CRAP CNN HOLIDAY GIFT SELECTION

Last night I invited another CNN refugee over for dinner, and the subject of CNN holiday gift selections came up...
Okay, so dinner parties at my place aren't exactly overflowing with Oscar Wilde-style bon mots or rigorous political discussion.
Yeah, I know. So what?
If you don't like it, screw you. You weren't invited anyway.
But you all remember this shitty gift situation don't you?

Like some twisted corporate version of the Sears Catalog, CNN Peons were offered the option of one nasty ass gift from a truly horrid selection, all embossed with the Turner logo. This was in lieu of a bonus. And when you received it, the gift was inevitably even worse than the description implied. How cheap can one company get?
The ones we remembered were:

1. The poly-blend Turner blanket, meant to serve as a picnic blanket, or perhaps to use as an ass warmer at a football game. I believe I selected this one, picturing myself enjoying a delightful picnic with my boyfriend by the lake. We'd laugh, drink wine, smile at small children and cute dogs and eat delicious fruits and cheeses...yeah. The one time I used it was to pack and protect my collection of hideous K-Mart dishes when I moved across the country.

2. The lovely Turner "picnic backpack". What better way to announce to the world;
"I'm a twat. I work at CNN. And I like potato salad."

3. The beautiful Turner anorak. What better way to announce to the world;
"I'm a twat. I work at CNN. And I wear clothes merely to prevent myself from being naked, for I have no taste."

Does anyone remember some of the other options? What did you choose?

BASYS: GETTIN' HORNY NOW

Yesterday I received an e-mail from another new Peon Confidential reader that was succinct and to the point:

"I'm ex-Atlanta. Stumbled on your old peon blog. I think basys got me laid a few times. Ah the memories."

I tell you, that antiquated computer messaging system was a true blessing for horny Peons trapped in the CNN Center bubble. It was free, you didn't have to buy anyone a drink in order to chat and it gave you access to nubile employees on multiple floors.

Three cheers for basys, the social enabler of a bygone era...

NO MORE PISSING IN THE STREET

So-
As I was walking home from work late Monday night, my retinas were accosted by a horrific sight:
A woman with her pants pulled down, screaming at her boyfriend, pissing in between two cars in Midtown. The weird part was there was a bar just a few feet away. A shitty bar, but a bar with a toilet. And she wasn't even squatting. Just hunching. I guess she didn't want her hoo-hoo too close the the dirty New York street. That ass was high in the air and the piss was just gushing out all over the place...
Now before anyone starts thinking that this is an isolated New York problem, read on. Apparently, some high tech geniuses aim to prevent this type of behavior, at least in the fine city of London:

A new service promises Londoners they'll never have to spend much time looking for the loo.
Westminster City Council, which covers London's bustling Oxford Street, the West End, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, on Thursday launched "SatLav" — a toilet-finding service for cell phone users. Tourists, theatergoers, shoppers and pub patrons in London's West End can now text the word "toilet" — and receive a text back with the address of the nearest public facility.
The system, which covers 40 public toilets, pinpoints the caller's position by measuring the strength of the phone signal. The texts cost about 50 cents, and most of Westminster's toilets are free.
The council said it hopes the service will stop people from urinating in alleyways, saying some 10,000 gallons of urine ends up in Westminster streets each year.

A few thoughts:
1. I don't think it is the "tourists, theatre goers and shoppers" that are pissing in alleyways. I am having a hard time visualizing some family from Ohio purchasing a Union Jack tea set on the way to seeing " Les Miz" and then deciding to whizz in tandem behind the gift shop. Let's be honest. This is something drunken revelers do. And if the New York woman is any indication, knowing that a toilet is just steps away won't help. Drunk people simply like pissing in the street.

2. 10,000 gallons! Who calculated that figure? Was there a staff of statistitions hired by the British government? How do they know? Did they round up or down? Which kinds of measuring instruments were used? How can they just throw this figure out there with no explanation?

3. I suspect Larry Craig would appreciate this service, don't you? Except in England they call soliciting gay sex in a bathroom "cottaging". Isn't that cute? Ah, I love those quaint English collquialisms...Well that and the fact that men call other men "c*nts".

A NEW THREAT ON THE HORIZON

Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves. The Stepford Wife is here...

TOKYO (Reuters) - A pearly white robot that looks a little like E.T. boosted a man out of bed, chatted and helped prepare his breakfast with its deft hands in Tokyo Tuesday, in a further sign robots are becoming more like their human inventors.

Twendy-One, named as a 21st century edition of a previous robot, Wendy, has soft hands and fingers that gently grip, enough strength to support humans as they sit up and stand, and supple movements that respond to human touch. It can pick up a loaf of bread without crushing it, serve toast and help lift people out of bed.

"It's the first robot in the world with this much system integration," said Shigeki Sugano, professor of mechanical engineering at Waseda University, who led the Twendy-One project and demonstrated the result on Tuesday.

The robot is a little shorter than an average Japanese woman at 1.5 m (5 ft), but heavy-set at 111 kg (245 lb). Its long arms and a face shaped like a giant squashed bean mean it resembles the alien movie character E.T. The robot put toast on a plate and fetched ketchup from a fridge when asked, after greeting its patient for the demonstration with a robotic "good morning" and "bon appetit."

But for now, it is still a work in progress. Twendy-One has just 15 minutes of battery life and its computer-laden back has a tendency to overheat after each use.


Okay--this is making me a bit nervous. Maybe I'm a Luddite, but think about it. This robot:

1. Has soft hands that gently grip
2. Will fetch ketchup from the fridge when asked
3. Offers a cheery "good morning"

I'm just grateful this bitch overheats after each use because even with a face like a giant squashed bean, she has the potential to really fuck up the already dismal dating pool. As much as I hate to say it, I know plenty of men who would be happy with Twendy-One. She can grip his dick gently, provide him with ketchup for his fries and says "good morning" instead of:

"I can't watch another fucking episode of C.S.I. Why don't we never go anywhere?"
or
"Your feet stink."
or
"I can't believe you're going to vote for Mitt Romney."

This robotic menace must be stopped before it's too late...

JOY TO THE WORLD

Happy Post-Thanksgiving! I hope you all enjoyed the turkey, family drama, canned cranberry shit, familial farting, excess drinking, the drone of football, late night nibbling with no plate; just grabbing random stuff as you stand in front of the fridge, and dreary thoughts of "Can you believe it Frank, another year down the crapper."

What has all of this go to do with the above photo of Sigfried, Roy and Carol Channing? Well, we are officially into Christmas season. Time to don our gay apparel...And have you ever seen a gayer photo than this one?

Welcome to the holidays!

CNN HOLIDAY PARTIES

Well, I'm sure you've all noticed that shops, businesses, restaurants and anyone else who needs to make a buck have already started decking the halls with boughs of holly (and tacky snowmen, reindeer and pink trees.)
So, if they are willing to start early with the festivities, I figure it's not too early to bring up the subject of CNN holiday parties--peon style.
Now, things have improved since my tour of duty in Atlanta. Not that it takes much to improve upon shit.

Admittedly, the reason I know that they've improved is because I crashed the party two years in a row with my expired, faded CNN ID. This is how I got to witness the famous CNN talent show. Plus I danced with financial guru (and rumored presidential candidate) Lou Dobbs.
You just can't put a price on such glory.
But back in the late 1990's, these "parties" were a desultory affair.
Holy shit they were awful.
They would herd us into that bleak, pre-renovated Omni, give us some smug speech about how great we were all doing, and allow us to feast upon the meager edibles offered. The year I went, we were only allotted two drinks.
Two pee-cup sized drinks.
Of course, I'm not sure if this was due to cheapness or due to stories like the one I recently received from a new Peon Confidential reader.
All names have been changed. Not to protect the innocent, but to keep the guilty guessing...

