Check it, Peons: Your CNN Humiliation Compartmentalized

Thursday, August 28, 2008


I love you Peon Confidential readers so much that today I'm giving all of you head.
A glass head.
But it's better than that.
See these beautiful photos? These are shots of the Jackie Collins Jackpot prize from the last Mama D's Arts Bordello. I made this head with my own two dwarfy hands. Got decoupage glue all over the coffee table in the process.
Sure that's a cool head, you're thinking. It's a sensational piece of art.
But what does it mean?

Well dear reader, that head is in fact...the interior of Jackie Collins' brain.
Look closely. You'll find champagne popping, the Hollywood sign, the Beverly Hills Hotel, piles of money, bejeweled tits, half naked men, fast cars and glamorous women. (Click on the photos to enlarge the exquisite details.)

With deluxe prizes like that, can you afford to miss the next show on October 9th?
I think not.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008


I got an e-mail from a rabid new Peon Confidential fan. I say that with love, because this person enjoyed what they read so much that they went back to the very beginning posts from August of 2006. Now that's devotion! Honey, this post is for you.
This person also referenced a vintage post called BUT I'M A VJ! and asked "Do you still have that muumuu?"

Well of course I do.
What do you take me for?

As you can see in the above picture, I wore the full hot pink muumuu and pointy matching shoes ensemble for a performance I did at the People's Improv Theatre.
If only that Moroccan cabby could see me now!

Monday, August 25, 2008


I'm sure many of you have noticed that newspapers and magazines usually have a "corrections" section to rectify journalistic mistakes such as spelling a person's name wrong or referencing the wrong country. In broadcast news, the anchor has this honor.
It occurred to me that I would like one of these corrections sections for my life. So I present to you a list of corrections in my life, if I had the chance to go back and edit it:


VJDutton was not a weird looking little kid with a Republican Side Part whose thighs chafed in her velour sweat pants and bra-less fat man titties bulged out of her unicorn sweaters. She did not spend her days making up songs about stinky underwear and creating dog food birthday cakes for her stinky dog Charlie. She was in fact a svelte, adorable little girl who smelled of strawberries and wore shiny patent leather Mary Janes.


VJDutton was not a weird looking teenager who thought it would be funny to attend the high school dance wearing plaid polyester Herb Tarlick trousers. Repeatedly. She did not escape pep rallies by climbing onto the roof of the school and smoking pot. She did not represent her school in a state wide debate competition by reciting Mark Twain and wearing thigh high gold lame boots. She was in fact, the most popular girl in school, college minded, worshipped by boys and girls alike, and wore only the most stylish attire.


VjDutton did not attend three different universities and wind up graduating from University of New Orleans. While in New Orleans, she did not pick her nose while walking past a drunk clown lying in a ditch. He did not wake up at just the precise moment to say "Good mornin' there nose picker!" She did in fact, graduate from Harvard. While living in Cambridge, she became the toast of academia, charming everyone at Harvard functions with her understated style, wit and decorum.


VJDutton's first job after college was not as an activities lackey at a resort on St. Pete Beach. She did not begin her foray into professional life by wearing a pith helmet and unflattering khaki shorts, calling out bingo numbers, passing out towels in a tiki hut on the beach, alerting housekeeping when there was poop in the pool and organizing scavenger hunts. She did in fact, accept an entry level position at The New Yorker. The person who hired her immediately sensed her drive, ambition and skill, and knew she would make her mark on the literary world.


VJDutton's second job out of college was not as a VJ at CNN. She did not get paid to wipe ear wax off of IFB's. Nor did she live in fear of forgetting the script color code or eat corn and rice at two o'clock in the morning as her main meal of the day. She in fact got a promotion at The New Yorker, where everyone who came into contact with her found her brilliant and she enjoyed delightful lobster dinners with New York's literary elite every single night.


VJDutton does not currently write an idiotic blog called Peon Confidential. She in fact is currently hard at work on her third best seller. Lines for her book signings regularly require several very attractive policemen for crowd control, as people scratch and claw each other just to get close to their favorite author on the planet.

