patches fool you. We are watching and judging, because in the celebrity world there's no such thing as a free pass. After the jump, a look at who scored, and who merely whored...

The Fug Girls: Taking a Peek Inside Karl Lagerfeld's Mind of Steel

Karl Lagerfeld
Even in an industry full of eccentrics, Chanel’s Karl Lagerfeld is an icon: those omnipresent shades, the man-jewelry, and, of course, the leather glove, which lends his style that special “ringmaster at a Michael Jackson–themed circus” feel. So when filmmaker Rodolphe Marconi touted his new documentary Lagerfeld Confidential as a profound peek behind The Kaiser’s sunglasses, we had to investigate — after all, this is the man who once told Elle, “It’s too easy to forgive. I love revenge.” What could be better than an hour and a half of that?

The Fug Girls Like It When Ellen Cries

Ellen Degeneres
Until this week, we've known Ellen DeGeneres as unfailingly cheery, a boogie-happy sprite in khakis and Converse. Yet when Ellen opened her talk show Tuesday uncharacteristically red-eyed and weepy, we — after first double-checking that no one had died or anything — began to appreciate the bizarre display, because it represented something so rare in television: actual honesty. Fascinating!

Can New York Help Save Lindsay Lohan?

Lindsay Lohan
In the past year, you couldn’t drop a tabloid on your bathroom floor without it falling open to a sad story about Lindsay Lohan, be it for wearing drug-laced pants or her unfortunate habit of leaving rehab and promptly face-planting into a puddle of booze. So it stands to reason that her most recent exit from Utah’s Cirque Lodge has put the celeb-watching world on high alert for her first misstep. But! What if it never happens? What if, against all odds, Lohan actually dared to use rehab for, you know, rehabbing?

It's Time to Put Britney Behind Us

Who's That Girl
In a celebrity gossip-feeding culture that thrives on people’s love of soap operas and Schadenfreude, Britney Spears’s myriad, poorly dressed tragedies generally make bloggers weep with glee. But this week, Brit’s latest downward spiral has ventured into tragic territory: She’s lost custody of her kids and, according to OK! magazine, she’s on suicide watch. Though our fascination with the macabre justifies obsessing and/or cackling about Brit’s missteps (see VMAs), these latest developments have inspired a different kind of reaction: pity. Britney’s problems have crossed over into the sincerely unfunny zone, and it’s time for us to look away. For good.

We're Getting Really Fugging Bored With Actress Catfights.

Women's Murder Club
It's the oldest story in the book: Girl meets casting agent, girl joins female-centric ensemble TV show, girl becomes part of salacious rumors about how all the women resent each others' fame and want to toss each other into the nearest lily pond. First it was Sex and the City, then Desperate Housewives and Brothers and Sisters; now, the awkwardly titled Women's Murder Club is getting into the action despite not having even aired yet. Take any show starring more than one woman, and lather, rinse, repeat.

Why the Fug Isn't Anybody Paying Attention to Michael Jackson?

Jacko
With the Jolie-Pitts invading the city in their armored SUVs, we’re hardly surprised that other celebrity tidbits have been swept under the rug — clearly, by-the-hour updates of what Maddox is up to at the park would supersede news of what Tinsley has done with her hair, or which blast of hot air most recently burst from Trump's blowhole. But for America's First Family to eclipse even the dramatic return of deposed King of Pop Michael Jackson and his theatrically veiled kids … does that mean we're ready to forgive and forget with America's most (in)famous man-child? Or is it that no one can be bothered to care?

It's Finally Fugging Over

The sky didn't fall, even when it opened. The VMAs landed smack in the middle of Fashion Week and threatened to rain on our stargazing parade, but in the end — after all the wailing, teeth-gnashing, and prophesies of doom — neither an awful awards show nor an actual deluge could spoil the celebrity turnout in the front rows. It's enough to make our Grinchy hearts grow three sizes. Or at least keep us smiling through the pain of our considerable blisters. Without further ado, here's a look at a few of the highlights:

Someone Acts Like a Fugging Baby at Hilfiger

Just for fun, let’s try a blind item for you gossip aficionados. Which ubiquitous, young(ish) singer didn’t get seated with the other cool kids at Tommy Hilfiger’s show and spent the entire production pulling a completely petulant bitchface?