A SHITTY EXCUSE

Jackass of the day:

NORWALK, Conn. - A New York woman has filed a $100 claim against Norwalk saying a family outing to the Maritime Aquarium was ruined by dog feces. The woman claims her child's shoes, along with the entire outing, were ruined when her 1-year-old stepped in dog feces outside the Maritime Garage.

City attorney M. Jeffry Spahr said the official response is that her claim is denied and in his words, "poop happens."

Kelly DeBrocky, of Mahopac, N.Y., wants the city to reimburse her for $54 she spent replacing her toddler's ruined shoes and the expenses for parking and aquarium admission on April 5.

Honestly--
I've come to the conclusion that some people's lives are just one long hunt for an excuse to be irritated.

AND TANGO MAKES THREE

Just woke up to this revealing glimpse of the modern American psyche:

NEW YORK - A children's story about a family of penguins with two fathers once again tops the list of library books the public objects to the most.

"And Tango Makes Three," released in 2005 and co-written by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell, was the most "challenged" book in public schools and libraries for the second straight year, according to the American Library Association.

This is unbelievably ridiculous.
And consider that the ALA defines a "challenge" as a "formal, written complaint filed with a library or school requesting that materials be removed because of content or appropriateness."

So parents are going to great lengths, taking precious time out of their days just to oppose this book. All because they believe it is furthering the dreaded "homosexual agenda". Oh the horror! (P.S. Where can I get a hard copy of this "homosexual agenda"? I keep hearing about it, but can't seem to get my hands on a copy.)

It doesn't matter that this book is based on fact. Roy and Silo are two gay Central Park zoo penguins who have been inseparable for several years. In 2004 this duo adopted and raised little Tango for two and a half months. They kept her warm and fed her until she was strong enough to go out into the world on her own.

What's more family values-friendly than that?

ROMANCE AND REFRIED BEANS

Happy Cinco De Mayo everyone!

Today's celebration reminds me of an experience I had with my Viking mom at a Mexican restaurant in Atlanta. This was several years ago, so the place may or may not still exist. It was called Jalisco, and was (like most places in Atlanta) ensconced in a strip mall. Worse, it was one of those strip malls where the architects try to fool you into thinking it's actually an "olde" Southern town square. You know what I mean? They slap up some fake gaslamps and a "quaint" clock and hope that people pull in and say,
"Well, isn't this just adorable Tom! A sweet little town square right here off of I-85. What a charming piece of Southern history. And there's a Lens Crafters too!"

Anyway, we were there, enjoying some burritos, when a couple sat down next to us. It was a small restaurant, so when I say next to us, I mean right next to us.
Now, I'd like to add that the food at Jalisco was good, but it was not a particularly attractive or interesting place. There were no flickering candles or delicate flowers or anything remotely romantic about this place. Plus, the smell of fresh tar from the parking lot would waft in every time the door opened.
So, this couple starts looking longingly into each other's eyes. This leads to massaging each other's hands. Then thigh squeezing commences. Then tongues start slurping. Sweet nothings are whispered. Hair is tossed seductively.

Finally my mom decides she's had enough. She bellows in that harsh Finnish accent of hers,

"Enough already! This isn't Casablanca. This is a shitty Mexican restaurant. Just eat your refried beans and go home."

FLAT STANLEY

I recently heard about the Flat Stanley Phenomenon.

Apparently, "students make paper Flat Stanleys and begin a journal with him for a few days. Then Flat Stanley and the journal are sent to another school where students there treat Flat Stanley as a guest and complete the journal. Flat Stanley and the journal are then returned to the original sender. Students can plot his travels on maps and share the contents of the journal. Often, a Flat Stanley returns with a pin or postcard from his visit. "

It seems that kids are now sending Flat Stanley to relatives too. It has become quite an involved process, with people packing Flat Stanley in suitcases and taking photographs of him on vacation. Flat Stanley leads a jet set life.
Recently, a Peon Confidential reader received Flat Stanley from a nephew.
This reader is the same person I traveled to Las Vegas with.
Now, what I find interesting, is that while this person has yet to send me beautiful pictures of us from the trip, I woke up this morning to find photographic evidence of Flat Stanley in front of the Bellagio fountains.

Damn Flat Stanley.
Nothing but a no good publicity hound.

VERBOTEN AIRPLANE ATTIRE

While at work yesterday, I stumbled across this rather inane article:

WHAT NOT TO WEAR ON A PLANE

I can tell you I have repeatedly ignored at least three of those recommendations.
Flying is bad enough (what with the lack of food) and you're denying me my heels too?
No.
Now, I understand that if I have to go down that rubber slide the shoes come off-but I'll take that risk before arriving in London or Cairo looking like the dwarf that I am sans heels.

So, I came up with my own inane list:

TOP TEN THINGS PASSENGERS SHOULD NOT WEAR ON A PLANE

1. Spandex pants.
I should probably amend this category to include any item of clothing which: a.) does not disguise a boner and b.) encourages camel toe. The reasoning here is that both visible genital protrusions are quite obtrusive to fellow passengers.

2. A sombrero.

3. Leather pants.
These are probably uncomfortable on long flights and make weird farty noises on the leather seats, if you are flying 1st class. (This is not an issue for me, of course.)

4. A clown suit.
Cliched as this sounds, statistics prove that 99% of the polulace fears clowns. The other 1% are assholes, and not worthy of consideration.

5. One of those circa-1990 Madonna cone bras.

6. A toupe.
No reason here except that should the plane go down, your toupe makes your death just a tad undignified.

7. KISS boots.
Really, it's not so easy to go through security in thigh high studded platform boots.

8. Some stupid t-shirt with a stupid phrase on it such as "I HEART TO FART"
If I am sitting next to you on a flight to Bogota, I will be forced to read and reread that phrase for several hours. Have some respect for your fellow passengers.