Thursday, August 21, 2008


I just received the strangest catalogue.
It's called "Catalogue Favorites" (with a heart in the middle of the last "O".)
Now, as I do not recall ordering anything from a catalogue since I was 17, I don't see why they chose me, or factored my favorites into the equation. (In case you were wondering: ordered myself a maroon Guayabera shirt. The weather was hitting a balmy 65 Pacific Northwestern degrees and the idea of heading to school wearing attire more suited for a 65-year-old Cuban cigar roller struck me as humorous. No, I didn't have a boyfriend in highschool...ever.

Anyway, this catalogue is a work of art. I could not take my eyes off it for a good 20 minutes. It's even better than Sky Mall, and that's saying something. I fucking love this catalogue. Please check it out on line:


The greatest thing about this catalogue is that it is irony-free. I'm convinced that those who order from it; high school guidance counselors from Wichita, human resources professionals from Boise, cat lovers from Tacoma, these folks love these items without a nudge, without a wink. The heartfelt "message" jewelry is cherished at face value, the garden ornaments are treasured for their whimsy, the funny t-shirts and gag gifts are truly appreciated for their sass.
This is respectable in these irony-overloaded days.


1. "Prancing With The Stars" Nightshirt. DESCRIPTION: "Kick up your heels on your way to sweet dreams when you wear this comfy t-shirt screenprinted with a prancing horse."

People get laid in this ugly nightshirt. Then they wake up and make Eggo waffles. I really can't explain why this bothers me, but it does.

2. The FARTMASTER keychain.
DESCRIPTION: "Six realistic flatulent sounds from 'standard' to 'ripper' to 'wet' are digitally remastered at the push of a button!"

You just know there are thousands of jokesters out there who can't wait to give this to a zany relative as a "stocking stuffer". Oh, what fun they'll have on Christmas morn'!

3. The Super Kegel (TM) Exerciser
DESCRIPTION: "Strengthens pelvic muscles for improved bladder control."

Two things about this item: For one thing, I find it funny that it is just randomly thrown in there for sale, right next to the "Frog With Umbrella Box". Secondly, why only mention bladder control benefits of a tighter pussy?

4. The incredible collection of "hilarious" T-shirts:

A. My Indian Name is Runs With Beer
B. Put On Your BIG GIRL PANTIES and deal with it
C. I live at the corner of Kiss My Ass Avenue and No Friggin Way
D. WARNING: I HAVE GAS and I know how to use it!

5. Elf door and footprints. Apparently, you attach this miniature door to a tree, and leave the footprints on the ground leading up to it. Visitors from near and far will delight in your fanciful backyard. No, I'm not making this shit up.

BONUS: The Fabulous Fukuoku
DESCRIPTION: "Gently pulsating at 9000 vibrations a minute the Fukuoku offers a fingertip massage at the touch of a button."

Again, two things about this item. For one thing, I find it funny that it is just randomly thrown in there for sale, right next to the purple "Jackpot" bedroom slippers. Secondly, they mention the convenient "carrying pouch" yet neglect to say, "Enjoy masturbating while stuck in traffic."

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


I've worked in a quite a few newsrooms, and one thing they all have in common is the occasional weird smell wafting from the break room. And people will generally continue to sit in the stink. GO OUTSIDE! Get some fresh air. It's disgusting.

Top 5 Worst Smells I've Encountered in Various Break Rooms:

1. Microwaved pussy. (Okay, it was tuna fish--but it was repulsive nonetheless.)

2. Feet. Someone removed their hiking boots and the entire room nearly passed out into their Tupperware. You could almost taste this bastard's foot sweat. I say, if you're going to remove your foul, rough-terrain-stomping footwear in a professional environment, go live out your Grizzly Adams fantasies elsewhere.

