Check it, Peons: Your CNN Humiliation Compartmentalized

Monday, December 29, 2008


The other night, a friend of mine told me a story.
It seems an acquaintance of hers was on vacation, and did not have a dressy pair of trousers for a specific event.
She asked the woman she was staying with if she could borrow a pair of hers.
This woman replied; "Sure, you can borrow these, as long as you don't mind the clitty litter."
Clitty mother fucking Litter.

There are so many, many problems with this story:

1. No woman over the age of 13 should borrow another woman's trousers. If I didn't have suitable attire for an event while I was far from home, my plan would be thus:

A. Put on some fabulous lipstick.
B. Wear whatever sequined unitard, billowing Hammer pants, scratch n' sniff ski boots, fringed and beaded bustier, Bedazzled chaps or plaid poncho I had in my suitcase. (And yes, some of those items have been found in my suitcase before.)
C. Hope I could slide by on my wit and charm.

Shit, I didn't even like trading clothes when I was 13. Made no sense to me. I was never interested in joining the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

2. If you are offering trousers {shudder} to another woman...GIVE HER A CLEAN PAIR!

3. I cannot stress how grossed out I am by this "clitty litter" term. It is so vile that it haunts my dreams and every waking hour. I will not be able to eat cottage cheese for months. I will not look at cats or trousers or litter boxes in the same way again. I will be dropping off all of my trousers at the dry cleaners, even ones I haven't worn yet. If this condition persists, you will probably find me hallucinating in an alley way somewhere, wild-eyed, frightened, chanting "clitty litter, clitty litter, clitty litter" over and over again, rubbing myself with raw meat.*

*Reference to a brilliant 1993 Lifetime movie starring Valerie Bertinelli called "Murder of Innocence". The raw meat scene is acting at it's finest.

Saturday, December 20, 2008


I just read this gem from the Associated Press:

NEW YORK – Nuns who own a New York City apartment house have filed a lawsuit saying a tenant couple is stinking up the building with "horrible" food smells "similar to that of vomit or rotten meat." The lawsuit by the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart Inc. says Gloria and Michael Lim are causing "foul and harmful odors" to come from their 16th floor apartment by cooking and smoking large quantities of fish.

The image of hardcore New York nuns suing an Asian couple is really funny to me. I also like that the "Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart" is incorporated. Very business savvy.
But it got me to thinking about all the ways in which nuns can be funny. Take them out of their natural habitat (yes there's a "habit" pun in there somewhere, but I'm too lazy to look for it) and nuns are quite amusing. Ask Whoopie Goldberg. She'll back me up on this one. I'm sure you' ve all thought about this before, but have you ever made a top 10 list about it?


1. Working the drive-thru window at Arby's

2. Riding with the Hells Angels

3. Pumping gas...into a 70's van with an airbrushed bikini babe on the side

4. At the gynecologist's office, feet in stirrups

5. Playing the accordion/bagpipes/tuba

6. the gym while Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)" blares in the background

7. Doing the Riverdance

8. At a tailgate party...manning the barbeque, face painted with their team colors

9. At a rodeo

10. In a mosh pit

Any others?

Thursday, December 18, 2008


I love our Peon Confidential spies. You people do great work. You put the CIA and the MI6 to shame.

Yesterday, one of our spies sent me the Time Warner Year End Message from Jeff Bewkes. It was full of the usual "great job folks" type platitudes, and the expected "but in this tough economy, we face certain challenges."

Now, this is all true.
But what pissed off our spy was this line:

"Just as important to our future is making sure that we correctly manage our structure and costs. It's been hard, but we've made good progress on our aggressive agenda for the year."

Why is this so annoying? Well, our spy provided this nugget:

"The terms of Bewkes’ contract with Time Warner include a base salary of $2 million upon his election as chairman and an annual discretionary cash bonus with a target amount of $8.5 million. An additional long-term incentive package puts Bewkes’ total compensation at as much as $19 million."

Naturally, this prompted further analysis:

"WTF? You want to manage costs? How about not having a potential $19 million dollar pay package?"