9. Pantyhose.
Trans-Atlantic flight+pantyhose=rank cooch

10. Yesterday's underpants.

Did I miss anything?

LANA SHIELDS: GODMOTHER OF ALL COUGARS

So-
I was watching a little Three's Company yesterday, since it was a rainy Sunday and...what?
Oh please. I don't have to explain anything to you people.
Anyway, I was struck by a profound notion:
Lana Shields, the over-sexed, on-the-prowl divorcee who moved into the gang's Santa Monica building during the 1979 season was perhaps first cougar ever depicted on the small screen.
Actress Ann Wedgeworth played her as a sultry minx whose attempts to ensnare Jack in her web of ripe sexuality were routinely thwarted by the bumbling Ralph Furley.

I say Jack missed out.

Lana would probably know just how to please him as they rolled around on that multi-brown/beige/orange sofa. And while Jack's souffle burned in the kitchen, things would be gettin' even hotter in the living room as they knocked over each and every one of Janet's plants and that hideous wicker table.

IN MEMORIAM

One of our beloved Peon Confidential readers passed along this bleak missive today.
In compliance with our policy of anonymity, I have removed her name. Nonetheless, the grief can be shared by fellow Peons who have a shred of compassion in their hearts...

It's with great sadness that I deliver the news that my sweet Hymie is no longer with us. I wish that I could say he, maybe she, passed peacefully, but it appears that Hymie got stuck between a rock and a tank and couldn't get loose.

Hymie is survived by his sister/brother/maybe lover Toots and its guilt-ridden mother, who instead of wishing her babies a good morning, would simply say, "you need to die by end of April because Mommy needs the outlet to plug in her A/C, not your filter." If nothing else, Hymie was obedient.

Hymie was also an outgoing turtle, with an appetite for adventure and Repto-Min (turtle food), who grew to twice the size of Toots! Perhaps that's why a) he/she got stuck or b) perhaps Toots finally had enough and murdered her nemesis.

God speed Hymie "da Hym" (LAST NAME REMOVED).
You'll be missed, briefly.

Hymie
August 2007 - April 2008

PENIS THEFT PANIC HITS CITY

I'd really like to take credit for that title, but it is a direct headline from Reuters. I was drawn to it like the sweet, elastic-waistbanded fat lady in Human Resources is drawn to cute holiday decorations for her desk... and Girl Scout cookies.

Read on:

KINSHASA (Reuters) - Police in Congo have arrested 13 suspected sorcerers accused of using black magic to steal or shrink men's penises after a wave of panic and attempted lynchings triggered by the alleged witchcraft.
Reports of so-called penis snatching are not uncommon in West Africa, where belief in traditional religions and witchcraft remains widespread, and where ritual killings to obtain blood or body parts still occur.

Rumors of penis theft began circulating last week in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo's sprawling capital of some 8 million inhabitants. They quickly dominated radio call-in shows, with listeners advised to beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings.
Purported victims, 14 of whom were also detained by police, claimed that sorcerers simply touched them to make their genitals shrink or disappear, in what some residents said was an attempt to extort cash with the promise of a cure.

"You just have to be accused of that, and people come after you. We've had a number of attempted lynchings. ... You see them covered in marks after being beaten," Kinshasa's police chief, Jean-Dieudonne Oleko, told Reuters on Tuesday.

Police arrested the accused sorcerers and their victims in an effort to avoid the sort of bloodshed seen in Ghana a decade ago, when 12 suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death by angry mobs. The 27 men have since been released.

"I'm tempted to say it's one huge joke," Oleko said. "But when you try to tell the victims that their penises are still there, they tell you that it's become tiny or that they've become impotent. To that I tell them, 'How do you know if you haven't gone home and tried it'," he said.

Some Kinshasa residents accuse a separatist sect from nearby Bas-Congo province of being behind the witchcraft in revenge for a recent government crackdown on its members.

"It's real. Just yesterday here, there was a man who was a victim. We saw. What was left was tiny," said 29-year-old Alain Kalala, who sells phone credits near a Kinshasa police station.

This is the greatest piece of journalism ever.
A few thoughts:

1. What a perfect excuse if you have a small dick.
Picture it...
You take a fine lady home for some fornication. She looks disappointed when you get naked. All you do is act wistful and whisper, "I used to have a big, throbbing member (pause for dramatic effect) until that ruthless penis snatcher accosted me one night."
Jackpot!
Bingo!
She feels sorry for your mini-weenie status and you get the best mercy fuck of your life.

2. "12 suspected penis snatchers were beaten to death by angry mobs."
(Should we assume that these angry mobs consisted entirely of penis-less marauders?)

3. Can you imagine the Neighborhood Watch program for this crime?

4. "[Rumors of penis snatching] quickly dominated radio call-in shows, with listeners advised to beware of fellow passengers in communal taxis wearing gold rings."
(I might even consider learning to drive if my work commute involved talk radio like this.)

5. I'm pleased that the reporter also chose to tell us that Alain Kalala sells phone credits near the police station.

MASTURBATION IS GOOD FOR YOU!

Men, don't listen to your priests...at least about masturbation anyway. Turns out it's good for you!
The BBC recently reported that, "Frequent masturbation may help men cut their risk of contracting prostate cancer, according to Australian researchers."

So don't worry about hairy palms or eternal damnation--start slapping that sausage around.
As for you women, you might as well get in on the action too. No health benefits to diddling with yourself that I can see, but name me one other activity that:

A. Has no cover charge
B. Is pleasurable
C. Can be done while watching TV Land reruns of The Love Boat. (Although I actually wouldn't recommend that. I've tried it and can't seem to sustain interest in myself. Who can concentrate on cooch when there's a galaxy of 1980' s superstars like Patrick Duffy, Donna Mills and Loni Anderson?)