3. Sauerkraut. It was some type of breaking news day or perhaps a holiday. Regardless, it was some event that compels the higher ups to provide the drones with a free meal. Now that I think about it, it must have been the Fourth of July, hence the hot dogs. Anyway, they served the main meal in one room, then when it had all been picked over the remains were moved into the break room, in case anyone wanted to pick at it later. The remains consisted of a few buns and a massive aluminum vat of of sauerkraut. You could actually smell it on people after they went in there and came back to their desks. That stench clung to them like a needy relative. And that's what got me--the stench was all the way down the hall...why would you follow said stench in hopes of finding something edible?

News people are fucked up. And cheap. Which brings me to...

4. Cheap perfume.

5. A toxic fart that cleared the room out in 5 seconds. And as I mentioned, most newspeople don't like leaving the confines of the break room bubble, so you know it was powerful.

Friday, August 15, 2008


It's the dog days of summer, a season when in less oil-troubled times American families would pile into station wagons with fake wood paneling, or perhaps one of those massive molester vans that took two people to slide the door shut. Invariably some little kid's finger would get caught. You'd travel for days. Your only entertainment would be AM radio crooners such as Rita Coolidge, Jim Croce and James Taylor, a Jumbo Word Scramble Book and a nubby #2 pencil.

You'd subsist on warm Kool Aid and soggy sandwiches. The hot August weather was a safety blessing, because no one used seat belts and your sweaty thighs would stick to the vinyl, thus keeping you in place. Your destination was usually one of three places:

1. The Grand Canyon
2. Mount Rushmore
3. Yosemite National Park

Sound familiar?
Well...full disclosure:
As I lived in Hawaii until I was 8, and my mom was a loony Finnish divorcee who couldn't drive, this was not my life. I have never been to the Grand Canyon, but I hear it's a big deal. Or rather, it takes so fucking long to get there that it pretty much has to be a big deal just to justify all the time you've spent getting there. Nor have I been to Mount Rushmore or Yosemite National Park.

But I know from pals and films that these are all vacation friendly-national treasures. Perfect for wholesome family fun. And perhaps I should see them before trying to bump one of them off the Top 10 list in favor of another destination. But fuck it. I'm nominating this place:


Seriously--these caverns are cool. We visited them while driving across the country in a U-Haul after hightailing it out of CNN. These caverns in New Mexico were easily the coolest thing I saw over the whole trip. Look at the above picture. Yeah, I know you can see George Washington's face carved into the side of a rock at Mount Rushmore, but can you see a stalagmite in the shape of a tit?

Case closed.

Thursday, August 14, 2008


Sometimes things that seem practical are actually quite unappealing.
This includes wearing your cellphone on your belt, training your cat to use the toilet, reusing teabags and this idea....

PATNA, India (AFP) - Eating rats is the best way for rich and poor people to solve the global crisis of rising food prices, an Indian official said Wednesday as he unveiled his plan to put rodents on menus.

Regular rat snacks would translate into fewer rodents eating precious grain stocks -- 50 percent of which are lost in the northeastern state of Bihar every year to the animals, said Vijay Prakash, secretary of the state's welfare department.

"This will help in mitigating the global food crisis. We are sure that it will work wonders," Prakash told AFP. "It will save half our grain, and will also reduce villagers' dependence on food stock."

Prakash's plan promotes consumption of rat meat in homes, street stalls, restaurants and even international five-star hotels.

Okay, so that all makes perfect sense. Sure, it all seems quite rational until you stop and think, HOLY FUCKING SHIT THAT IS DISGUSTING.
That said, I'm offering Prakash my top 5 rat recipes:

1. Coq Au Rat
2. Rat n' beans
3. Ratloaf
4. Peking Rat
5. Split Rat Soup

Any others you'd like to offer Prakash? He's waiting...

Thursday, August 07, 2008


I recently reconnected with a college pal from London through the magic of Facebook.
Turns out he's in the Bahamas, hosting a vintage Calypso music radio show.
So if you love the sound of shake your ass Calypso music and a plummy English accented DJ, tune in to the radio cast online Friday night at 10:10pm...


