Abbey Clancy here is a British celeb who has apparently been a very busy woman. She's engaged to British footballer Peter Crouch, after a rocky start to their relationship in which he dumped her in the middle of the 2006 World Cup via fax (!!!!!!!!) because he decided she was a cheating cokewhore (I paraphrase). He apparently ALSO issued a statement VIA HIS LAWYER that they'd broken up and he was never going to have anything to do with her again. THAT is way harsh. But anyhoodle, now they're engaged. In addition to dealing with all this dramz, it seems Abbey found time to be first runner-up on Britain's Top Model, do a modeling show with Janice Dickinson, be a contestant on Hell's Kitchen, model lingerie, and, it seems, live a busy and full life. Judging from this dress, she's also apparently a model for a secret version of Project Runway in which WAGS act as models for designers who happen to be legally blind:

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That appears to be: a bra, some haphazard tulle, and a variety of ribbon belts woven together to create what I believe Heidi Klum would dub, "a big old mess." I don't know about you, but I suspect there's a designer somewhere that is about to receive a very agitated fax.

About ten minutes after I started working on this piece, a reader e-mail came through that enclosed this picture and was titled, "Kellie Pickler, Age 43."

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And it's TRUE. This kid is 23, but you'd never know it. Now, I don't blame Kellie for wanting to distinguish herself from the cabal of country blondes -- Julianne Hough, Taylor Swift, Miranda Lambert, Carrie Underwood -- but the sedate hair plus the heavy dress, which looks like something a mature lady socialite would wear to a charity gala she's chairing, do nothing but add years to her.

Like, seriously, compare her to attendee Patricia Heaton, who is 51:
These Lindsay Lohan pieces are starting to write themselves.

It all starts with a gallery of pictures on pretty much any site, called something like, "Lindsay Lohan [insert variation on "staggers"] out of [insert name of Hollywood club] looking [insert synonym for deranged, sad, or 'the worse for wear.']"

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[Photo: PacificCoastNewsOnline.com]

Then comes the part where I throw up my hands and decry her lack of pants, and how she looks rumpled and tragic -- here, because she looks like she just bedded a pirate and then stole his wardrobe for the walk of shame.

Next up, of course, is the obligatory jump to a closer look at her face:

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KEITH URBAN: Psst. Nicole?

NICOLE KIDMAN: Yes?

KEITH: Things had been going so well.

NICOLE: I don't understand. Isn't this color so lovely? Isn't this dress pretty?

KEITH: Yes, but...

NICOLE: And isn't my hair redder than it's been in years?

KEITH: Totally, which is...

NICOLE: Then what? What more do you people want from me?

KEITH: How about circulation in your boobs?

NICOLE: I don't know what you mean.

KEITH: That might be because you can no longer feel them.

NICOLE: But isn't cleavage sexy?

KEITH: Not when it looks a mangled stress toy.

NICOLE: WELL. I wasn't going to say anything about how you're wearing a shirt that's unbuttoned to your sternum -- AGAIN -- but since you're being all huffy...

KEITH: Nice try. But people expect to see my waxed chest. They DEMAND IT.

NICOLE: Riiiight.

KEITH: But they DON'T expect YOUR chest to look like it melted while you were sleeping.

NICOLE: Can we just go inside and get this over with? Now that you mention it, I DO feel like my boobs are about to burst.

KEITH: The open bar will fix that.

NICOLE: Bless.

So, LeAnn's dress is fine, right?

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Would I have worn black shoes? No. But I am not nearly as worried about her black shoes as I am about her black eyes:

I might be crazy, but I don't hate this:

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It's kind of....funky fresh. It's probably also automatic, supersonic, and hypnotic. The hypnotic aspects possibly being responsible for my not ripping out my hair and SCREAMING about it. Now, do I sort of wish I could see the pieces separated into two different outfits? Yes. But I wish for a lot of things. I wish for world peace. I wish for my own soft-serve machine. I wish Pacey Witter was a real person who lived next door to me and was secretly in love with my hot ass. I wish my ass was hotter. I wish I owned this $1750 pair of Louboutin boots I saw through the window of Barney's last week. I wish I was a little bit taller. I wish I was a baller. But if wishes were horses, as they say, beggars  would ride. (And nowadays, of course, if wishes were horses, and beggars were riding, we'd be seeing a lot of stories on the local news about a rash of homeless people suddenly appearing on horseback, which would, at the very least, make for some interesting Man on the Street interviews.) In other words: we can't all get what we wish for and must make do with this.
November 11, 2009
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Can we talk about this? Okay. There are some truths that I hold to be self-evident: namely, that no one can deny the hotness of Demi Moore. She is crazy hot. She may be bathing in the blood of virgins, or drinking vanilla extract under the blue moon while standing on her head, or eating Bacon, Lettuce and Kitten sandwiches to maintain this level of hotness, but hot she is. Bravo, Demi.

HOWEVER. I am unclear as to why W has taken a super hot, very successful, grown woman and Photoshopped her until she looks like a waifish, hungry 19 year old who is just waiting tables at Caeser's Palace until she gets her big break. I have seen Demi Moore in person and she looks FANTASTIC, but she looks neither this fragile nor this hungry, and frankly, I am as tired of fragile, hungry-looking cover models as I am of epaulets. She's nearly 50. Surely there is more to highlight about her than an artfully-shadowed clavicle.
Congratulations to T Shadix, whose winning song parody of Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl" earned 34 percent of the vote this week. We're having so much fun with these weekly contests, and we hope you are, too -- judging by the quality of the entries we're getting, you must be. So thank you!

And without further ado, the victorious caption:

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"I Kissed A Girl/Missed the Wall"
 

This guy at Sears whose name was Stan
Sold me a Craftsman
I got so drunk, drill in hand
Lost my direction
It's not what, I aimed for
Just wanna hang a pic
I'm feeling blue 'cause I've
Drilled through my small intestine

I missed the wall and I'd like it
If you could call a medic
I missed the wall and my thigh's hit
I hope Sears will refund it
It felt so wrong
To drill so quite
Close to my innards tonight
I missed the wall, ow my right hip
My right hip.

-- T Shadix

See you on Friday with a new challenge.
I feel like I'm the only person who hasn't really warmed up to NBC's Community. It keeps getting these slavish reviews, but in my -- admittedly limited -- viewings, the number of times I've laughed are outweighed by the moments in which I've realized I was boredly staring off into space, and had to say, "Wait, what's going on? I zoned out." I think it's because the show in part revolves around the assumption that the Joel McHale character is the kind of charming rogue who can make you love him even when he's being a douche, and in fact, I just think he's a smug asshat most of the time. ANYWAY. I'm sure I will eat those words in a few weeks, because that usually happens to me.

Let me endeavor to write words that will NOT become my dinner:

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I do not think Community's Gillian Jacobs made a stellar choice here. The dress might be made of the most expensive fabric woven from unicorn hair, black pearls, and the tears of a clown, but it photographs like it's shiny construction paper. And I can't decide if the epaulets are TOO Liza Minnelli, just Liza Minnelli ENOUGH, or merely the shards of David Gest's wedding toupee in search of a new purpose. It's a lot to feel at once.
Stephanie Jacobsen is on the shockingly watchable new Melrose Place as the Med Student Who Pays The Bills With Prostitution (not a spoiler, since she turned to the oldest profession in the pilot). And she is much prettier than this:

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That dress is a very, very sad sack. It could even be an ugly shirt over a mini-skirt. All I know is, she has no business wearing a glorified lobster bib to a party unless her date is a man-sized crustacean.

She also needs to learn a thing or two about short skirts and posing. This is safe for work, so no fear:

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