"For a few years running a number of us were working on the night of the party. But seeing as it was held either at an Omni hotel ballroom or the Congress Center, we would dash over between shows for a couple of drinks. At one of the more memorable events, it was Pancho, myself and Olaf. Pancho directing, Olaf doing audio and me pushing the buttons. I would love to have an aircheck of that show but I suspect that tape was erased before the cuetone was over. All of us got pretty much trashed killing as many beers as we could in one hour. About ten minutes before the ten pm show, we headed back to make some TV. Smuggling beers as we went of course. Pancho was in rare form. Loud as always and funny as shit. He got me laughing so hard that I missed a punch. At which point Pancho said something to the effect of "Gawddammit, if I'm fucked up you better be paying attention to air!!"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LARRY!

Cleveland, you're on the air!

Happy Birthday to everyone's favorite septugenerian and CNN legend Larry King. Not sure if the "he made a VJ pick the peanuts out of his Kung Po chicken" story is true, but when has that ever stopped me from repeating a rumor? It's good story nonetheless.
Here's wishing you many more classic moments like this one:

GOT A DATE WITH AN ANGEL

(Note: the good stuff starts at 8:05)

WRITER'S STRIKE: PICKETING FOR PORNO

Now-
This is a legitimate question:
We are on day eight of the WGA writer's strike. But I am curious-what about the porno writers? Are they part of a union? Sure, the scripts aren't exactly stellar. And no, no one watches for the heartfelt, thought provoking, Ingmar Bergman-esque dialogue. But someone has to come up with lines like:

HOT HOUSEWIFE: "But I didn't order a pizza."
BEEFY GUY: "Okay, what about my cock instead?"

Are these people being paid properly? If not, are they picketing some shithole porno studios in the 818 area code?
Are they wearing t-shirts emblazoned with:
"We're The Ones Getting Fucked!"

Are they chanting slogans like:
"No Justice, No Anus! No Justice, No Anus!"

I need answers.

ABSTINENCE PROGRAMS DON'T STOP TEENS FROM SCHTUPPING

WASHINGTON - Programs that focus exclusively on abstinence have not been shown to affect teenager sexual behavior, although they are eligible for tens of millions of dollars in federal grants, according to a study released by the nonpartisan National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy.

"At present there does not exist any strong evidence that any abstinence program delays the initiation of sex, hastens the return to abstinence or reduces the number of sexual partners" among teenagers, the study concluded.

What?
Can this be true?
No!
Telling teens NOT to do something that they really, REALLY want to do, that they are biologically driven to do, that thousands of music videos/TV shows/movies/pervy uncles tell them is a wonderous, loin-stirring, soul-shaking, mind-blowing activity--that doesn't work?
Even when tens of millions of dollars are spent on it?
How can this be?

Huh. How about we substitute a couple of words:

-Programs that focus exclusively on TELLING FAT PEOPLE THAT TWINKIES ARE BAD has not been shown to affect FAT PEOPLE SCARFING DOWN TWINKIE behavior

-Programs that focus exclusively on TELLING MY MOTHER NOT TO WORRY IF SHE CAN'T ALWAYS REACH ME AT HOME ON A FRIDAY NIGHT BECAUSE I OCCASIONALLY HAVE A SOCIAL LIFE has not been shown to affect MY MOTHER LEAVING FIVE INCREASINGLY HYSTERICAL MESSAGES ON MY MACHINE behavior

-Programs that focus exclusively on TELLING A NASCAR CROWD THAT CAR RACING IS ANNOYING, BORING AND OBNOXIOUS has not been shown the affect THE LEGIONS OF FANS TURNING IT INTO AMERICA'S NATIONAL "SPORT" behavior

Honestly.
What the hell is wrong with people?

MASTURBATION PIONEERS

So as you can see in the photo above, I am petting the kitty. Note the maniacal look on my face. I really seem to be taking immense pleasure out of that sweet pussy...which naturally reminds me of my first foray into the joys of masturbation.
Yeah.
That's right.
I'm opening the hamper here and flinging my dirty laundry all over the mother fuckin' joint:

I was about eleven, relaxing in a Saturday afternoon bath. I was something of a late bloomer, which is code for saying I was a chunky pre-teen with bad hair and a closet full of velour sweat pants and unicorn sweaters. No one wanted a piece of this ass. There were no folded pieces of notebook paper asking "Will you go with me?" No one wanted to hold my pudgy hand at recess.

Now, what I lacked in looks I made up for in resourcefulness. Our bathtub had a large lever that jutted out. You were supposed to pull it up in order to stop the drain. So while I was bathing, I glanced at it a few times, mapping out my plan.
Okay it wasn't much of a plan...
I humped the lever.
And dear readers, it was good.
It was so good that I began taking baths on a shockingly frequent basis. I'd come home from school and head right for the bathtub. I'd wake up on Saturday and hop right in the bathtub. I bathed so much my fingers were pruny for three months straight.
Eventually the novelty wore off. But I'll never forget my sexual awakening with that highly fuckable lever.

Okay--here's where YOU come in.
We're all Anonymous here. Anyone else care to share their stories of masturbatory exploration?

WORLD TOILET SUMMIT

See this vibrant poster? Well it's from a wonderful organization I'd like to share with all of you...

NEW DELHI (AFP) - Delegates from dozens of nations gathered in India on Wednesday to open a World Toilet Summit aimed at finding low-cost methods to give billions of people access to sanitation.

The founder of Indian toilet advocacy charity Sulabh International, Bindeshwar Pathak, opened the meeting by calling for a war footing in the effort to meet 2002 Millennium Development Goals.

"To achieve the goals, what is essential is that technology needs to be urgently developed that is suitable and simple of implementation. Sewers or septic tanks are not the solutions."

Pathak, inspired by Indian freedom icon Mahatma Gandhi, began to build simple toilets in India in the 1970s and has developed a low-cost system that turns waste into water, fertiliser for crops and biogas to run generators.

The conference is being jointly organised with the World Toilet Organization, which was founded in 2001 and aims to make sanitation a key global issue. It now has 55 member groups from 42 countries.

Jack Sim, founder of the World Toilet Organization, and former Indian president Abdul Kalam were among the opening speakers.

Pathak and Sim have been widely lauded by organisations such as the United Nations which has named 2008 as the "UN Year of Sanitation."


Okay...I admit. I'm a little bit childish. And I am aware that functioning toilets are a necessity for health and sanitation.
However:

1. What kind of swag does a delegate come away with from the World Toilet Summit? Are there t-shirts for this event? And where can I get one?

2. Bindeshwar Pathak was inspired by Gandhi to build toilets. The next time I see his statue in Union Square I will think of that.

3. Jack Sim is the founder of the World Toilet Organization. Naturally, they have a website: WORLD TOILET ORGANIZATION
If you click on that link, cast your eyes on the cartoon toilet with the snappy phrase: "Give-a-potty. Go on. Ease them..."

4. Also note on the website that there is the opportunity to attend World Toilet College. I think this is a viable threat to use against kids who won't study for the SAT:
"Billy, if you flunk the SAT you won't be going to Harvard. You won't be going to Tufts. Hell, you won't even be going to that dumpy community college next to the Waffle House. You're headed straight to World Toilet College."

5. According to the experts at the World Toilet Organization:
"World Toilet Day has been declared to be on the 19th of November each year. The purpose of having this day is to have people in all countries to take action, increase awareness of toilet user’s right to a better toilet environment, and to demand for it from toilet owners. As such, it is also the toilet user’s duty to contribute towards its maintenance, cleanliness and hygiene. The public marks the day to practice toilet etiquette, the restroom community-at-large celebrates with a new declaration for the forthcoming year."

I SMELL A THEME PARTY!!!

5. The UN has proclaimed 2008 the "UN YEAR OF SANITATION". Beautiful! Now I know what my New Years toast will be.

UPDATE:
I just took the "What kind of toilet paper are you?" quiz on the Toilet Entertainment section of the World Toilet Organization website.
Turns out I'm the fancy quilted kind! Who knew?

PANTIES FOR PEACE

Think you can't make a difference? Read on:

BANGKOK, Thailand - Women in several countries have begun sending their panties to Myanmar embassies in a culturally insulting gesture of protest against the recent brutal crackdown there, a campaign supporter said Friday.

"It's an extremely strong message in Burmese and in all Southeast Asian culture," said Liz Hilton, who supports an activist group that launched the "PANTIES FOR PEACE" drive earlier this week.

The group, Lanna Action for Burma, says the country's superstitious generals, especially junta leader Gen. Than Shwe, also believe that contact with women's underwear saps them of power.

To widespread international condemnation, the military in Myanmar, also known as Burma, crushed mass anti-regime demonstrations recently and continues to hunt down and imprison those who took part.

Hilton said women in Thailand, Australia, Singapore, England and other European countries have started sending or delivering their underwear to Myanmar missions following informal coordination among activist organizations and individuals.

"You can post, deliver or fling your panties at the closest Burmese Embassy any day from today. Send early, send often!" the Lanna Action for Burma Web site urges.

"So far we have had no response from Burmese officials," Hilton said.


This woman is brilliant. Honestly, I had no idea that my used panties could serve as instruments of Burmese intimidation. It had never occurred to me that the contents of my hamper hid a deadly cache of political weapons. I also wonder if these women are sending in their ratty, second tier panties (the ones you wear when you know you're not going to get laid) or if they are sending in their uncomfortable, frilly panties that you only wear when your are absolutely sure you are going to get laid.
Which are deadlier and more "power sapping"?

And what about spin-off efforts:
Jock Straps for Justice! Bras for Brotherhood! Thongs for Thyroid Problems!

Let's keep the political ingenuity flowing...

"DO IT YOURSELF" GONE TOO FAR

While calmly drinking coffee, I came across this harrowing news item:

LONDON (AFP) - Falling numbers of state dentists in England has led to some people taking extreme measures, including extracting their own teeth, according to a new study released Monday.

Others have used superglue to stick crowns back on, rather than stumping up for private treatment, said the study. One person spoke of carrying out 14 separate extractions on himself with pliers.

"This is an uncomfortable read for all of us, and poses serious questions to politicians from patients," said Sharon Grant of the Commission for Patient and Public Involvement in Health.

Overall, six percent of patients had resorted to self-treatment, according to the survey of 5,000 patients in England, which found that one in five had decided against dental work because of the cost.

One researcher involved in compiling the study -- carried out by members of England's Patient and Public Involvement Forums -- came across three people in one morning who had pulled out teeth themselves.


Okay, now the temptation here is to make the stale, requisite jokes about British teeth. But I'm not interested in that. Instead, I'd like to take the opportunity to compile a list of things that one should never be tempted to do in your own home, with or without a Home Depot salesperson's advice:

1.) See Above
2.) Removal of any internal organs with a Bic razor
3.) Constructing any sort of teletransporter device using a wrench and Silly Putty
4.) Slaughtering a pig with Macy's gift set knife and making your own sausage
5.) Giving oneself a boob job using bubble wrap/styrofoam peanuts as the stuffing

MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO PRESENTS: A Faustian Bargain

Lust? Greed? Sloth? Gluttony? Pride? Wrath? Envy? We've got 'em all.

For all the wicked sinners out there, Saturday, October 13th is your night.
Welcome to a night of devilish pleasures featuring lusty burlesque dancers Howling Vic and Gerica Molotov, diabolical live music from Mama's Birthday, perverse comedy from Rob Lathan, a weird short film and the 9 Circles of Hell trivia contest. Come commit a couple deadly sins with us on Saturday, October 13th at 10pm and save the repenting for Sunday.

Mama D's Arts Bordello

October 13th, 2007
Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction
34 Avenue A (btw 3rd/4th streets)
NY, NY 10009
(212) 777-5660

BACK TO BASICS

We've had some very thought provoking topics around here lately. With reasoned debates, interesting perspectives and impassioned beliefs.
But today, I'm offering up THIS.

I suspect we all know a guy who could benefit from such a contraption. The fact that it is not currently available at a Target near you is a form of sex discrimination. And with all the idiotic shit offered up on HSN, all those enthusiastic bitches shilling endless forms of Tupperware and festive doo-dads, where is the entrepreneur willing to help the legions of fat naked men across this nation?

I BELIEVE IN BELIEVING

I was the kid who never thought Linus from “Peanuts” was an idiot for waiting for “The Great Pumpkin” to come every year. I would have forgone my candy corn and sat with him in that pumpkin patch too. Not necessarily because I believed, but because he did.

I have taken a pet to the Church of the Holy Family’s “Annual Blessing of the Animals”. I have danced during Shul at B'nai Jeshurun. I have paid my respects at the Buddhist Byodo-In Temple. I have skinny dipped with Wiccans.

Having traveled a lot and lived in many places, I’ve seen belief manifest itself in many forms. So I believe in pretty Southern Baptist girls in floral Easter dresses giggling on a sunny Atlanta morning. I believe in my Muslim classmates at college in London, who prayed together and fasted at Ramadan. I believe in Harlem choirs, gorgeous voices raising the rafters of their churches. I believe in the makeshift altars set up in even the grimiest of New Orleans apartments, often on TV trays, with glass-encased candles flickering in the warm afternoon air. And I believe in the hippie Reverend who officiated a wedding I attended on St. John Island, a woman who wore butterflies instead of crosses on her vestment, and told the couple to swim together in Trunk Bay, souls uniting in the water.

Any belief that attempts to connect people in a positive way, to focus on something greater than the polluted commute to work and boring TV line-up is worth listening to. As long as there is belief, there is concern for what happens beyond the next company progress report or condo association meeting. True belief requires commitment, struggle and devotion. It demands attention. Apathy is too easy. Apathy lets you off the hook. Apathy belies a lack of imagination.

In my home, I have a mezuzah on my doorframe, three Bibles, a copy of the I Ching, The Tibetan Book of The Dead, a jade Buddha, and a statue of Ganesha right by my computer. After all, he is the Lord of New Beginnings, Destroyer of Obstacles. As a writer who is no stranger to rejection letters, I need his blessings quite frequently.

But when people ask what this buffet of spirituality all means, I tell them I believe in believing.

PHOTOSHOPPED ADULTHOOD: Sanitized for Your Convenience

A friend of mine had a little girl recently, so I’ve been perusing the children’s section of the bookstore. Naturally, I gravitated toward the books I knew from my childhood: “Where the Wild Things Are”, “Green Eggs and Ham”, and of course, “Goodnight Moon”. I loved that book not because of the story (which I thought was boring) but for the black and white photo of the illustrator, Clement Hurd. Unlike grandfatherly Dr. Seuss, he didn’t look like he’d give me a hug. No, he belonged at our house during cocktail hour, sitting in a floral chair on the patio, telling stories by the light of the tiki torches.

But when I turned “Goodnight Moon” over to look at this photo after all these years, I saw that it had been photoshopped. The cigarette in his hand had been removed, altered to suit modern parenting sensibilities. I stared at it for a while. The picture looked so strange, his hand clearly posed for holding a cigarette, but nothing was there.

It occurred to me that certain child-protective measures are entrenched today in ways they weren’t when I was a kid. Maybe it’s because people demand a greater level of control now, with the rise of “helicopter parenting”. But it seems like we are cocooning kids too much, and denying ourselves some of the fun of adulthood in the process.

When I was a child in Honolulu back in the late 1970s, my parents and their friends didn’t surrender their adult interests and make everything so “family friendly”. The adult stuff coexisted with kids’ stuff. But there was a distinct divide between us and them, and we knew it. Parents and kids both liked it that way. Of course the term “family values” hadn’t been coined yet.