SEXUAL EUPHEMISMS: THE DEFINITIVE LIST

Last night I was out with a former CNNer. We were at my favorite Italian restaurant in the neighborhood. I expect you're thinking, "Ah, VjDutton's local Italian restaurant in New York. This establishment must have delightful truffle-infused duck sausage ravioli, understated yet sumptuous decor, opera music at just the right volume and charming waiters direct from Rome."
Well, no.
This red sauce joint is better than that. There are dusty fake plants and colored Christmas lights lining the place, iceberg lettuce salads with gloopy dressing, neon green garlic bread, seven different types of lasagne and...they play the radio over the sound system. As a bonus-- the waiter sings along in his falsetto voice. Debbie Gibson never sounded so good.

The point is, this is how we wound up listening to some Grocery Store Rock staples, one of which has the glorious line:
"I know forever we'll be doin' it, doin' it, doin' it."

So then we decided to name all the euphemisms for sex that we could. Here's what we came up with:

1. The Horizontal Mambo
2. Gettin' Busy
3. Knockin' Boots
4. Hot Beef Injection
5. Makin' the Two-Backed Beast
6. Tipping the Velvet (just learned this one recently)
7. Bumping Uglies
8. Doin' it

Well, then the food came and I tore into my pasta, splattering red sauce all over myself and literally setting my napkin on fire.
So now I need your help. You know what a cunning linguist I am. Let's make the definitive list.

ALTERNATE USES FOR SARAN WRAP

So-
The previous post about the hotness of the Land O' Lakes lady inspired much conversation amongst assorted cohorts. I won't bore you with connecting the dots, but this particular subject somehow brought us to the topic of spooging on a woman's face.
A pal of mine admitted that he once asked his girlfriend if he could express his love for her in this exuberant fashion. She refused. He begged. She refused. He begged. Finally she capitulated. However, there was a caveat: he could cum on her face, provided he put a sheet of Saran Wrap over her pretty mug.
He agreed. And yes, he enjoyed himself.
And there was no muss, no fuss.
Easy clean up for everyone involved.
Now-
My question is this:
Does the Saran Wrap company know that their product is being used for other things besides wrapping up leftover tuna casserole?
I mean, I recently found out that resourceful guys in the 1950's used Saran Wrap for make-shift condoms.
Then I found out that some people who are into watersports and "scat" also use this reliable household product.
And it got me to thinkin':
Is there a way the Saran Wrap company could capitalize on this? Advertising on porno sites and such? Hiring Ron Jeremy as their spokesperson?
I mean, people don't cook at home as much anymore, let alone wrap up leftovers.
The Saran Wrap company big shots might want to consider their options...

LEADERSHIP SHOES

So-
I'm not a huge fan of polls. I once had to help conduct a poll for Political Science class. I was so uncomfortable with bothering strangers at home that after my third cold call I just started making up names like "Eunice Smiley" and gave them all intriguing answers such as,
"I hate all them thievin' politicians. I think we should cut their balls off and feed 'em to the wolves."

I can only hope that whomever was helping to conduct the following poll did something similar. Because if these results are true, I'm screwed:

NEW YORK (Reuters) - Got a passion for buying sneakers? It could be a good sign, with a poll finding that people who buy three pairs of sneakers or more a year are far more likely to be a leadership type than other people.
Mindset Media, a media company that examines personality traits of different consumers, found that people who buy more than three pairs of sneakers a year are 61 percent more likely to have the qualities of a modern leader. These qualities were defined as having ideas and vision, and a style with others that is both inclusive and decisive.

What does it mean if you've bought one pair of sneakers in the last three years? And I didn't even buy them. My boyfriend was horrified by the previous pair I'd purchased from K-Mart in about 1998. So he inflicted new sneakers on me.

And what does it mean that I am 100 percent more likely to buy three pairs of shoes per year like those in the above picture?

I'm doomed...
Doomed to work the window at Wendy's while wearing ridiculous shoes.

BLIND ITEM #11

A Peon Confidential reader sent in this juicy nugget from Blind Item Rehash:

"WHAT top cable news executive is repeatedly cheating on his wife with younger women? He even recently made a play for one of his on-air babes."

This item originally came from The New York Post. As any devoted reader knows, The New York Post (owned by News Corp, parent company to Fox News Channel) seems to delight in stirring up shit about CNN. Which is why I'm guessing CNN for the cable news element of the item...but who is the executive? And who is the on-air babe?

HELP ME PEONS!

So-
The theme for the next Mama D's Arts Bordello is "Guilty Pleasures". We'll have four writers both penning and performing a segment of a smutty, delicious, sex-filled, cat fight ridden, glamorous Jackie Collins-style story. We will also have burlesque dancers, go-go dancers and a trivia contest, where you will be able to win various guilty pleasures to take home.
Now-
I am compiling the soundtrack to this delightful event, to play before and after the show. Naturally, the music has to be all guilty pleasures.
This is where you come in...
What are your favorite musical guilty pleasures?
And before anyone adds this one:
JUMP IN MY CAR
Believe me, I've already got it on the list.

SUNNY SIDE OF LIFE

Just read this today, after leaving the bathroom:

WELLINGTON, New Zealand - A New Zealand man got the fright of his life when a runaway SUV crashed into his house and knocked him off the toilet, a newspaper reported Friday.

See, already my day has improved. I had no idea that I should be grateful for the luxury of having an uninterrupted morning poo.Forget about walking a mile in another man's shoes. Sometimes you have to shit on another man's toilet to really see how good you've got it in this life.

