Recently, despite a vaguely nagging sensation that, perhaps, there may exist better uses of my time, I have become rather addicted to a US blog called Go Fug Yourself. I was not previously familiar with the word 'fug' but using my gift for language, I can hypothesise that it is a combination of an obscene swear word (one that I would never, ever use, far less hear spoken aloud by, for example, my father) and the word 'ugly'. The site reproduces paparazzi shots of celebrities and then bitches about their terrible clothing. A simple concept, granted, yet the part of me that hasn't managed to move beyond a decades-old addiction to those in the spotlight finds the writing absolutely hilarious - funny enough to get me through the nausea that always strikes when someone else's blog is unquestionably more amusing than mine and into the happy state where I can just enjoy it for what it is.
But then today something weird happened - I actually knew one of the people off whom they were slagging. Rashida Jones is a friend of a friend and although we're hardly close, it still felt a little less jolly and a lot more vitriolic when the person under fire is someone you know to be charming and kind - not to mention one of the most gorgeous girls on the planet. Admittedly, the comment about her outfit was slightly on the money - I can concede that I've have seen her wearing more wonderful items in the past - but it was a strange sensation and I'm not sure if I'll enjoy Go Fug Yourself with quite the same level of glee in the future.
Oh, who am I kidding? Read this and weep. Or this. And if you're too grown up or serious to find some amusement therein, then you are missing out on something that is extremely enjoyable, is completely fat free, costs absolutely nothing and consequently you have my most heartfelt pity.
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