In the fridge there was Mr. and Mrs. T’s Bloody Mary Mix next to the milk. Moms had vinyl cigarette purses with golden snaps and a separate little pouch for their Bic lighters. If we asked, they’d take out their Virginia Slims and lighters and let us use the purses for our dolls. Dads often kept copies of Playboy (just out of our reach) in the bathroom. Under the sink, you might find a box of Today Sponges. If you asked about it, you were just told, “That’s for adults.” Believe it or not, that answer was good enough for us.

People in our neighborhood all had cocktail hours out on their patios, with fully stocked wet bars, olives and colorful swizzle sticks. We kids would color in our books as adults smoked and drank outside. They didn’t try to include us. They told dirty jokes or talked about politics or neighborhood gossip. This wasn’t some type of family fun. Friday night was theirs, distinctly for the adults. When told to go to bed, I’d leave my bedroom door open, loving the sound of all that laughter, the clinking of ice in a vodka tonic. And as they nursed hangovers, Saturday morning was all ours. We’d get up alone, make a bowl of Honeycomb, Lucky Charms or any other cereal that would tear up the roof of your mouth and watch Scooby Doo, Laff Olympics and Superfriends.

If parents took their kids to an upscale restaurant, there was zero tolerance for misbehaving in that adult realm. Mothers didn’t lecture fellow diners by saying, “You were a kid once too.” When I hear this, I often think, “You’re right, I was. And I had to sit there, sip my Shirley Temple and behave. Otherwise I’d get the evil eye from my mom, and that look alone was enough to keep me in check.”

Adulthood used to be this amazing mystery. I’d watch my mother put on her disco clothes; sexy sparkly outfits and platform heels as I sat there in my cords and juice-stained t-shirt, dreaming of all the fun I could have when I grew up. Now it seems like some parents are so worried about teaching their kids the wrong message, that “family friendly” activities have overtaken their lives.

These parents don’t appear to want a separate world for themselves. They are willing to completely morph into “Mom” and “Dad”, leaving nothing left for an outside identity. But I think constantly catering to kids deprives them of the wonder of adulthood. They don’t have the understanding that certain activities are just for adults, and that this unknown world can be something to look forward to.

When I was a kid, the adult world was visible but not accessible. It seemed fascinating. But I knew that adults had problems, they weren’t always right, and life wasn’t perfect. My parents didn’t try to hide this from me, and neither did their friends. So I don’t think we give kids enough credit these days. We shield them a little too much, not realizing how smart they are. And all the while, toy companies keep scaling back on “traditional” toys, because kids are so advanced now and want cell phones instead.

So I say put that cigarette back in Clement Hurd’s slender fingers. Call it a cautionary tale. Kids will understand. The photo is creepier now without it, because it’s obvious something is missing. The vice is photoshopped, but the stance remains.

RANDOM IRRITATION

I hate people who order Guinness and say, "I love Guinness. I mean, what's not to love- it's a meal in a glass!"
They say this like they are the first person to ever utter this "witticism". Then they laugh, turn and look at their friends and say "Am I right? I mean, c'mon. It's a meal in a glass."
(See, a repeat of said witticism to get another laugh.)

Just fuck off and drink your Guinness.

B.C. BUD: THE ECONOMIC PLIGHT

Read with caution:

VANCOUVER, British Columbia (Reuters) - The strong Canadian dollar has hit the illegal marijuana sector just as it has other industries that export to the United States, one of Canada's best known legalization advocates said on Thursday.

The Canadian dollar touched parity with the U.S. dollar last week, topping a rise of some 60 percent over the past five years. On Thursday, it was still hovering around par, at C$1.0014 to the U.S. dollar or 99.86 U.S. cents.

A stronger loonie -- so called for the bird engraved on the one dollar coin -- has cut the profit of selling potent "B.C. Bud" marijuana in U.S. markets at a time when producers in Canada struggle with tighter border security and competition in the United States with pot from other sources.


The moral of this news item?
In macroeconomic terms the stronger Canadian dollar has many consequences. It is important to examine the plight of the overlooked victims of the mighty greenback's downfall. Let's all take a moment to reflect upon:

A.) Canadian hookers who can no longer offer discounted blow jobs.
B.) B.C. Bud Farmers who can no longer offer a bargain high.
C.) My relatives in Alberta who can no longer ironically enjoy the Loonie's underdog status.

I shed a tear for all of you...

MINNEAPOLIS TREASURE

In honor of Senator Craig attempting to change his plea today...I recently discovered this news nugget from the Associated Press:

MINNEAPOLIS, Minn. - When tourists ask for the bathroom in the Minneapolis airport lately, it's usually not because they have to go. It's because they want to see the stall made famous by U.S. Senator Larry Craig's arrest in a sex sting.

"It's become a tourist attraction," said Karen Evans, information specialist at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. "People are taking pictures."

Craig was arrested June 11 by a Minneapolis airport police officer. The Idaho Republican pleaded guilty to misdemeanor disorderly conduct.Craig has since said his guilty plea was a mistake.

Just 15 minutes into her shift on Friday, Evans said she had been asked directions to the new tourist attraction four times. Other airport workers field the same question.

"It's by the Lottery shop, right next to the shoeshine shop," said newsstand worker Abdalla Said, adding he gets the question daily.

The Royal Zino Shoeshine shop owner's grandson, Royal Zino, said it has been hectic.

"People have been going inside, taking pictures of the stall, taking pictures outside the bathroom door — man, it's been crazy," he said.

On their way to Guatemala, Jon and Sally Westby of Minneapolis made a visit.

"We had to just stop and check out the bathroom," Sally said. "In fact, it's Jon's second time — he was here last week already."


Not sure what to think about this:

-Should I be proud of individuals like Jon and Sally Westby of Minneapolis, who find treasure where others simply find a toilet?

-Should I be alarmed that people are so desperate for historical significance in their home towns that they cause extra work for the Royal Zino Shoeshine shop, which has the misfortune of being near the famed toilet?

-Will there be a plaque nailed to this stall someday? Or perhaps they could take a cue from Atlanta, and errect a brown "historical district" sign in that stall.

-Will the airport gift shop start selling post cards of this esteemed toilet?
Picture it:

Dear Janet and Bill,
Having a ball in Minneapolis...
Wish You Were Here!

RESTRAINT PANTIES

As promised on Friday, I took 20 actual search keywords that people have used to find my website and created a story around them...Enjoy!


While eating her HONEY BUNCHES OF OATS cereal, ex-PAN AM STEWARDESS Midge Dallas was reading her husbands pile of REJECTED PENTHOUSE NASTY LETTERS. It crushed him each time got yet another rejection. After the one he received today he had jumped on one of his PURPLE CROTCH ROCKETS and sped away, his MAGNUM PI SUNGLASSES hiding his tears. She knew he needed to be alone, and would most likely seek solace at the HOLYLAND Experience Bible Theme park. There he would eat a Gladiator Burger and caress his FURRY MUSTACHE to soothe his pain. He went there whenever sadness engulfed his life. Like when he saw the Lifetime TV movie starring Patrick Duffy called, “LITTLE BOY BLEEDS TO DEATH AT WALMART”.

Midge skimmed his latest failed effort in amateur porn. This one detailed the time he stole a Chinese knock-off GRIMACE COSTUME from MCDONALDS and made a customized hole in it so he could engage in PANTY PISSING. He didn’t seem to understand that Penthouse readers were more tantalized by terms like SPRING BREAK, BIG BREASTS, and BEACH than they were by stories about husbands pissing on WIVES’ PANTIES.