THE PANDA'S REFRAIN: NOT TONIGHT DEAR, I HAVE A HEADACHE

Today I learned that pandas are not exactly promiscuous. Apparently, bumping uglies holds little appeal to them. Not content to leave the pandas alone in their asexual, bamboo-munching state, workers at the Beijing zoo are resorting to drastic measures to hornify them:

BEIJING (AFP) - China's notoriously sex-shy pandas are being put through a rigorous "sexercise" programme in a new effort to encourage them to mate, state media reported on Tuesday.
The Chengdu Panda Breeding and Research Centre in the southwestern province of Sichuan is making male pandas walk on their two legs to strengthen their pelvic and hip muscles, to better prepare them for sex, the China Daily said.
The move, which is achieved by luring male pandas up with an apple, looks remarkably like a dance routine and is aimed to boost the animal's sexual stamina, the report said.
Giant pandas are known to be sexually inactive, but the new measure follows several other initiatives taken to try and encourage breeding, including panda pornography.

PANDA PORNOGRAPHY!

Top 5 List of Panda Porno Names:

1. Tian Tian Jones and The Temple of Poon

2. How Mei Xiang Got Her Tube Packed

3. Su Lin Does Beijing

4. Bearly Legal

5. Black and White Cock Down

BONUS: Two Pandas, One Box

AWAITING NY GOV. PATERSON'S LESSER REVELATIONS

New York's new governor, David Paterson, really seems to have a penchant for volunteering information about himself. I guess he doesn't want to literally be caught with his pants down like disgraced former governor Spitzer. It's admirable I suppose, the way he keeps raising his hand saying, "But wait! There's more!"
Still, all this airing of dirty laundry is starting to make me laugh:

NEW YORK - New York's new governor, who disclosed last week that he and his wife both committed adultery several years ago, said Monday that he used cocaine in his 20s and smoked marijuana when he was younger.
In reference to cocaine, Gov. David Paterson, 53, said in a television interview that he "tried it a couple of times" when he was "about 22 or 23...And marijuana probably when I was about 20," he said on the NY1 cable news station.

So-
Now that the sex and drug secrets have been disclosed, I am awaiting the lesser revelations. How soon before he calls a press conference to admit the following:

1. Sometimes, on any given Wednesday, I pick my toes in bed while my wife is asleep.

2. I'm not overly fond of chickpeas. And I only pretend to like cornish game hens.

3. Flossing isn't always top priority.

4. Call me crazy, but I still think Drakkar Noir is a nice clean scent.

5. There are several Hootie and the Blowfish songs on my i-pod.

MESSAGE FROM 1986

I woke up today, my apartment still smelling of Easter ham, and read this headline:
"1986 Message in Bottle Drifts 1,735 Miles".

Intrigued, I read further:

SEATTLE - Merle Brandell and his black lab Slapsey were beachcombing along the Bering Sea when he spied a plastic bottle among the Japanese glass floats he often finds along the shore of his tiny Alaskan fishing village.
He walked over and saw an envelope tucked inside. After slicing the bottle open, Brandell found a message from an elementary school student in a suburb of Seattle. The fact that the letter traveled 1,735 miles without any help from the U.S. postal service is unusual, but that's only the beginning of the mystery.

About 21 years passed between the time Emily Hwaung put the message in a soda bottle and Merle Brandell picked it up on the beach.

"This letter is part of our science project to study oceans and learn about people in distant lands," she wrote. "Please send the date and location of the bottle with your address. I will send you my picture and tell you when and where the bottle was placed in the ocean. Your friend, Emily Hwaung."

Now, apparently, Emily did not write the message. All the kids used the same type-written message and simply signed their names to the letters.

THIS IS A CRYING SHAME.

I'd much prefer to read the contents of personal 1986 messages from 4th graders, to give some real flavor from that year.
Some of them might read like this:

1. Corey Feldman rules!

2. My friend Trish has a Care Bears Trapper Keeper. She is such a dweeb.

3. Mom got me a Walkman and the new Cyndi Lauper tape for my birthday. She's way cooler than Madonna. You can totally tell she's the one who people will still like even when we're in high school and stuff.

4. Our teacher said that in the future, they will put like, a whole library of stuff on like, one computer chip. There's no way, right?

5. There's this boy Ryan who totally likes me. And me and Jill played MASH, and it said that me and Ryan are gonna get married and live in a mansion and drive a Ferrari. It could happen.

A NEW ANUS FOR EVERYBODY!

A Peon Confidential reader just sent me a link to this headline:

"Woman Goes for Leg Operation, Gets New Anus Instead"

And no, this story wasn't from The Onion. It was from The Daily Telegraph. This actually happened at a hospital in Germany. The reason given was a "paperwork mix up" between two patients.

Now-
A few questions:

1. Admittedly, I'm not sure what a healthy anus looks like. Maybe broken down anuses and tight anuses look very much the same. But if this is not the case-why didn't the doctor see that the patient's old anus was in functioning order and not in need of repair? Did he go to on-line medical school or something?

2. How about the term "new anus"? I realize this implies some type of anal tune up. But imagine if this sorry woman got a donor anus! Can you picture a stockpile of replacement anuses?

3. How much would you love to be the medical professional who had to deliver this news to the patient:
"Uh. Yeah. Your leg is still fucked up. But check out your new anus! Why don't you give it a test drive? Pretty sweet huh?"

4. Where is the sad, incontinent patient who is still awaiting her new anus? Does she feel cheated? Did she get the leg operation?

5. What are the odds that Hallmark is designing a line of cards specifically for this situation:

Just a little note to say,
I heard about your anus today,
You were scheduled for a leg operation,
Instead your sphincter is a new sensation
We hope you enjoy your multi-million dollar compensation

AMERICAN IDOL REVAMP

So-
I'm not an American Idol fan. The last episode I watched featured Kelly Clarkson, so clearly the magic faded a long time ago.
However:
I could be persuaded to tune in again if instead of the same boring old "Motown Night" or "Disco Night" or "Broadway Tunes Night" American Idol offered up some of these intriguing themes...