Wednesday, August 06, 2008


A talented Mama D's cohort just sent me this sensational piece of advertising for the upcoming Den of Spies show.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008


Today I'm offering up a story of a CNN Peon who tried to better himself, circa 1999.

This man worked hard at The Plant. In fact, this enterprising broadcast news professional had just received a promotion, and was feeling...worldly. He wanted to expand his horizons. But mostly, he was tired of having roommates and overflowing cat turds stinking up the litterbox stationed in the shared bathroom.

Indeed, it was time to strike out on his own.

So he moved to the Clairmont Crest apartments in Decatur, Georgia.
Clairmont Crest.
A name such as that lends dignity. This was the sophisticated life he'd been yearning for.

Within a few weeks of moving in, his sophisticated life took an abrupt turn:

1. He wound up crashing his car and spending the next couple of months in a wheelchair.

2. The cable service he'd gotten for "free" by slipping the cable guy 80 bucks went out. Consequently, the only channel that rabbit ears could deliver showcased "Walker, Texas Ranger" on a regular basis.

3. The Clairmont Crest was taken over by Baptists and turned into a "Senior Independent Living Community". Any whippersnapper under 70 was supposed to get the hell out ASAP.

In summary, this man was 28 years old, confined to a wheelchair, living in a retirement home, watching "Walker, Texas Ranger" for his amusement.

When he would go to the pool, the old folks would glare at him and frown, since he was one of the last youngsters left at the compound. Not even his wheelchair inspired solidarity with this tough crowd.
One particularly crusty fellow said, "Oh, you're still here."

It was a life of desperation, elderly bullies and excessive dependence upon Chuck Norris. But with enough perseverance, a CNN Peon can overcome any adversity. We're built strong. The photo above (click to enlarge) captures this hardy man in a triumphant moment:

Escape from Atlanta, defection from CNN, checking out of the retirement home and off to new adventures...

Monday, August 04, 2008


I don't have the money or inclination to go to the Olympics in Beijing. But it's a damn good thing that I'm a broke bitch with no interest in sports. Because from what I can tell, I'd last all of 28 seconds with the rigid, Draconian, soul crushing, joy stomping rules that have been established for all Olympic spectators:

BEIJING (Reuters) - Do not sleep outdoors to save money at the Olympics. It is banned to "maintain public hygiene and the cultured image of cities." Do not let the stifling summer heat tempt you into streaking, do not get drunk nor set off fireworks nor wave "insulting banners." Anyone with mental illnesses or sexually transmitted diseases is banned. Smoking is not allowed at Olympic venues.

Just who the hell is supposed to go to the Olympics? Mormon families and Reese Witherspoon?

Friday, August 01, 2008


Those of you who know me are well aware that I am a huge fan of fart and dick jokes. I know that sophisticated comedians see these as the easy, low brow, cheap jokes. They look down on the lowly fart or dick joke. Turn their noses up, even. I don't care. Just say the words penis, dong, wang, schlong, johnson, tool, boner, unit, drill, love gun, dingaling, pocket rocket and I start to giggle.
I'm laughing now, actually.
Hee. Penis.
Anyway, I say fuck these snobby comedians. It turns out people have been loving fart and dick jokes since the beginning of time. As soon as man discovered fire, he was probably lighting his farts with it:

LONDON (Reuters Life!) - The world's oldest recorded joke has been traced back to 1900 BC and suggests that toilet humor was as popular with the ancients as it is today.
It is a saying of the Sumerians, who lived in what is now southern Iraq and goes: "Something which has never occurred since time immemorial; a young woman did not fart in her husband's lap."

It heads the world's oldest top 10 joke list published by the University of Wolverhampton on Thursday.

The oldest British joke dates back to the 10th Century and reveals the bawdy face of the Anglo-Saxons -- "What hangs at a man's thigh and wants to poke the hole that it's often poked before? Answer: A key."

In celebration of our Sumerian and Anglo-Saxon ancestors, let's compile a list of quality dick and fart jokes. If you don't have a joke, just write penis.
Hee. Penis.
I'll start: