RICHARD SIMMONS JACKPOT

Just read this story from the AP:

HONOLULU – The best bargain at the Salvation Army thrift store in Kailua-Kona was a Richard Simmons videotape. But Mikela Mercier, 11, decided to pass up the chance to buy the tape for a few coins after she found a surprise inside: $1,000 in $100 bills.

Okay, so kudos to the little girl for her honesty. Very cool.
When I was 11, I would have stuffed that $1,000 in my too-tight velour sweatpants pocket and bought up every single "My Little Pony" at KB Toys. Then I would have made a beeline to the food court and pillaged the Mrs. Fields Cookies stand.

But what I want to know is...why was she looking at a Richard Simmons videotape? She's 11. Did she view it as some sort of archeological find?

And finally...any guesses on which lucky Peons are flanking the joyous Richard Simmons in the above photo?

SARAH PALIN CAN KISS MY FAT MEDIA ELITE ASS

I don't normally get political on this blog, mostly because it was created in the spirit of fun and CNN nostalgia. I started it as a way for us "peon" CNNers (past or present) to connect and goof off together. But just bear with me today. Because we're 7 days away from the most important election in years, and I'm pissed off.
And I know this post isn't going to matter, because only 4 of you read this blog. So consider this a personal catharsis.

Bottom line:
Sarah Palin is an asshole.

But I'm so fucking sick of idiotic shit like this:

WHY SOME WOMEN HATE SARAH PALIN

This is not why she provokes such a visceral reaction. This is not why she inspires an intense desire to hock a loogie on her smug face, and watch it slide down her cheek, smearing her orange makeup. I am so annoyed with the notion that women hate this ruthless, ignorant, phony, manipulative moose killer because we love a Dynasty style cat fight (with or without the swimming pool) or we can't stand to see another woman succeed...especially if she's pretty. Or because she's a "mean girl" who gets all the male attention.
That's not the point.
Neither is this:

WHY THEY HATE HER

No, that's not why "they" hate her. As in me. As in most of my colleagues. As in my relatives. As in my friends. As in smart, savvy bitches across the country. Her private decisions should have no bearing on her political career. These decisions don't affect me, or the economy or geopolitical events. Those are family issues. What she does in that realm is a personal choice, and I firmly believe in the right of choice for all women. Even if Sarah Palin would never give me the same respect in return.

So why is Sarah Palin an asshole?
Glad you asked...

Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate Sarah Palin And Cannot Wait For Her To Face The Harsh Morning Light Of November 5th:

1. She is totally, unequivocally, unqualified. This isn't sexism, this isn't partisanship. This is obvious.
And any women who want Sarah Palin to be VP just because she has a pussy should have their right to vote revoked.
I didn't believe these types of moron voters existed until I heard it with my own ears.
That's not progressive.
That's an embarrassment.

2. She is vain, self-centered and proudly provincial.

3. That awful voice.

4. She's a hypocrite. She seems just as corrupt as the "Boys Network" and " Washington Insiders" she rails against (plus she rails against them with that awful voice.)

5. All that GOP money on clothes and she still looks like a cheap insurance saleswoman who fucks the boss to get ahead on their business trip to Topeka.

6. A woman in a position of power does not automatically benefit women. Look at Margaret Thatcher. Look at Imelda Marcos. If Stalin had been a woman (Stalina, perhaps) would women have reason to sing? As much as Palin claims to love Democracy and freedom, she has some seriously despotic tendencies.

7. Her fake folksy ways. So damn transparent. As evidenced by...

8. ...when Joe Biden started tearing up about his family at the VP debate, and she didn't even acknowledge him. She seems incapable of understanding other people's perspectives. Which relates to...

9. Zero empathy, zero ability to connect with Americans she deems "not real" (i.e. people who live in big, Blue State cities.)

BUT MOST OF ALL:

10. The whole "Media Elite" thing. I guess I just don't get it, mostly because I've been in news for over a decade, and most of the media professionals I've known are in no way "elite." They bust their asses (and no, those asses aren't as hot as Sarah Palin's tight buns because they spend less time jogging and more time logging soundbites at the computer.) They're the lowly folks who scramble to meet deadlines or get the news on the air, who beg for overtime to pay the rent, who carry their lunch to work in Tupperware. They hand off their kids to their spouses in between shifts. They wear crappy clothes.