She sighed and sniffed her STINKY PINKY RING. She wasn’t sure why, but it smelled like cabbage. She put her cereal bowl in the sink, walked into the living room and turned on the TV. With little interest she watched a commercial with a POSING MODEL IN A BIKINI LAYING DOWN and caressing a kitten. How she hated PUSSY PEOPLE. Midge was a dog lover through and through. As if on cue, her dog Charmaine Goldenrod jumped up on the couch with her. She had given the Pomeranian her stage name from her days working the STRIPPER POLE at several ATLANTA STRIP JOINTS. Those had been some tough days, until she landed a steady gig at MAMA D’S ARTS BORDELLO. And it was Mama D herself who encouraged her to pursue her dreams of working for Pan Am. Too bad the airline folded six months later…

At least her husband Dirk Turquoise had entered her life right about then. They rode across the country together until she grew tired of their CROTCH ROCKET GAMES and they settled down. Everything was perfect…except for his frustrated Penthouse Letter dreams. He was convinced that if they published his letter, he could get noticed by a literary agent and sell his book called, “Zen And the Art of Crotch Rocket Maintenance”. If only she could convince him to give it up. If only she could get him to see that some dreams weren’t worth pursuing. If only…

Just then the door flew open and Dirk burst in with a crazy grin on his face.
“Honey, I bought you something. What I have in this bag is gonna give you the wildest night of sexual ecstasy you’ve ever experienced…And I’ll get enough material for a Penthouse Letter that is guaranteed to get published.”
He handed her the bag and she peered inside.
“Dirk, what are these?”
He licked his mustache. “They’re called RESTRAINT PANTIES.”

GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT

So, each morning I check my website statistics to see how many people visited and what they looked at. I also check the process by which they stumbled upon my site. Believe it or not, it doesn't always involve me saying "Please look at my website and I will buy you beer." The following is a list of actual search keywords that brought people to my website:

1. honey bunches of oats
2. purple crotch rockets
3. rejected penthouse nasty letters
4. little boy bleeds to death at walmart
5. stripper pole
6. stinky pinky ring
7. magnum pi sunglasses
8. restraint panties
9. panty pissing
10. Holyland
11. mama ds arts bordello
12. grimace costume mcdonalds
13. atlanta strip joints
14. wives panties
15. furry mustache
16. pan am stewardess
17. crotch rocket games
18. spring break big breasts beach
19. posing model in a bikini laying down
20. pussy people

Now-
while I have absolutely NO IDEA what "restraint panties" are, in the interest of giving the people what they want, I will create a story over the weekend using all of these keywords. If anyone has any plot ideas, why, feel free to chime in.
Stay tuned. On Monday this tantalizing tale will be unveiled...

GLAM ROCK ALIAS

Today I'd just like to let you all in on a fantastic resource I just found.
It's a Glam Rock Name Generator.
Click on that link (fair warning-the background color will accost your retinas) put in your name and whether you are a Ziggy Stardust or a Femme Fatale and it spits out a name worthy of the sexiest, codpiece-thrusting, eyeshadow-wearing, guitar licking, platform boot-stomping, barely legal groupie-fucking Glam Rock Star around.

I put my name in the generator and they gave me CHARMAINE GOLDENROD. It's perfect. And these names have multiple uses:

-Pet names
-Reservations at stuffy restaurants
-Running for Congress (Imagine the bumperstickers!)
-Prank calls

Which glittery moniker did you get?

5 NEW CELEBRATIONS FOR MARTHA

So-
I was walking around the K-Mart at Astor Place when I came across the Martha Stewart Everyday Collection of picture frames.
Now, they were attractive enough. But what irritated me was that within the frames were ideas on how to use them. It was as though Martha thought people needed help figuring out which types of tender moments were deemed worthy of her beautiful frames. There were suggestions along the lines of, "Our Wedding Day" or "Baby's 1st Birthday" or "Dancing with Daddy" or "Good Friends".

It seems to me that by pushing these types of suggestions she is limiting her customer base. Why neglect the trashier shoppers with money to burn? Aren't their memories worth preserving too? Did she learn nothing from her prison experience? What about:

1. Mom's Parole Day
2. My 1st Bukake
3. Visiting Daddy At The Treatment Center
4. The DNA Results Are Back!
5. Granny's Black Eye

MY CHILDHOOD REPUBLICAN SIDE PART

In response to yesterday's comments section:
Look how my six-year-old self blends in with Trent and Newt perfectly. All I'm missing is an American flag behind me...and a couple of teeth.

THE DORK FACTOR

My mom recently sent several pictures from when I was a little kid. She is fond of sending weird care packages. Within one care package you might find a couple of stale granola bars, a pair of socks I left behind from a visit, a few photos from the 1970s, and some shampoo samples from Walgreens.
I have never quite figured out why she does this.
But I am here, with freshly washed hair, eating a stale granola bar, wearing clean socks, and posting this pic, so it's not such a bad deal.
Now, I'd like to point out a few things in this delightful snapshot of a bygone era:

1. Look at my righteous camel toe! Damn.

2. I honestly want that outfit in my size now. Red and white stripes, with a hoodie, a zipper and built-in feet. Pure terrycloth perfection.

3. Check out the background. Thankfully, I don't remember it. But I wonder which relative had the misfortune of living in that stark, grey, communist-style apartment? Note that I have a magic marker. I imagine I was trying to add a little sunshine to the place.

4. I think everyone from my generation had that haircut at some point. Not sure why, but it really did sweep the nation. Plus I had that hair until I was about 11. And on picture day my mom would comb it into a Republican side part. People often asked me, "Are you a girl or a boy?" (Except for when I wore this camel toe attire of course.) I refer to this era as my Androgynous Stage.

5. Once a dork, always a dork. Look at me. You can just tell what a dweeb I would turn into. You can see that in gradeschool I would be picked last for gym class, wearing uncool rainbow sweats as my thighs rubbed together. (Actually, it was always a battle between me and my pal Natasha for who would be the last dork standing.) You can tell that I was never going to be the cool teenager in a red convertible, the wind ruffling through my hair as I smiled coyly at my equally cool boyfriend. You can just sense that as an adult, I'd be sitting here at my computer, eating a stale granola bar sent from my mom instead of galavanting around town with effortlessly chic people.

Dorkiness really is all in the genes. There's just no escaping it.

AIR GUITAR CHAMPIONSHIPS

As a Finnish-American, I'm proud to announce that the judges for the 12th Annual Air Guitar World Championships, held in Oulu, Finland, have selected a winner. But no, it wasn't a fellow Finn who won. A Japanese guy had the best moves. Ochi "Dainoji" Yosuke is the reigning champ for the second year in a row. Check out his blazin' hot performance:
OCHI WINS!

Now, according to the organizers, The World Air Guitar Championships were created 12 years ago to promote peace, because you cannot hold a gun while playing air guitar.

These people need to be recognized as the modern-day Ghandis that they are.
When will they win a Nobel Peace prize for their valiant efforts?

That being said, here are my top 5 best air guitar songs:

1. Back in Black by AC/DC
2. She Sells Sanctuary by The Cult
3. Rock n' Roll by Led Zeppelin
4. Girl, You Have No Faith In Medicine by The White Stripes
5. Crosstown Traffic by Jimmy Hendrix

Conversely, here are the top 5 worst air guitar songs:

1. The Theme from "Titanic" by Celine Dion
2. Escape (The Pina Colada Song) by Rupert Holmes
3. Sailing by Christopher Cross
4. Copacabana by Barry Manilow
5. Lost in Love by Air Supply

Please feel free to add your favorites...

MORE CNN BLOOPERS

UPDATE: These Bloopers have been removed from YouTube for reasons unknown. So the links don't work. But I didn't delete this post because of the funny stories you've shared in the comments section.

If you didn't get enough stumbling, bumbling and outright ineptitude last time, I present you with even more CNN Bloopers from the 1996 Blooper Reel:

(Thanks again Kind Soul!)

1. WOODY PECKER/OUR RIDE'S WAITIN' ON US

2. HOLIDAY SHOPPING

3. NIXON DELIVERS OWN EULOGY!

4. VALERIE VOSS HIJINKS

WELL GOOD FOR YOU!

Man I hate those smug bitches that carry this stupid bag around. You're so proud of your environmental efforts that you have to print it on the side of your bag? What, you want a sugar-free, gluten-free vegan cookie for that?

Can't you just see a VH1 "I Love the (whatever we are calling this decade)" special in a few years time where they talk about how "cool" it was to be an environmentalist in 2007 and "everybody" had this bag?