1. Yoko Ono Night: Imagine an entire hour where each contestant caterwauled like Yoko.

2. Songs Mixed By Music Producers That Madonna Blew Before Getting Her Big Break Night: Not sure which songs we'd hear, but it could be fun.

3. Hidden Masturbation Reference Night: This would include Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself" Cyndi Lauper's "She Bop" and The Vapors' "I Think I'm Turning Japanese".

which leads me to...

4. Tipper Gore's PMRC Censorship Night: The kids would belt out hits such as Prince's "Darling Nikki" and The Scorpions "Rock You Like A Hurricane".

which ultimately brings me to...

5. Songs About Hookers Night-A Tribute to Fallen Politicians: We'd be entertained by the likes of The Police's "Roxanne" and Patti LaBelle's "Lady Marmalade".

Any others?

TORNADO TOWN

PHOTO: AFP/GETTY IMAGES/Gavin Averill

Taking a bit of a break from the humorous posts today to express my concern for anyone who was in downtown Atlanta during that horrendous tornado. The photos are shocking, as are the reports of furniture and luggage flying out of busted windows from the Omni Hotel.
I hope any Atlanta CNNers who were working that night are doing well. If anyone has any first hand accounts of what it was like to be in the newsroom, please let us know...

COCKSURE CRIME STOPPPING

I woke up this morning to a touching AP story starring a fellow New Yorker:

YORKTOWN, N.Y.
Careful with that coffee! Police say a man placing an order in a suburban New York doughnut shop's drive-through lane didn't have any pants on.
They say a Dunkin' Donuts worker saw John Greco's exposed genitals in the Feb. 27 stunt and then noted the make of his car and his license plate number.
Police say the 46-year-old Croton-on-Hudson resident was arrested last week and has been charged with misdemeanor public lewdness. He's due in court March 27.
Police released a statement Thursday saying it was "unknown how Mr. Greco took his coffee that day."


A few comments...

1. Did Mr. Greco choose Dunkin' Donuts in particular? Does he, like Rachael Ray, savor the taste of their fresh ground coffee? Or did this Dunkin' Donuts simply have the misfortune of being on his pants-free route that day?

2. Honestly, if I had been working the window at Dunkin' Donuts and saw Mr. Greco's equipment, I'd be more likely to call a former CNN Peon to giggle about it than I would the police.
I know...
It appears those "McGruff the Crime Dog" ads I saw as a kid had no impact on me whatsoever. I just don't think I could "take a bite out of crime" in this instance.

3. I'm not sure which policeman came up with that savvy statement, but whoever you are, you're my hero.

5 MISSED CELEB MARKETING OPPORTUNITIES OF YESTERYEAR

It seems to me that today's celebrities are always branching out, seizing marketing opportunities wherever they can. This has resulted in Donald Trump's Signature Collection, Rihanna's umbrellas, Rachael Ray's garbage bowls and countless crappy celebrity perfumes cluttering up the shelves at Walgreens. (My current favorites are Antonio Banderas' "Diavolo So Sexy" and Shania Twain's "Starlight".)
Pity the stars of yesteryear who did not have the foresight to embrace this trend.
Imagine how much money could have been made off of:

1. Bill Cosby brand sweaters (see above)

2. Burt Reynolds brand mustache groomers

3. Suzanne Somers brand nude pantyhose, to be worn under Suzanne Somers brand shorty shorts

4. Duran Duran brand mousse and gel collection

5. Seinfeld brand suburban dork jeans

The possibilities are infinite...

BAN THAT SONG!

I just read that Shaun Clancy, the owner of an Irish pub in New York called Foley's, has decided to ban the song "Danny Boy" for the entire month of March. The thinking is that it's a sad song, and not particularly St. Pat's friendly.
Good PR ploy of course, and a nice respite for his regulars.
But it got me to thinking:
What other songs, which have been overplayed in certain situations, should be banned for good in said situations?

Here's what I came up with:

1. No one should ever have to hear The Beach Boys' wince inducing song "Kokomo" or any Jimmy Buffet ditty sung by an acoustic guitar player clad in a Hawaiian shirt at an all-inclusive tropical resort. Part of the all-inclusive experience should include the right to snatch the acoustic guitar and shove it up the singer's ass (wide end first) upon hearing these songs.

2. No wedding DJ should ever subject a wedding party to Abba's "Dancing Queen" or Kool and the Gang's "Celebration" or the BeeGees' "Stayin' Alive". How I fucking hate it when the opening chords of "Stayin' Alive" come over the sound system and the roar of joyous recognition erupts as people start doing the whole finger-pointing up-and-down business with hand on hips. Then they laugh at how hilarious and "ironic" they are. Oh ho ho! Hee! Disco is so funny!

3. Midtown bars need to ban any and all songs which inspire stupid drunk chicks to sing to each other. This irritation is compounded when they sing into their bottles of beer, pretending the bottle is a microphone. I realize this ban might result in a music-free bar. But I don't care. These "Good Time Kaitlyns" and their micro-bottles are an abomination.

4. Any song by U2 at a political rally. Is it just me or does it seem like every politician chooses U2 to appear socially conscious but hip? Actually, I think it's just me. But fuck it. I don't like it.

5. That irritating Gypsy Kings album that I swear has been on rotation at nearly every Mediterranean restaurant in every city since it was first released. Who decided this was great background music in which to enjoy hummus? Did all the Mediterranean restaurant owners get together at some type of tribunal? Even the tiny Mediterranean restaurant on Whidbey Island that I worked after school played it. I cannot understand this. When will it end? A person has the right to enjoy baklava without hearing that shit.

If anyone else wants to step in and offer up a banned music recommendation, feel free...

