Dear Fugly,

I find Kim Kardashian's ass to be alluring, yet a disgusting blob at the same time. It seems to be attractive under those sexual pencil skirts, but whenever she's at the beach, that mysterious rump is covered beneath a sarong. Just what is going on under there? More importantly, do I want to know what lies beneath the fabric?

Fugly, my question to you is this: Where do you draw the line between a nice round, shapely ass, and a fat disgusting ass?

Love Always,

Dear Peter,

Kim Kardashian on the beach in a bikiniFugly knows a thing or two about delicious heines. Fugly's gentleman callers are always itching to know what's cooking beneath Fugly's chiffon underskirt… or maybe they're just itching from Fugly's fleas… or Fugly's five o'clock shadow (down there—the little man in the canoe is surrounded by thick foliage).

Fugly's asstastic rear once caught the fancy of one Mr. Evil Knivel. He parked his motor scooter in the crack of Fugly's rump after jumping over Snake River Canyon. To celebrate his historic stunt, he put his snake in Fugly's canyon. For some reason he made Fugly put his helmet over her face.

So to answer your question, Petar, clearly Fugly's ass is a delicious meat feast, but a disgusting ass would be anything that hangs over three feet and has over 17 bullet holes.


Hey Goblin Tits,

Last night, after a nice mixture of PBR, Mad Dog, and THC was flowing through my blood stream, I made out with the most horrendous-looking female in history. Obviously this mixture of toxins didn't go very well. What should I be guzzling so that I can hook up with hot chicks?


Well hello there Sal,

Back in Fugly's youth, at St. Chatterly's Prepatory School, the school girls used to call Fugly "Sal." It had nothing to do with my name, rather it was a acronym for "Soggy Ass Labia." Those evil youths would chant, "Die soggy, clam, die" and pelt Fug with hard brown stones… or was it goat stool? Fugly doesn't remember. One horrible evening the evil pre-teens strapped hams on Fugly's back and left her young, shivering carcas in Coyote Ravine during our menstruation awareness retreat. Sigh, Fugly just wants some nice friends. *Fighting back tears*

Enough about me, Sal. Sometimes, after consuming a heaping vat of bathtub gin, even Fugly herself will romance an unsightly, Glad-bag-wearing vagabond or two, or three, or five, and a basset hound… mmmm, dog slobber.

The trick to landing a hottie every night is to lick hallucinogenic toad bellies so everyone appears to be attractive, even if they really look like they just climbed out of the bell tower. Keep an extra toad on your nightstand for the morning.

Happy Clam Hunting!

What's up Fugly?

How do you approach someone at work and let them know you want to sha-bang-bang them without getting fired?


Dear Martha,

That's a tricky pickle. Fugly has been fired from many a job for performing "lewd acts" gainst co-workers.

One Halloween, a nude Fugly seductively mounted the copy machine in a pair of fun, flirty cat ears (Halloween is the only time Fugly can expose her tail without ridicule). Fugly waited for the boss, Mr. Johnson, to come in so I could leap atop his salami. Unfortunately, he dropped dead and faceplanted in Fug's lady folds. Fugly told the staff that he ate some bad cheese. I guess Fugly was too much sexy for him to handle.

This Halloween Fugly's going to pour a gallon of ether in the punch bowl at the Points in Case Halloweenus Extravaganza and ravage the unconscious body of Andrei Trostel.