Well, for the record:
Much like other things that "everybody" had in other eras like jelly shoes or neon shit, I can honestly say I never succumbed to this stupidity.
Can't say the same about acid wash jeans though...

THE WATERBED CHRONICLES

Well-
It's a special day here at Peon Confidential. Today we salute a former CNN VJ by name...Yes John Davidson, that means you. Come on down! Anonymity is not essential because John has already spilled the beans on himself on his very own blog. Also, this way I can direct you to his superb website, which showcases the fact that former peons can indeed go on to greatness:
MAGIC FEATHER

But back in 1997, John had no money. Times were tough for all of us drones at the news factory. Not "Covered-wagon-crossing-the-Great-Plains" tough, but more "Please let me find a quarter in the sofa cushions so I can finally do the fucking laundry" tough.
Note that both types of tough experiences involve wearing stinky clothes, however.

So John had to make some cash. He was desperate. He struck upon the brilliant plan of selling a waterbed on the famed Read Me bulletin board for a low-low-discount price.
This plan seemed foolproof.
Surely he'd sell his beautiful oak and rubber aquatic delight and have enough money to buy some Dockers or perhaps a pound of ground beef.
Maybe even both.
Except that no one wanted his damn waterbed.
So he turned the humble process of posting an ad on Read Me into a creative writing process. He posted ad after hilarious ad, refusing to surrender. This man was a Read Me hero, a true testament to perseverance.

These are some of my favorite entries from The Waterbed Chronicles:


I have a magical waterbed,
That flies with the greatest of ease,
It smells like fresh cinnamin (sic),
Not like strained peas,
It's the biggest they make,
King size and all,
So won't you buy it?
Or at least please just call,
It's only eighty bucks,
Cheap don't you see,
It could be yours,
So take it from me,
If you want to sleep,
In calgonic bliss,
Buy my fabulous happy waterbed,
I'll be so happy I’ll ____!!!

Jd 770-333-6367

________________________________________________________

Oak.....ahhh.

Just the smell of fabulous wood can bring back so many exciting and titillating memories.

Fantastic wood. Your first kiss. Chopsticks, The sight of a newborn baby.

All are episodes in our lives that tell who we are, who we have been, and who we aspire to be.

Now just imagine that scent when mixed with fresh smelling rubber!!! Not just any rubber, but the rubber in a fabulous
KING SIZE WATERBED!!!!!!

That's right, for a limited time only, you too have have the long coveted scent of wood, rubber, and water all in one!!! want to buy my waterbed? all you friends will like you if you do. tell your mom and she'll finally be proud of you (such a smart child!) even your high school principal might change his mind about you, really great deal, only $70 bucks for a king size, too! better hurry cuz it won't last long! Entertainment for the whole family!!! Don't delay, call now! 770-333-6367 Ask for john, or msg davidsonj.
This can be yours if you call right now!!! A scrapbook of scents!!!! Just message davidsonj or call 770-333-6367 right now!!!
_________________________________________________________

I'm calling out to all of the tender-hearted souls within the confines of this fabulous establishment to help someone in need. My Grandmother's has contracted a terminal case of PSORIASIS!!! Doctors in this country can't help her because of the STINKING FDA!!! However, there is a new treatment for PSORIASIS!!! Under development in France the only problem is that it costs $74.99 and I only have $00.38!!! Here's how you can help, I have never been one to accept charity, but If you give me the $74.99 I will give you........ A FABULOUS OAK KING SIZE WATERBED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!(gotcha)!!!! This waterbed was handcrafted in Taiwan by skilled laborers, and it can be yours for just helping out my granny Thelma (a.k.a. Militia Pete in Nicaragua in '86) Feeling generous? Msg Davidsonj or call 770-333-6367.
_________________________________________________

For Sale: One king size water bed. Made out of wood and 10k gold. Paid $233,459.00, however, can't make car payment so willing to sell for much less. $60.00. No holes, chipmunks, cracks or other undesirables. I mean it. I'm ready to make the step, and no one will buy this !@@!# fabulous waterbed. I mean really, come on, it is a king size waterbed for $60. When you were in high school, it was all you wanted to make life complete! What, now that you work for cnn you're too good for my waterbed? Fine......be that way...... we'll see how sorry you are the next time you are looking for somebody to go to your stupid yard sale and buy your moldy xxx@! fish tanks!!!!!!

msg davidsonj or call 770-333-6367. !@@#$@$%!$@$#!@#!@$!@$#!@#!@$!@#$!@#$!@$!@$#!@#!@$!@
__________________________________________________
AP-GA--Atl.Gunman 09-18 1035AP-GA--Atl.Gunman, AP-GA--Atlanta Gunman Atlanta gunman takes hostages at Zoo ATLANTA (BB) -- Negotiators are attempting to bargain with an Atlanta man who is holding 14 penguins hostage. The unidentified male entered the Atlanta Zoo sometime around 5am this morning and began his reign of terror on its inhabitants. Sgt. Michael Hunt, one of the first officers to arrive on the scene told a grim tale. "This wackjob broke in through one of the hyena cages which align the outer wall of the zoo. One of the attendants came by to sweep up one of the monkey cages and noticed a man wielding a gun and shouting obscenities at the penguins. That's when things got kooky," Sgt. Hunt stated. Officials say that the weapon the man is armed with a 44 Magnum style BB gun which, according to Sgt. Hunt does little body damage but, "stings like a fire ant bite." Dramatic video and audio footage show the man screaming at the police in an attempt to get them to purchase a "fabulous" KING SIZE WATERBED for only $60 Atlanta Police spokesperson Lt. Amanda Huginkis stated that while the police were not interested in purchasing a fabulous waterbed, interested parties could msg. Davidsonj or call 770-333-6367. (gotcha!)
____________________________________________________
Diary excerpts Aug. 14, 1992-
Dear Diary,
I have finally met the woman of my dreams. To think, after searching my whole life, I found the one person who makes my life complete! Our date was perfect!! She cooked a perfect southern dish, Country Fried steak with Grits (that's a new one) and gravy. I love everything about her from her accent (what a drawl) to the way she kicks in her sleep!!! She WILL be my wife!!!!! Hopelessly in love!

Five years later

September 27, 1997
Dear Diary,
245 days straight of nothing but that @#$%!! Steak and grits. I'm losing my mind......Everything seems to have something hiding underneath it....something evil....I realize now that she is a monster. What was I thinking....If I hear her insert another !##@$!! Syllable in words that don't need them (chair = cha-yer, door = do-wer) I'm gonna snap. I bought a gun today, It looks real good....shiny, cold, steel....tonight, when she kicks me in the kidney, I'm gonna do it....it'll finally be over, the only thing that can stop me now is a FABULOUS KING SIZE WATERBED FOR ONLY $60!!! (gotcha) Don't let this happen to you, purchase this fabulous SPACIOUS WATERBED and never get kicked in the kidneys again!!!! Just msg davidsonj for more info!!

_______________________________________________________

CONVERSATION OVERHEARD IN THE HARD NEWS CAFE 9/28/97
As Jane approached the table with her tray of delicious food, she noticed something was wrong with her friend Dick... "Hi, Dick," she said. "Hello Jane," he replied. "How is your corn?" "Great, how is your rice and mixed vegetables?" she asked. "Fine." he stated, sounding distant and perplexed. "Dick, what's wrong?" she implored "You sound distant and perplexed." "Well, I haven't been sleeping well the last few weeks." he stammered. "What's wrong? Work? Relationship? Gas?" she quizzed. "Well, it's my bed." he began. "I haven't been able to get any sleep on it. I've tried egg crates, flipping the mattress, eating prunes......I just don't know what's wrong with me!!!" he wailed. "Hey Dick!" Jane exclaimed. "What about that waterbed that perverted, psycho, demented wackjob is trying to sell in the bulletin board? I have a waterbed because my doctor recommended one above all other sleep aid methods!" "Well Jane, I don't know. I don't know if I should buy a waterbed from a guy who uses cheesy overnight advertising gimmicks to sell a bed." he said hesitantly. "Don't worry Dick, I hear that waterbed is FABULOUS and is only $60!" she prompted. "Well, ok, i'll go buy that bed from Davidsonj today!!! Dick squealed. Why don't you follow Dick's example and buy my bed? Be like Dick!!!!!