There's a reason this blog is called "Peon Confidential". Most of us, the ones who do the grunt work, we're just trying to get by. It is absurd for Sarah Palin to blame this murky "Media Elite" for her inability to present a coherent political platform during an interview. Who exactly is she talking about? Yes, celebrity reporters and anchors are wealthy, well-connected and well dressed. But they aren't even half of the media equation. The traditional image of the journalist has always been the rumpled schlub in a dirty raincoat; the same outfit of choice as the crazy homeless guy or the flasher pervert down the street. We're often broke, tired and have bad breath from consuming nasty coffee at odd hours.

Most of us ARE Joe the Plumber, just transplanted to a hectic newsroom. Instead of unclogging toilets we push buttons in a control room.

So Sarah Palin, fuck you.
Seriously.
Fuck you and the moose you rode in on.

BLIND ITEM #12

Which CNN cutie, known more for her hair extensions than her extensive knowledge of news, really loves her breakfast sandwiches? She was wolfing one down when she heard the on air countdown. So she simply shoved the eggy delight inside her jacket, up against her boob.
She delivered the news.
As soon as the camera light went off, she happily retrieved the savory goods from her bosom and resumed munching on her breakfast.

EUNUCHS AND BAD STYLE

EUNUCHS:
As promised, I visited The Forbidden City and became a virtual imperial eunuch. I don't know. Maybe it's because I already don't have a penis, but it wasn't that exciting.

BAD STYLE:
The RNC spent $4,716.49 on Sarah Palin's hair and makeup through September after reporting no such costs in August.

$4,716.49????

I haven't been to Super Cuts in a while, but it sounds like their prices have really gone up.

10 UPDATES YOU SHOULDN'T PUT ON FACEBOOK

I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. I love seeing photos. I love reading wall greetings. But then someone (occasionally me) will post an update so incredibly lame that it will ruin my whole experience, and I will log off in disgust.

Top 10 Updates You Shouldn't Put on Facebook:


1. Ted should have used Preparation H.

2. Denise thinks her husband is a no good piece of shit bastard.

3. Fran is getting a pap smear today :)

4. Joyce likes to roast puppies over a spit and eat them. Yummy!

5. Denise thinks that slut Trish is a home wrecking bitch.

6. Fred embezzled $175,000 from his company. See ya in Bermuda suckers!!!!

7. Denise longs for the days when cheaters were branded with a scarlet letter.

8. Herb likes the feel of silky panties against his balls.

9. Ralph enjoys kicking short, hairy nuns on Wednesdays.

10. Denise wants her husband to know that if he thinks he and his whore are getting the house, he's an even bigger prick than she thought he was.

DEN OF SPIES SHORT FILM

For those of you who couldn't slink on over to the last Mama D's Arts Bordello, Danny Figueroa uploaded his opening vignette to YouTube, and I'm offering it up here on Peon Confidential.
Produced by Lofty Productions, this is a mystery filled, action packed cinematic masterpiece...

FAMOUS!

Hello everyone!
Mama D's Arts Bordello got some love today on Media Bistro's GalleyCat blog!
Click and enjoy:

GALLEYCAT ON MEDIA BISTRO

OVERDUE PHOTOS

So--
I was a bit lazy with these, but one of you asked me to post some photos from the VP Debate Party I hosted a couple weeks back.
For some odd reason, I just took photos of the Biden/Palin themed food, and neglected to take pics of people. This means I have no evidence of my less-than-authentic Palin Hive. I think the reason mine did not look quite right is because her hair is held in place by a strong combination of moose spit, Republican gumption and Aqua Net.

Here's what you're looking at:

-Itchy Trigger Finger Tortilla Chips
-Planned Parenthood Punch
-Lipsticked Pigs in Blankets
-Wasilla Quesadillas

MAMA D'S ARTS BORDELLO PRESENTS: DEN OF SPIES

The craziest night of spy-flavored action is almost here! Prepare to be deviously entertained on Thursday, October 9th...