YET ANOTHER COUNTERFEIT MEMOIR

It's happened again. Some mendacious writer decided to do some slumming by proxy, and claim the experience as her own. Worse, she justified her lies by stating, "I thought it was my opportunity to put a voice to people who people don't listen to."
Read on.
And naturally, I've got commentary...

ASSOCIATED PRESS-
A memoir by a white woman who claimed she was raised in poverty by a black foster mother and sold drugs for a gang in a tough Los Angeles neighborhood has turned out to be pure fiction, a newspaper report says.
In "Love and Consequences," published last week by Penguin Group USA imprint Riverhead Books, author Margaret B. Jones writes about growing up as a half-white, half-Native American girl in South-Central Los Angeles in the foster home of Big Mom. One of her foster brothers, she writes, was gunned down by Crips gang members outside their home. Jones also writes of carrying illegal guns and selling drugs for the Bloods gang.
The publisher has recalled all copies of the book and has canceled Jones's book tour, which was to begin on Monday.
Margaret B. Jones is a pseudonym for Margaret Seltzer, who is white and grew up in a well-off area of San Fernando Valley in California with her biological family, the Times says. She attended a private Episcopal day school and never lived with a foster family or sold drugs for a gang.
Jones admitted to the Times that her memoir was fully fabricated. Many of the experiences recounted in the book, she told the newspaper, were based on the experiences of friends she had met while doing anti-gang outreach in Los Angeles.
The "Love and Consequences" scandal follows last week's discovery that the Holocaust memoir "Misha: A Memoire of the Holocaust Years," by Misha Defonseca, was a fake. Two years ago, James Frey, the author of an Oprah Book Club selected memoir, "A Million Little Pieces," admitted he had made up or exaggerated details about his drug addiction and recovery.

As a person who would love to have been published by Riverhead books and be off on a whirlwind book tour, my thoughts on this new literary embarrassment are:

-When the hell is the publishing industry going to wake up and realize that "real life" rarely has a juicy narrative arc?
-When the hell are today's readers going to dispense with the notion that non-fiction books best reflect human experience?

If you look at some of the books have taught us the most about ourselves, that have accurately described the times in which we live, they are novels. "The Great Gatsby" beautifully depicts the social whirl of the 1920s, and the emptiness that ensued. "The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit" perfectly describes the boredom and displacement felt by the men who were returning from World War II. All these years later, "Catcher in the Rye" still evokes teenage angst in a way that transcends generations. And some of Stephen King's works practically define America's late 20th century fears-technology run amok, the disintegration of the family, the perils of fame.

These stories did not have to be true to convey authenticity. Of course elements were drawn from real life experience; that's intrinsic to any writer's work. But these books were obviously never sold as real life accounts. They were just superbly written, and readers could identify with the characters, because the stories felt real. If there is honesty in a novel, the truths revealed can be far more powerful than a stack of memoirs. But unlike the real world which they seek to reflect, novels can cut out the dull details, and whisk us away from our shitty subway ride or cubicle lunch break.

Oscar Wilde once said, "What art really reveals to us is nature's lack of design, her curious crudities, her extraordinary monotony, her absolutley unfinished condition."

It's no wonder memoirs turn out to be riddled with lies. The daily grind just isn't up to artistic standards.
Life, it turns out, isn't ready-made for best sellers.

TACOS, DILBERT AND PEACE

Those of you with gmail accounts are well aware of how gmail places ads based on the content of your e-mails. It creeps me out a bit. And as my e-mails include words like pubic hair, crotch rocket and lime jello, I get some rather odd items pitched in my direction.
The most recent one was this: TACO STANDUPS.

Note the description: "Preparation is twice as fast because now you have both hands free. No more balancing act -- no more taco fallout. You'll serve your family and friends your delicious tacos in a visually pleasing, appetizing new way. Everyone absolutely loves new Taco StandUps and I promise that you will too...No kitchen is complete without them."

No more taco fallout! This is the breakthrough I've been searching for.
But it gets better. Intrigued, I checked out the testimonials, where I found Shelly from Kansas, who offered up this glowing review:
"This is a great product. I use them and don’t know how I ever got along without them."

You see that? Now that she has experienced the sheer culinary joy, the incredible life-affirming usefulness of Taco StandUps, Shelly from Kansas cannot fathom a world without them. Pity the poor people in developing nations who have never heard of Taco StandUps. Shed a tear for the downtrodden folk like me, who have been struggling through each day without the aid of Taco StandUps.

But consider this:
Within this website is the key to winning the war on terrorism. When your citizens more interested in Taco StandUps than political and religious zealotry, you have a peaceful nation. When your nation's people are bored and fat, peace is the natural result. When all the nations that are breeding grounds for terrorism find the majority of their citizens are gainfully employed, sitting in cubicles, counting the minutes, putting Dilbert cartoons up on their laminate walls, posting testimonials for shitty products that they don't need and getting paid for wasting company time--that dear readers, is the pathway to peace.

VJ MISERY POTPOURRI

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

VJDUTTON=BUNGHOLE BLEACH

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

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

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

MALL MECCA

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

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

2. The Fart Factory seated in front of me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DARYN KAGAN T-SHIRT MYSTERY

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

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

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

MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO PRESENTS: LOST NEW YORK

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

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

See you there...

LYNNE RUSSELL RESURFACES

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

Lynne Russell, Canadian Realtor

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

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

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

FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES

Just read this from Reuters:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FAT TUESDAY

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

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

2. Rayon half shirt.

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

4. Trollish half boots.

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

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

Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez!

SHEDDING SOME LIGHT ON THE ISSUE

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

WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO-GO

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

REGRETS, I'VE HAD A FEW...

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

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

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

Oh.
Nevermind.

GROCERY STORE ROCK ANTHEMS

Always on the lookout for the next best thing (yet somehow never making a profit) I've come up with yet another stellar marketing idea: Grocery Store Rock Anthems.

During my years of food shopping experience, I've noticed that there are certain grocery store music staples that never go away. These songs are mellow, non-threatening and presumably help the shopper feel calm yet just a tad... jazzy as they select pork chops and laundry detergent. I'm not sure what types of tests were conducted, but it is astonishing how the same songs are routinely played over and over. These staples include such hits as "Sweet Love" by Anita Baker, "Get Out Of My Dreams" (Get into my Car) by Billy Ocean and anything by Phil Collins.

Admittedly, these songs are also inevitably played at generic midtown diners and low-rent department stores.

Now, while I genuinely dislike the bulk of these songs, there are a few exceptions that I can tolerate. Some I even get excited about. I will be in mid-squeeze of a cantaloupe, mid-inspection of a rump roast and start to grin when I hear them.
Unafraid of the chiding that could ensue, here's a sampling of the songs that get my toes tapping on the grocery store linoleum:

1. "Maggie May" by Rod Stewart
2. "Tempted" by Squeeze
3. "Brass In Pocket" by the Pretenders
4. "Vision of Love" by Mariah Carey
5. Almost anything by Hall and Oates

Grocery Store Rock Anthems of the future:
Anything by Keane, who really are the heir apparent to Christopher Cross.

If you feel like helping me compile the Greatest Hits of Grocery Store Rock, why, feel free. With any luck, this could turn into a Late Night Infomercial!

BLIND ITEM #10

Which southern fried CNN personality had a problem with her "Aunt Flow" and her cash flow? Turns out she wound up asking a tour guide to buy her a tampon while she was stuck in a CNN Center bathroom stall. The tour guide obliged...but was never compensated.
Sure it was only a couple bucks. And I know Elizabeth wasn't there to help you. But friend, couldn't you have been a little sweeter to a minimum wage employee?

SAY IT LOUD!

Just turn on your TV or open a paper and it's obvious that we are immersed in a heady swarm of political posturing. So now I urge all you residents of Virginia--let your voices be heard!
Prepare to be politically outraged:

"RICHMOND, Va. - If you're served a pitcher of authentic sangria in a Virginia restaurant, someone's breaking the law. Since 1934, the state has prohibited mixing wine or beer with spirits. Frances McDonald, vice president of La Tasca Spanish Tapas Bar and Restaurants, found that out the hard way when his Alexandria location was cited for violating the sangria ban in 2006 and fined $2,000. McDonald and managing partner Shana McKillop appealed their case to the Alcoholic Beverage Control Board on Thursday before going to the Capitol to urge legislators to pass a bill legalizing the red wine, liqueur and fruit concoction.
McDonald said his business received no warning about the ban. He said he was unaware of the prohibition and had he known about it would not have located any of his five restaurants in Virginia. "It's like not being able to serve tequila in a Mexican restaurant," he said.
The Alcoholic Beverage Control Department agent who cited La Tasca even ordered restaurant employees to pour its sangria — about 40 liters — down the drain, said Shana McKillop, managing partner at the Alexandria restaurant.
A ruling on the La Tasca's appeal should take two to four weeks, said Kristy Marshall, a spokeswoman for the ABC Department. In the meantime, the restaurant has taken to modifying its sangria recipe. The brandy has been eliminated and the triple sec replaced with a nonalcoholic orange liqueur..."

This is an abomination! This so called "law" behooves no one. I demand justice for the sangria drinkers of Virginia. Someone has to stand up for them. Damn it, we should not stand idly by and watch them be discriminated against like this.
PROTEST MARCH!

THE MAD POOPER OF MADISON

Here I am, calmly enjoying last night's pasta ala vodka for breakfast, listening to salsa music, when suddenly I come across this article from The Associated Press:

"MADISON, Wis. - Repeated discoveries of human feces in clothing and other items left in an apartment building's basement laundry room led to charges Thursday against a 19-year-old man. Authorities said Ronnie A. Ballard was arrested after a woman whose laundry had been soiled chased him back to his apartment in an adjoining building.

Residents also reported finding feces in shoes and boots in an apartment hallway and in washing machines where it soiled a comforter, baby clothes and other items that had to be thrown out.

Ballard was charged with three counts of disorderly conduct, three counts of criminal damage to property and one count of bail jumping. Court records showed he also is facing charges of lewd and lascivious behavior in Waukesha and Lincoln counties."


First off-
Kudos to the woman who chased this guy back to his apartment! Lady, you are a superior crime stopper. That's commitment! I guess poopy laundry will put a spring in your step.

But secondly-
How does this happen? At what point does a person decide to wake up, get a cup of bowel churning McDonald's coffee and poop in his neighbor's shoes?

ONE WORD YOU DON'T WANT TO HEAR FROM DAD

So-
Yesterday I called my parents' house. My Dad and I don't usually talk much. He usually makes a comment about the weather and then hands the phone off to my mom. I love him, but since I'm not a doctor or a hockey enthusiast like he is, our conversational material is limited.
But yesterday, our conversation went like this:

"Hello?"
"Hi Dad."
"Hi Kid. I'll tell ya, I've been rethinking my theory on the Human Papilloma Virus. I think it stems from the smegma of uncircumcised men. Women have unprotected sex with uncircumcised men, and are exposed to it. Smegma is the link. Huh. Well, here's your mom. (Shouts in the distance) Honey! The Kid's on the phone!"

In all honesty, I did not even know that "smegma" was a medical term. I certainly did not wish to hear that word so early in the morning...from my Dad.
I think this is why I have a hard time buying him a Father's Day card. They all have sweet pictures of a jolly Dad on a fishing boat, or playing golf or pushing his daughter on the swing set.
I've looked, but none of them have a balding man in a velour track suit, swearing at the hockey game on TV, eating canned soup and talking to his kid about smegma theories.

LINGUISTIC RECYCLING

Due to sheer linguistic laziness, there are several expressions that have been overused to the point of parody. Now the only way these expressions can be uttered is in jest. But the problem is that even in jest they are stale. These are often the "go to" office witticisms. When someone uses them, I want to leap up, grab the nearest stapler and staple their ass shut.
Why the ass and not the mouth? Because this would serve two purposes:

A. They'd stop trying to be funny, as they'd be in pain
B. Seeing a stapled ass (possibly encased in Dockers) would actually make me laugh, unlike their recycled humor

Some of these offending expressions include:

1. "I don't even KNOW you anymore."

2. "How's that workin' for ya?" (Okay-this one is purely Dr. Phil's fault.)

3. "I LOVE you, man."

4. "I just need some ME time, you know?"

5. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." (People who still think this is funny should be shot, then have their asses stapled shut.)

6. "You're DEAD to me!"

7. "You ROCK!"

Any others? I know I'm missing quite a few irritants...

BLIND ITEM #9

Which CNN talking head, known more for a winning smile than knowledge of facts and figures, went to the bathroom during the show and forgot to take off their microphone pack.
Consequently, it fell into the toilet.

PRECIOUS MOMENTS POSSIBILITIES

So-
I took a break from reading serious blogs about serious political issues and discovered something quite appalling:
Somewhere deep in Carthage, Missouri, there is a Precious Moments Theme Park. I have always been repulsed by those creepy, big-eyed porcelain figurines that are coveted by sweat suited hausfraus across the nation. They all have titles like "Mom, You Are a Bouquet of Understanding" or "A Sprinkle on a Sunny Day is So Refreshing" or "Grandma's Love is One Size Fits All".
And this shit is EXPENSIVE! I had no idea. As for the little fella in the pic above-with that jaunty pose he should be called "Patriotically Skipping to Elton John's House".
The point is, I am amazed that there is theme park for these disturbing creatures. And by the looks of it, many fat, dull, white folks enjoy making the pilgrimage to Carthage, Missouri to experience the Precious splendor of it all. Do yourself a favor and click on the link. They have a replica of the Sistine Chapel-but with those scary Precious Moments kids on the ceiling instead of Michelangelo's gorgeous paintings.
I found all of this so fascinating that I...I...I...signed up to get my weekly Precious Moments Inspirational Quote!
However, so far, I have received nothing. Am I not worthy? Just because I don't have an oak curio cabinet from Rooms To Go filled with Precious Moments figurines is no reason to deny me my inspirational quote. In fact, just to show how committed I am to the cause, I came up with five new Precious Moments figurine ideas:

1. Mom, Just Because You're Really, Really Fat Doesn't Mean I Don't Love You

2. Morning Poops Make Me Smile

3. A Sister Is A Precious Friend, Even If You've Fucked Her Husband

4. Boners are Precious

5. Count Your Blessings, Because I'm About To Sue Your Ass

NAME THAT PEON WINNER

Just when I thought all hope was lost, we finally have a winner for the Name That Peon Contest!
Yes, a Peon Confidential reader known as "Lou Waters' Turquoise Ring" successfully figured out who the lucky, lucky fellow was posing with Charo.
Congratulations!
Your Mama D's Arts Bordello t-shirt is on its way...

UNEMPLOYED YOUTH ACTIVITIES

Just read this from the Associated Press:

"NEW DELHI - A northern Indian state said Thursday it planned to use unemployed youths to sterilize monkeys to try to combat aggressive primates who have been raiding farms."

This is mildly upsetting. In fact, I feel very grateful that we live in a country where as an unemployed youth I was able to spend my time doing things such as:

1. Raiding the attic for my mom's disco jumpsuits. Then putting on these disco jumpsuits and pretending to be on Broadway, as I belted out "There's No Business Like Show Business" in the bathroom. The acoustics and mirror in there were excellent.

2. Playing endless games of Life, Connect Four, Stratego, and Clue with pals. Of course, I would always demand to be Miss Scarlett, because she was so glamorous. Occasionally, I had to fight for this honor. Once I got stuck being Colonel Mustard. This was unacceptable. A fat fuck with a bad mustache was no match for Miss Scarlett's long cigarette holder.

3. Putting bunched up pillow cases down the back of my pants, thereby creating a massive, bouncing ass and dancing to George Michael's classic "I Want Your Sex".

4. Prank calling teachers, back when there was no Caller ID.

5. Mooning unsuspecting tourists who were returning from magical, quaint Whidbey Island while we were waiting for the Mukilteo ferry.

The point is, as unemployed youths, no one had to sterilize any monkeys.
Three cheers for the Red White and Blue!

BOWEL MOVEMENTS: TAKE ME HOME

Tragedy has struck:
There is no winner for the Name That Peon contest.
This is most upsetting, so I will not dwell upon it. I wanted to give out a t-shirt, thereby garnering publicity for Mama D's and offering a gym t-shirt for someone else.
Alas, it was not meant to be.

Anyway,
I was talking to a former CNNer the other night, and I came to a truly fascinating conclusion:
My bowels prefer their home base toilet.
It's true.
It's as though they have Toilet GPS. They know! Only my own toilet will do.
When I am on vacation--I will be stopped up for days.
When I am at work--never happens.
At a friend's house--no way.
The only other place my bowels will accept is the Lord and Taylor bathroom on 5th Avenue.
How fortunate this is for Lord and Taylor! It's like they won the lottery.
But does any one else have this problem?

Yeah.
Wow.
I wonder if Al Gore is pleased to know that his invention has spawned discussion about Toilet GPS...

Happy New Year, by the way.