NEVERMIND

I'm back from Florida. In addition to swimming, sunbathing and marveling at the cleanliness of Publix supermarket, I partook in a terrible $9.95 Early Bird Special. At 5:30pm. Complete with tapioca puddin'. Yet it was oddly reassuring to know that deal still exists.

Anyway, after a relaxing week of being surrounded by retirees and strip malls named after sealife creatures, I returned to the comforts of home: i.e. my computer and the smell of fragrant herbal smoke wafting over from the next apartment. At first I was happily reading all of my favorite blogs, with my windows open, getting a contact high. But my bliss was interrupted when I discovered this jarring photograph:

NIRVANA BABY


For those of you who came of age when I did---HOLY SHIT!

I'm outraged. How dare that creepy little bastard grow up to remind us of how long ago 1991 was? Look at him. Mocking us with his moody, artistic MySpace type photo.
Smells Like Teen Spirit indeed.

Huh.

Maybe I should stop making fun of $9.95 Early Bird Specials...

THE WAIT IS OVER: 1996 CNN BLOOPERS!

UPDATE: These Bloopers have been removed from YouTube for reasons unknown. So these links don't work. But I chose not to delete this post because of the funny stories some of you shared in the comments section.

Let the cheering, ululating and dancing in the streets begin! A kind soul has uploaded the long lost 1996 CNN Blooper Reel to YouTube for your viewing pleasure. He was even nice enough to brand them with the Peon Confidential name. The links are here:

1. FLIP SPICELAND IS KING

2. LARRY KING'S HAND IN PANTS

3. ELOHSSA, MANITOBA

While you are enjoying bloopers, I'm headed to the beach to see my parents for a couple days. As the only computer they have is a Texas Instruments Antique from 1984 that has been in a box stashed in various closets in various homes since 1987, I will have no internet access.
(Actually, they used to have a circa 1980 Betamax stashed next to it until about 5 years ago when a pervy friend said he wanted it...My mother concluded that this guy found a Beta porn liquidation deal in some dark crevice of Georgia.)

Beta porn theories aside, I will post more useless crap upon my return...
In the meantime:
If any of you were partly responsible for any of these bloopers--
a.) Kudos!
and
b.) Tell us about it! We want details.

KING OF COMMENTARY

I got an e-mail alert yesterday that someone had left a comment on a buried post. (The ever popular "Heavens to Murgatroyd" post.) This comment was such classic Peon Confidential fodder (and it was so flattering) that I had to give it the royal treatment by bumping it up to the top. Keep in mind this post had asked people to fess up to long lost crushes:

"There was this SMOKIN HOT chick I used to give rides home to at 4am after our 8p-4a shift. HAA! What up Dutton?
Great Blog. Quick shout out to the VJ class of '96. Probably the most fun I've had in my professional life (if you can call that year professional). And yes, I had a crush...Lynne Russell."

Let's just analyze the beauty of this comment:

1.) It points out that without a drivers license, I was at the mercy of kind souls who would give me a lift home at 4am. As I wrote early on, when there weren't kindly VJs, I relied upon the services of one particular Moroccan cabbie. This worked well until he stopped charging me the cab fare and turned up one morning at CNN Center bearing gifts: a pink muumuu and matching pointy shoes...And a decorative brass plate.

2.) Shout out to the class of '96!

3.) Proof that we were not considered "professionals" but mere peons.

4.) Proof that we all, on poverty level salaries, had a hell of a good time.

5.) Proof of the legendary hotness of Sheriff/Karate expert/Lampshade saleslady/Former Headline News babe Lynne Russell.

Indeed, this Anonymous fellow managed to deliver the pure essence of the peon experience with one concise comment.
I couldn't have done it better.

A MEA CULPA FROM THE POWDER ROOM

I have a confession to make. This egregious sin has been haunting me, weighing on my chest for a long time, and it's time to set it free:
I'm a thief.
The worst, most devious kind of low-grade thief:
I routinely steal rolls of toilet paper from restaurants and bars all over Manhattan.

And once in Brooklyn.

My life of crime takes on a multi-cultural slant that would impress any UN delegate. I have stolen from Korean Barbeque joints, Irish pubs, French bistros, and Spanish tapas bars.
It's surprisingly easy. And I have to assume that New York is relatively devoid of thieving toilet paper scum like me, because these places make it too tempting: they leave stacks of toilet paper rolls out in the open, ripe for the nabbing. And if I don't have a big bag on me, I will coerce my pals to stuff their voluminous bags, thereby aiding and abetting my thug life.

It isn't that I cannot afford to buy toilet paper. It's that I can never remember to buy it. And there is nothing worse than sitting on the john and realizing there is no toilet paper. This means making the pants-'round-the ankles dash to find a stray cocktail napkin. Consequently I have wiped my ass with Bachelorette Party salutations, Pink Elephants, Jolly Jack-o-Lanterns and Frosty the Snowman.
Not sure what it says about me, but even when there is no butt wipe at my place, there are always cocktail napkins.
Priorities, see.

Well...
I feel better now. Very cathartic.
But the question is:
How many Hail Marys do you think my crime deserves?

MURGATROYD MYSTERY SOLVED!

Ladies and gentlemen...an anonymous source has given us scoop! In response to the buried "Heavens to Murgatroyd" post, in which we asked if current Anderson Cooper producer Murgatroyd and former VJ Murgatroyd are the same person, we recently got this:

"From an in-the-know source at CNN in Atlanta, and also a former VJ (Class of 1996, holler) it is the same John Murgatroyd! And, while he is not married, he is popular with the on-air ladies of Headline News."

Now the REAL question is...which on-air ladies of Headline News are we talking about here?
The mind reels at the possibilities.

COMMITMENT CEREMONY

This post doesn't have anything to do with peculiar news stories, peons or CNN, but it's what I feel like writing about this morning:

This past weekend I went to a beautiful backyard commitment ceremony in Chicago, and there was one particular moment that stood out...The sun was setting, and the music had started. The candles on the tables were flickering, there was a hum of cicadas and people talking and the smell of summer grass was sweet. The couple began the first dance as their dogs, both sporting gingham bowties, shuffled up to them and little girls twirled around them on the dancefloor, barefoot in their bright summer dresses.

It was as pretty and touching of a wedding snapshot as I've ever seen.

And I thought about heated rhetoric surrounding gay and lesbian marriage and parenting. The false arguments, the twisting of religious sentiment to justify bigotry. I thought about smug people who think they have all the answers and claim that gay marriage "destroys the fabric of America". I thought about the assholes who would deny gay and lesbian rights, and what I never understand is how so much vitriol is wasted on love. With all the issues these idiots could get riled up about: political corruption, sub-prime mortgage malfeasance, the fact that Paris Hilton is richer than most of us--they focus their ire on two people loving each other, and try to legislate ways to denigrate that love.

All I can assume is that they've never attended a commitment ceremony like the one I did; with gorgeous children cared for by loving parents, friends and family chatting and laughing, a community coming together to support each other.

But maybe that is the way to increased understanding: Anyone having a commitment ceremony should invite a random bigot. Lure them with promises of delicious cake. Perceptions will change one shitheel at a time...

5 WAYS TO SMUGGLE A MONKEY

Read this yesterday from the Associated Press:

A man smuggled a monkey onto an airplane Tuesday, stashing the furry fist-size primate under his hat until passengers spotted it perched on his ponytail, an airline official said.