Thursday, December 11, 2008


Those of you know me are well aware that I don't drive. Never had a driver's license. The whole concept just freaks me out; idiotic me behind the wheel, in control of a car. It actually wakes me up when I have nightmares about driving.
Now, since I live in the United States and not a quaint French village, not having a car has put me in some strange situations.
Such as:

-Getting stranded in downtown Atlanta while looking at lofts, and wandering into a Christian charity office to call a cab. I was allowed to use the phone only after I assured them I had accepted The Lord as my Savior.

-Getting into the back of the cop car that was patrolling St. Pete Beach, Florida. Apparently, I was waiting for a bus that had stopped running. The cop gave me a lift home, not before radioing in that he had a "Caucasian female" in his car. Two days later he tried to get my phone number from the building security guard.

-Considering enlisting in the Navy, because it was within walking distance of my San Diego apartment. I actually called them, and was told with my degree, I could be an officer. I realized how ridiculous this idea was and hung up.

-Considering becoming a stock broker, because Morgan Stanley was within walking distance of my San Diego apartment. I actually took the Morgan Stanley entrance test, but half-way through realized how ridiculous the idea was and proceeded to leave. Some Morgan Stanley bigwig stopped me and called me into his office to give me a pep talk. I still didn't pursue a career as a stock broker.

-Crouching in the back of a New Orleans cab, awaiting gun play, as my cabbie pulled out his gun and called another driver the N word.

-Receiving a pink muumuu and matching shoes plus a decorative brass plate from a Moroccan cab driver who used to drive me home from CNN at 4am every morning.

-Sleeping on Ted Turner's sofa until I could take MARTA at 6am and getting hustled out by two security guards.

-Getting stranded in downtown Cochran, Georgia and having to hang out in Badcock furniture store for an hour, sitting on a Lay-Z-Boy and chatting with the employees. I helped sell a dinette set.

-Actually walking in Atlanta, Georgia, which caused drivers to stop and ask if I was in trouble.

-Actually walking in L.A., where no one asked if I was in trouble but just looked at me like I was insane.

Monday, December 08, 2008


I have found the perfect gift for that special someone on your list...
For a paltry 40 bucks a year, you can adopt a koala:
Cool right?
But I don't recommend adopting just any koala.
There is no finer way of showing someone you care than presenting them with a certificate that states they've adopted Bago Babe, a koala with chlamydia! And look at her--isn't the little tramp cute?
You've also got to make sure to include her description with your gift. You could even type it up in some fancy font, or perhaps write it in calligraphy on an elegant piece of stationary:

Bago...had a very strange offensive smell exuding from her chest, neck, and upper arms that had us a little mystified as to what it could be. She also had signs of staining around her rear quarters, indicative of Chlamydia, and she was also tending to dribble quite a bit.

Bago Babe is my STD ridden holiday dream come true. I love you Bago!

Tuesday, December 02, 2008


I've been reading a lot of these "What Not To Do At An Office Holiday Party" lists like this:
And I have just one thing to say:
For the love of all that is good, juicy and delicious about this festive time of year: Throw that dull bullshit out the window.
Honestly, what the fuck is wrong with these list-writing, fun-crushing assholes?
The whole point of an office holiday party is to create gossip for the next day. And what are people supposed to talk about around the water cooler if no one is generous enough to provide good material?
Picture it:
Imagine if no one xeroxed their ass? If no one propositioned the boss with a can of whipped cream and a sly smile? If no one did the cabbage patch? If no one lit their socks on fire? If no one barfed in a ficus plant? If no one burped out "Jingle Bells"? If no one did anything they regretted the next day?

What would be the point?

So I'm begging you:
When you attend your office holiday party--drink too much, tell dirty jokes, wear your underpants on your head or find some other unique way to embarrass yourself.
And then e-mail me with all the details.

Monday, December 01, 2008


I just wanted to say that I really miss King Ding Dong. Look at him. He's a benevolent leader. Jolly, even.
Hostess, are you listening?
It's time to restore King Ding Dong to his rightful throne. His majesty has been in cream-filled exile for far too long.