VJ MISERY POTPOURRI

The other day I received an e-mail from a brand new Peon Confidential reader and CNN VJ graduate. This was cause for celebration since:

A. I got to reconnect with a former Peon-in-crime
and
B. This former Peon loaded me down with a hodgepodge of hilarious CNN memories

I see no reason to make you wait any longer for the goods. Here they are, direct from our fantastic new anonymous source, in all their random glory:


-I remember a VJ who everyone said looked like Steve Forbes (she was a girl) flossing her teeth at the prompter, grossing out the southern belles in scripts area because she was flicking the gunk on the floss across the floor.

-Flip Spiceland getting reprimanded over the headset for having porn on the computer in the weather center. I walked in to hand him something, and the director started yelling at Flip to get that *&%$# porn off the computer, because I was walking in. He actually apologized to me. I would have never seen it, except for the fact the director was yelling about it. I was certainly more embarrassed than he was.

-Jane Fonda (married to Ted at the time) lighting up a cigarette on the set. Everyone was going nuts because of the "no smoking" policy at Turner. It was hysterical.

(NOTE FROM VJ DUTTON: I remember this too. To make the story even sweeter-she was on the set promoting her new health book.)

-Having to floor direct for Larry King one day- he was on the Talk Back Live set. He was an ass. He farted the whole time, and someone did spray paint fake hair on his head. He refused to look at me, or answer any questions- so the director told me to stand directly in front of him and ask again. I did. I was directly in the front of the desk, and he looked over my shoulder and wouldn’t answer. Finally the director said “fuck it”, and told me to just give him commercial cues. Apparently I wasn’t Larry’s type.

-Olympic Park, everyone doing the damn Macarena--and they weren’t drunk.

VJDUTTON=BUNGHOLE BLEACH

I was just going through my e-mail accounts today, clearing out the refuse, and I noticed that no fewer than three people from three different states recently emailed to inform me about Anal Bleaching techniques.
And these were no mass e-mails.
This was no "Hey guys (friends, family, funny co-workers) check this out!"

No, it was more like, "What? Anal Bleaching? I've gotta tell VjDutton about this one. If there's anyone out there who needs to know about Anal Bleaching, it's my pal VjDutton. I just can't get this Anal Bleaching missive out quick enough. Damn it, I'm not even gonna use spell check. No time for that nonsense. Curse this slow computer! VjDutton needs to know about this ASAP."

Thanks to all of you. Really. You've changed my life.

MALL MECCA

So-
I just got back from Florida last night, courtesy of a plane teeming with every type of asshole imaginable:

1. The Rude Businessman who is just so damn important and in such a hurry to go off and do important things that he winds up sodomizing other passengers with his carry on bag in an effort to flee the plane first. (Psst! Hey buddy-you're in coach. I think you've overestimated your Captain of Industry status.)

2. The Fart Factory seated in front of me.

3. The "people person" Flight Attendant who thinks that just because he has a voice like Isaac Hayes he can commandeer the fucking PL system for the entire flight. Nobody wants to hear your tired jokes about The Big Apple, pal.

However, the first couple of days we were in Florida, the weather wasn't so hot.
So I took this opportunity to go to Tyrone Square Mall.
I love Tyrone Square Mall.
Really.
I'm obsessed with it.
It has all these stores that you normally only find in crumbling ghetto malls that are set for demolition. Yet Tyrone is thriving.
After all, the Floridian goth kids need some place to go to wear their heavy boots and black velvet cloaks without melting. They mill around the food court in gloomy splendor, eating Auntie Anne's pretzels, confident that the airconditioning will preserve their eyeliner.
It's beautiful.
And when was the last time you went to a lovely clean mall and found:

-PANTS TOWNE
That "E" is what gets me. Did they think it would convey a bit of "class"? Or are they trying to get shoppers to believe they're entering a mythical wonderland of Victorian pants vendors?

-ORANGE JULIUS
Every time I go I almost buy one, just because it's funny. Then I remember what they taste like.

-SPENCER GIFTS
They still have plenty of fake dog shit for sale to delight friends and family

-J.C. PENNY as an "anchor store"

-CLAIRE'S BOUTIQUE
Still full of cheap, nasty jewelry that will hang around 15-year-old necks for a total of 15 minutes. They still offer the same ear piercing deals too.

Honestly, it's all so...reassuring.

DARYN KAGAN T-SHIRT MYSTERY

So-
The other night I came home slightly intoxicated and the doorman presented me with a package. It had no return address, as it came directly from a website.
Within this package was a beautiful, top-quality, 100% cotton DarynKagan.com t-shirt complete with the inspiring slogan,
"Show The World What's Possible!"
Best of all, this mystery gift-giver had enclosed the charming inscription, "Get my scripts Bitch". (Note how "Bitch" was capitalized, conveying far more respect than I ever got from anyone as a VJ.)

I immediately contacted the two suspects that I believed were responsible-but no! I was mistaken!
So now I am stumped but grateful.

To the mischievous imp who sent me this treasure--you make me proud.

MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO PRESENTS: LOST NEW YORK

Subway tokens, peep shows in Times Square, affordable rent, Studio 54-style decadence and a kitsch-free Automat.
Come celebrate bygone New York!
Stop by Mama D's Arts Bordello for vintage Manhattan tales from writers Thomas Pryor and Coree Spencer, city serenades by Mary Crowley, a short film by Phil Vasquez, the Cinematic NYC Trivia contest (with prizes of questionable value) and a surprise guest star...

PLACE: Jimmy's No. 43
ADDRESS: 43 E. 7th street btw 2nd/3rd
SUBWAY: F,V to Lower East Side-Second Ave; L to Third Ave
DATE: Wednesday, February 13th
TIME: 8pm
COST: 5 dollars

See you there...

LYNNE RUSSELL RESURFACES

It's always exciting to unearth a past CNN anchor after they've flown the coop. Yesterday, a Peon Confidential reader sent me this amazing bit of news:

Lynne Russell, Canadian Realtor

Former CNN HN anchor Lynne Russell, who now lives in Toronto, has become a real estate agent. "I really love it," she tells Canada's National Post.
The move to Toronto, Russell explains, was for her husband's job, as head of the Canadian-German Chamber of Industry and Commerce. Until recently, Russell was doing work for the Canadian Broadcast Corporation (CBC), but "it didn't work out".
Russell, who has two black belts in Choi Kwang Do, was also asked by reporter Rob Roberts if she could "throw down" CNN's Wolf Blitzer. "Wolf is a friend," she answered. "I don't think I'd ever have to do that."

I never quite understood why she left CNN. She was beloved both by viewers (refer to this archived post for just one example of this phenomenon CNN FANTASIES) and people she worked with. I suspect she could have continued to read the TelePrompter for as long as she breathed air on this earth.
But now I want to see what her "real estate lady" pic looks like. You know those photos on flyers ensconced in those house-shaped dispensers outside of grocery stores? Those kill me. The people on those flyers tend to have names like Mitzy Tuttle. They grin like they're being fingered by the photog and wear stale, loud suits with copious amounts of Macy's costume jewelry. And I can almost smell the Estee Lauder perfume wafting through the pages.

Hmmm....perhaps "anchor" and "real estate agent" aren't so different after all.

FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES

Just read this from Reuters:

FRANKFURT - German nudists will be able to start their holidays early by stripping off on the plane if they take up a new offer from an eastern German travel firm.

Travel agency OssiUrlaub.de said it would start taking bookings from Friday for a trial nudist day trip from the eastern German town of Erfurt to the popular Baltic Sea resort of Usedom, planned for July 5 and costing 499 euros ($735).

"It's expensive, I know," managing director Enrico Hess told Reuters by phone. "It's because the plane's very small. There's no real reason why a flight in which one flies naked should be more expensive than any other."

The 55 passengers will have to remain clothed until they board, and dress before disembarking, said Hess. The crew will remain clothed throughout the flight for safety reasons.

"I wish I could say we thought of it ourselves but the idea came from a customer," Hess told Reuters by phone. "It's an unusual gap in the market...I don't want people to get the wrong idea. It's not that we're starting a swinger club in mid-air or something like that," he added. "We're a perfectly normal holiday company."

This is my worst nightmare.
Can you imagine experiencing turbulence in a plane full of nudists?
What kind of seats does this plane have? Apparently skidmarks aren't just for the runway anymore.
What if someone drops their bag of peanuts on their lap? Will they be picking them out of their pubes?
What about the seat belts?
What if someone gets a boner during the safety demonstration? Or during any part of the flight at all, actually.

I'll say this though--
I'd like to see a remake of the "Airport" disaster series with an all nude cast.

FAT TUESDAY

In honor of Mardi Gras, I am sharing this outrageously tacky picture of me in New Orleans, circa 1998. When I found this I wept for my past fashion crimes. I know now what I should have given up for Lent that year, despite being a Lutheran.
Let's just analyze the many degrees of awful featured in this photo:

1. Tight, stone washed jeans; tapered, hitting at the ultra flattering "above the ankle" length.

2. Rayon half shirt.

3. The Donger Belt. (Definition: Seen around style-deprived waists from about 1988-1999, this atrocity hung low sweet chariot, with a silver tip to give it weight. Some had Native American designs/tuquoise for an even saucier touch.) I know you can't see the belt, hidden under that manilla envelope, but trust me...it's lurking under there.

4. Trollish half boots.

5. The long-strapped mini-purse that would draw attention to my fat thighs by jauntily bouncing against them as I strutted down the streets.

I honestly cannot believe I ever thought this ensemble was acceptable. In fact, not only did I think it was acceptable, but I must have thought I looked damn good. After all, I allowed a photographer to preserve this sartorial wet fart. I sincerely hope I was just drunk the entire time I was in New Orleans and couldn't tell the difference. Forgive me Stacy London, for I have sinned.

Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez!

SHEDDING SOME LIGHT ON THE ISSUE

The picture above is not some kitschy trinket from Urban Outfitters or Spencer gifts.
It is an actual light switch ornament that was popular in Sunday school classrooms and the bedrooms of many good Catholic girls in the 1970s...
HOW COULD PEOPLE NOT HAVE SEEN THE OBVIOUS...UH...ISSUE WITH THIS ITEM?
How?
And why is this issue the ONLY thing I see when I look at it?
Are we that cynical now? Have years worth of opening a paper to find stories about creepy priests and Michael Jackson's Jesus Juice warped us beyond recognition?
Or were people just selectively blind back then?
And while we're pointing out the blindness of yesteryear:

WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO-GO

How could George Michael's gayness have come as a surprise? Look at this man, sporting a PTA haircut with Sun In highlights and a salmon colored shirt, gleefully clapping like a bridesmaid hopped up on white zinfandel.
What more did he have to do?
Rhythmically slurp some cock while bouncing about in those painfully short shorts?
How did we not know?
How?

REGRETS, I'VE HAD A FEW...

Right now I'd like to apologize to the former Peon who was kind enough to steal a piece of CNN property for me.
Back in 1999, when construction was taking place, they tore down the old CNN breakroom (the one that featured a repulsive sofa that would have forced the CSI team work overtime just attempting to identify the various stains on it.) Within this dingy cubbyhole were several blown up photographs of production staff. They were supposed to depict a day in the life of this crazed, mile-a-minute industry. One of those photos was of VJ manager Floyd Yarmuth, back when he was in Feeds. His mouth was wide open. Unfortunately for Floyd, this pose made him look ready for action--and not in the broadcast news sense. This type of action was once more commonly seen on Hollywood and Vine. (Now of course they've cleaned that area up. They've booted out the hookers and brought in the chain restaurants, much like Times Square. Seriously, where's a person supposed to go for a sleazy good time these days?)

The point is, a peon pal of mine stole this photograph for me for placement in my home; be it the rumpus room, conservatory or bathroom. For a while it was in the kitchen, looking at me as I made Ramen Noodles and any other crap I could afford. But then I moved and decided there wasn't enough room for Floyd in my life or my kitchen. I tossed out this stolen treasure.

This was a big mistake. I had forsaken a valuable piece of CNN history. The best part about this photo is that it (like the sofa) was speckled with a multitude of stains. I could never understand how stains could have gotten onto a photograph on the wall of a breakroom. What were people DOING back there anyway?

Oh.
Nevermind.