The monkey escapade began in Lima, Peru, late Monday, when the man boarded a flight to Fort Lauderdale, Fla., said Spirit Airlines spokeswoman Alison Russell. After landing Tuesday morning, the man waited several hours before catching a connecting flight to LaGuardia Airport.

During the flight, people around the man noticed that the marmoset, which normally lives in forests and eats fruit and insects, had emerged from underneath his hat, Russell said.

"Other passengers asked the man if he knew he had a monkey on him," she said.

Now-
While the hat method was ingenious (and downright Dr. Seussian in its absurdity) I started to think of other ways in which a person could smuggle a "furry, fist-size primate". Those methods include:

1. Under one of Ice T's classy girlfriend CoCo's gigantic boobs.
2. Tucked into Amy Winehouse's hair.
3. Up the roomy hoo-hoo of that Arkansas woman with 17 kids.
4. In John Goodman's armpit.
5. Camoflaged in Burt Reynold's chest hair.

UNPLANNED PREGNANCY SOUNDTRACK

So-
I was at the supermarket last night where I saw a very young, (18 years old tops) very pregnant cashier. A bit sad yes, but it got me to thinking:
Which song was playing in the background when her horny, pimply Casanova planted his careless seed?
And as she was not the speediest cashier, I had time to consider this:
Which distinguished songs comprise the all-time greatest "Unplanned Pregnancy Soundtack"? You know, the mellow songs that were moaning from the 8-track player in a shag carpeted 70's van, (complete with a deer and a sunset airbrushed on the side) the "let me lick you up and down" slow-jam music that thumped from a boom box on a cheap K-Mart desk in a dorm, the heartfelt tunes that were blaring from the floor-mounted, fake wood stereo in the rumpus room (while mom and dad were visiting relatives in Wisconsin.)
In short, the sappy, radio-friendly songs that facilitated After School Special type drama.
(By the way-I think I've figured out the exact moment when we become adults. It's the point at which one of your peers tells you "I'm pregnant" and you respond with "Wow! Congratulations!" instead of "Oh shit...what are you going to do?")

For those who are unfamiliar with the Unplanned Pregnancy Soundtrack Phenomenon, I came up with this top ten list of songs for the daring, foolish love-makers who threw caution and condoms to the wind:

1. "Baby What A Big Surprise" by Chicago
2. "I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight" by Cutting Crew
3. "Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin'" by Journey
4. "Babe" by Styx
5. "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" by Poison
6. "The Heat of The Moment" by Asia
7. "I Swear" by All 4 One
8. "To Be With You" by Mr. Big
9. "Lost In Love" by Air Supply
10. "Baby I Love Your Way" by Peter Frampton

There are many, many more. Please feel free to add your favorites...

UNSUBSTANTIATED RUMOR

The other day I got an e-mail from a Peon Confidential reader who reccomended I get a tip box. He offered up this jewel:

"Heard a rumor today from a (NETWORK DELETED) producer about a supposed DEAF INTERN who was asked to run prompter at CNN one day when a VJ didn't show up.
I don't remember that scandal. You ever hear of it?"

I do not recall this one, but I have no trouble believing it. And when you think about it, this intern would have gotten off easy. He wouldn't hear all the bitchy control room people screaming "PROMPTER!" , wouldn't know when the anchor blamed him for the fact that she said "World War Eye Eye" and wouldn't have to scramble if A3 was floating, since he wouldn't be tuned in anyway.

Not such a bad deal, really.

PEON DWELLINGS

The rather bleak photo above is my first Atlanta apartment. It was at the esteemed Buckhead Crossing on Sidney Marcus Boulevard. According to another former CNN VJ I know, the best part about Buckhead Crossing was that due to it's proximity to The Gold Club, plenty of strippers lived there. She claims they would all lounge around the pool all day, leaving a sheen of body oil on the water. I can't vouch for the veracity of this statement, as I never once used the pool. I spent all my freetime shopping at the Marshalls around the corner.

Also, if you click on this photo to enlarge it, you'll find a pair of purple men's underwear hanging from that diseased looking tree. Those belonged to the guy I was dating at the time. While he was in the shower, I saw those underpants crumpled in a corner; looking over-washed, ripped, saggy and well...purple. So I threw them off the balcony. They hung there for a couple of weeks.

I actually went looking for this photo after a discussion about Post Apartments. Of course if you click on that link, don't be fooled by the fancy apartments they show you first. To get the full effect of the Post Apartment era/style I'm talking about, head straight for Post Lindburgh, which is located directly behind the Lindburgh MARTA Sation. In addition, I'd like to point out the "Benefits of Living at Post", where you'll find that they are now offering "Urban Vegetable Gardens". (I don't know why, but that makes me laugh.)

While Buckhead Crossing isn't technically a jewel in the Post crown, it's pretty similar. And everyone I knew back then had some experience with the Post housing institution, whether you lived in one or attended some shitty VJ party at one of them. (And by "party" I mean a bag of picked over Doritos, a couple of cans of Bud and a few people standing around listening to the Dave Matthews Band.) They were cookie-cutter (they all had the same grey or beige carpet with the same stains in the same places) and impersonal enough that it might take you months to discover that a co-worker lived in the same complex.
Case in point:
Several years after moving out of Buckhead Crossing, I learned that a co-worker of mine used to cheat on his girlfriend in the apartment right next to mine. But the fact that I never saw him is nothing compared to the fact that I never heard the thumping, moaning sounds of illicit love through those shoddy walls...

HAPPY 1st ANNIVERSARY!

It's official...
Peon Confidential is a year old! Over the past year, we've shared stories of Peon drudgery and moments of glory, tried to solve Blind Items, offered up (vaguely) sensible advice to college students, exchanged juicy gossip, and made up Barry Manilow inspired songs about Roz the Hashslinger.

So for today's post, I'm going to take a cue from 1980's sitcom writers who got lazy a few times a year and offered up clip shows instead of new storylines. For example--

SCENE: Blanche, Dorothy, Rose and Sophia are sitting around the kitchen table, eating cheese cake.

DOROTHY: Blanche, do you remember how we first met at the supermarket?
BLANCHE: How could I forget it? You rammed your shopping cart into mine with those big manly hands of yours.

CUE SLOW DISSOLVE

So in the spirit of a Golden Girls clip show, I'd like to take this opportunity to offer up some highlights of our first year together...

AUG 2006:
Peon Confidential kicks off with memories of food theft accusations in Read Me, Sports Department Pussy Warriors, and the tragic tale of The Stolen Vagina.

SEPT 2006:
FLOYD YARMUTH.
TACKY FINGER.
CHINESE PENIS TRANSPLANT.

OCT 2006:
I describe the art of fine dining on a Peon budget, and reveal fear of both the weird stains on the breakroom sofa and Rachael Ray

NOV 2006:
An important month at Peon Confidential, as Joe Kinstel's despotic "Dockers Mandate" was brought to light. Also brought to light: evidence that as an infant, I looked just like CNN's Lou Dobbs

DEC 2006:
We learn how
A) CNN's PR hotline was used for porn/masturbatory purposes
and
B) a woman's flatulence caused a plane to make an emergency landing

JAN 2007:
The first month of 2007 brought us a harrowing Dockers-related incident AND a Dead File Mishap

FEB 2007:
The heroic saga of Captain Waterbed

MARCH 2007:
We unearth The Lone Pube Phenomenon

APRIL 2007:
Lone Pube Art, a Roz File update and a University of Michigan student writes in asking for advice from us reformed Peons

MAY 2007:
We come up with several alternative artifacts for the Newseum in D.C., and discuss the pressing problem of Drunk Downloading

JUNE 2007:
It's a month full of undesirables: Criminal Garden Gnomes, Unemployed Cereal Mascots and a Talk Back Live Hooligan

JULY 2007:
Lost crushes revealed!
Larvae infestations!
Litter box loons!

And here we are a year later, still writing and sharing useless, goofy stories.
Here's to you Peon Confidential readers! Thanks for making this blog so much fun...