Lock up your classified documents, synchronize your watch, don your fake mustache and head over to the bordello for a night of intrigue. You'll be tantalized by Nasty Canasta's dangerous brand of burlesque and Pandora's sexy go go dancing, hear Charles Salzberg read from his new mystery novel, "Swann's Last Song", listen to Matt and Mary's tribute to James Bond themes, enjoy a mysterious short film from Jason Wicks and enter a high stakes 007 Dossier trivia contest where you can win villainous prizes...

No secret password needed for entry. A mere $7 bucks will do the trick.

DATE: October 9th, 2008
TIME: 8pm
PLACE: The Parkside Lounge
ADDRESS: 317 E. Houston between B and C Avenues
SUBWAY: F, V
COVER: $7

FLAPJACKS AND POLITICS

I have noticed that every four years, flocks of overly-hairspsrayed reporters and politicians descend upon diners and dingy little cafes in small towns, hoping to track down real, honest, hardworking Americans in their natural habitat. During election season, these are the only regular people (i.e. non-pundits) who can shed light on America's political climate. Moreover, if we've learned anything from the last few months, it's that small town Americans are the only "real" Americans. Only small towns represent true American values (cue John Cougar Mellencamp.)

So, reporters from various networks interrupt these hearty folks while they're eating flapjacks and slurping bad coffee to ask them about "the issues". And it's always the same kinds of places, the same kinds of people and the same kinds of answers.

I'm tired of this shit.

Why not mix it up?
Instead of going to Connie's Corner Cafe, why not check in on patrons at:

1. Moe's Taxidermy Emporium
2. Hooters
3. Barney's department store men's shoe section
4. The Castro District in San Francisco
5. The Podiatrist's Office
6. The Liberace Museum in Las Vegas
7. Cheap nail salons in strip malls
8. The gift shop at Graceland
9. Pete's Meat House of St. Petersburg, Florida
10. Any package store in a ghetto part of town

Where else?

PALIN FLIRTATION

Watching Sarah Palin wink repeatedly into the camera last night made me feel like she was trying to pick me up at a Holiday Inn bar.
I kept thinking that at any minute the DJ would play some Lionel Richie, a waitress would serve me some buffalo wings and I'd look out the window at an impressive view of I-95.

Anyone else have the same reaction?

THE THRILLA FROM WASILLA

So-
I'm inviting a couple of politically passionate buddies over to watch Thursday's Vice Presidential debate, which I'm hoping will be delectable. Fattening, even.
I had planned on having a low key Halloween party this year, but I'm doing this instead because the prospect of that idiotic, screechy voiced, book banning moose hunter getting anywhere near the White House is scary enough.
The point is:
I'm compiling a menu to fit the theme, and I need your input.
As of now, the menu consists of:

1. Wasilla Quesadillas (yes, quesadilla MUST be pronounced to rhyme with Wasilla.)

2. Planned Parenthood Punch (this will have a healthy splash of cheap beer, which has been the instigator of unprotected sex for generations.)

3. Biden's Balls (I'm hoping his are made of steel, while these will be made of turkey.)

4. Chocolate Moose

5. Lipsticked Pigs in Blankets

What else?

THE ART OF THE FART

It is with great pride that I tell you this:
I woke up this morning, logged into my e-mail account and saw that TWO of you delightful Peons had sent me the following story. It is very flattering to know that when people see a story about farting, I am the go to recipient of that story.
If this were an SAT exam, the correct equation might read: "Pet hair is to black pants as VJDutton is to fart stories."

SOUTH CHARLESTON, W.Va. - A West Virginia man who police said passed gas and fanned it toward a patrolman has been charged with battery on a police officer.
Jose A. Cruz, 34, of Clarksburg, was pulled over early Tuesday for driving without headlights, police said. According to the criminal complaint, Cruz smelled of alcohol, had slurred speech and failed three field sobriety tests before he was handcuffed and taken to a police station for a breathalyzer test.
As Patrolman T.E. Parsons prepared the machine, Cruz scooted his chair toward Parsons, lifted his leg and "passed gas loudly," the complaint said.
Cruz, according to complaint, then fanned the gas toward the officer.
"The gas was very odorous and created contact of an insulting or provoking nature with Patrolman Parsons," the complaint alleged.
Cruz acknowledged passing gas, but said he didn't move his chair toward the officer nor aim gas at the patrolman. He said he had an upset stomach at the time, but police denied his request to go to the bathroom when he first arrived at the station.
"I couldn't hold it no more," he said.

Yeah. The last line is my favorite too.

CANDY CORN AND MARXISM

I was just thinking back to my chock-full-of hippies formative years on Whidbey Island. For the most part, it was great. You really felt connected to the whole community, there was a creative spirit, and if you ever ran out of pot, you could usually find some in your friend's kitchen, right next to the organic oats.
But it wasn't always fun to have socially conscious, anti-capitalist neighbors:

It was Halloween. I was nine, trick-or-treating with some pals. I was dressed as Groucho Marx, wearing my Dad's huge, red wine stained white tux jacket. It was from his third wedding, when he said "I do" to a coked up Pan Am flight attendant as "Send In The Clowns" swelled on the quadrophonic sound system. Why my mom didn't throw that ugly tux out when they remarried seven years later I'll never know. Maybe she knew it would make a valuable costume. Now that I think about it--I got a lot of use out of that thing. The following year I wore it for my gender-bending role as Abe Lincoln in the school play.

Anyway, we went up to a house with lights on and the TV blaring. Clearly, they were fair game. Everyone knows if you display any signs of life in your house on Halloween, you're ripe for the begging. Admittedly, this house had no decorations, and there was concern they'd be the types to offer up stale fruit roll ups or some such shit.
Still, we knocked. We knocked some more. We continued pounding away with our nine-year-old fists until some angry, bearded man ripped open the door and bellowed:

"WE DON'T BELIEVE IN THIS CAPITALIST HALLOWEEN CRAP! YOU WON'T GET ANY CANDY FROM US! WE DON'T BUY INTO SOME STUPID HOLIDAY THAT BENEFITS CORPORATE CANDY MAKERS AT THE EXPENSE OF CHILDREN'S TEETH. WE REFUSE TO BE PAWNS OF THE SYSTEM! NOW GET OUT OF HERE!"

So despite being dressed as Marx, I didn't curry any favor with these Halloween revolutionaries.

DANGEROUS NUDITY

I am just devastated.
A kindred spirit has been arrested in Illinois:

DELHI, Ill. - Here's a tip: Bartending nude can get you arrested.
Sheriff's deputies doing a routine check this week at a southern Illinois bar say they discovered a not-so-routine sight. Authorities allege that 33-year-old Janet Brannon was naked while serving bar patrons at the Cabin Tavern in Delhi (DEL'-ee).
Brannon was arrested and charged with misdemeanor public indecency. She was freed on $8,000 bond.
She was the only bar employee working at the time, so the tavern was closed Thursday.

See, this is where I take issue with government interference.
Pre-arrest, life was good for the patrons of the Cabin Tavern.
Happy Hour was truly happy.
Post arrest, there was no nudity AND no booze.
This is a horrifying miscarriage of justice.

That said, here's my list of The Top 5 Worst Jobs To Do In The Nude:

1. Totem pole carver
2. Olympic trampolinist
3. Pit Bull trainer
4. Smelter
5. Beekeeper

BONUS: The Guy Pictured Above

Any others?

EJACULATE UPDATE!

I told my good friend from yesterday's ejaculate post that she was the star of Peon Confidential for the day, and she sent me an update!
So today, I'm offering the official account of her trip to the fertility doctor.
Actually--are there any children's book authors out there? Now there's a kid's book I haven't seen: "A Trip To The Fertility Doctor". It should be modeled after the fantastic "Where Did I Come From?" book. Anyone else read that one as a kid? Of course, glancing at the comments section of that website makes me depressed at the state of this country. I see some parents are complaining that the happy, round illustrations of mommy and daddy are "too graphic".
They're probably Sarah Palin fans.
But I digress. Here's the fertility doctor account:

We seat-belted [the sperm tank] into the back seat of the car, and sped off with hopes that the timing was right. My doctor (who is quite a catch, by the way. I've heard she is a fertility magician who attracts wanna-be breeders from all over the midwest!) popped open the tank, revealing the drama of dry ice, and pulled out the tiny vial. She showed us the number and cap color because, of course, one should inspect to be sure the product delivered matches the product ordered. For instance, if one orders sperm from a man of Asian or Pacific Island descent and receives a specimen with a brown (African), white(Caucasian), or red (mixed ethnicity) cap, the order has been mixed-up. Our order was correct, so my partner and I relaxed with US Weekly while waiting for the contents to thaw. Finally, the doctor took all of a minute and a half to inject into my uterus the very tiny amount of concentrated "specimen" through a thin rubber syringe. She pulled off her gloves and announced, "If only all inseminations were this easy!" My partner and I cheered. I've never been so proud to be easy. I didn't even have take off my argyle socks.

My pal was also kind enough to send us the above photos. The first is a generic sperm specimen photo. (Looks like something out of a Def Leppard video, doesn't it?) The second is a far more personal photo. The specimen in that tank may well become a little child who refers to me as Crazy Auntie Saara.

And if not, she promised that "if the impregnation does not occur this month, next month we will do a photo shoot with our next shipment."

Please do! You may even want to consider an OLAN MILLS family portrait!

QUALITY EJACULATE SELECTION

Yesterday I received an e-mail brimming with the glad tidings that a good friend of mine is ready to crack open the top grade ejaculate that she and her spouse purchased. Spermination is about to commence!
She wrote:
"I have a tank full of stuff in my living room which only stays frozen for up to seven days. We're going to bring this tank to my doctor today or tomorrow. No indigo girls ballads, no turkey baster."

She also sent me all of the donor information she had sifted through in order to choose just the right cum. It was truly astonishing. Not only did I read his profile, in which I learned he has "an amazing eye for photography, color, design and ripe fruit", but I gleaned precise details about his nostril flare measurements and cowlick potential.

But best of all was the Staff Impression, in which I discovered that this donor is "friendly, cooperative and easygoing".
I told her it reminded me of the "Staff Recommendations" at Barnes & Noble. And I do not think I've ever been persuaded to purchase "Cujo" because someone named Abigail liked it.
I don't know Abigail.
Perhaps she's an asshole.
I don't care if she thinks "Cujo" is "amazing".
Fuck Abigail.

She responded with:
"It's funny...we read a lot of these and obviously what we were looking for was 'this donor is good looking.' So many of the staff people wrote all kinds of bullshit down, not once mentioning looks. If I am paying $500.00 for ejaculate, it better create a nice looking child."

Now that's my kind of jizz shopper.

CAMEL TOE DISCOVERY

So-
I sat down, slightly blurry eyed on Sunday and read this headline:
"Million-year-old camel bone unearthed in Syria"

But in my hung over state, I actually read it as:
"Million-year-old camel TOE unearthed in Syria"

I quickly decided I prefer that story to the real one.
Therefore I went ahead and rewrote the article as such:

DAMASCUS, Syria - Scientists have unearthed a camel toe in the Syrian desert that they think may be a previously unknown tiny species of toe and say dates back a million years. The camel toe was found last month near the village of Khowm in the Palmyra region, about 150 miles northeast of Damascus.

The new find could offer important clues about the camel toe's evolution, the researchers said.

"It is a very important discovery," said the head researcher. He said it is the oldest camel toe to be unearthed in the Middle East and probably worldwide.

He added in an interview Saturday that the camel toe appeared to be very small and could be a new species, but he stressed that more studies were needed to confirm that.

"This camel toe is very small in comparison with the normal camel toe," he said. "But we have to find more toes, different toes, before we can be sure it is a new species."

THE POLITICS OF LIPSTICK

So-
My mom decided to weigh in on the Sarah Palin lipstick wars.
Naturally, it was in the form of a PHONE MESSAGE. I came home, pushed the button on my answering machine and heard a harsh Finnish accent saying:

"I don't understand why that Palin woman even talked about the lipstick and pit bulls. And now I open the paper and people are talking about pigs with the lipstick and whatever else. Why all this lipstick talk? Because she doesn't even wear good lipstick. It's that kind of boring lipstick for women who are afraid to wear it. You know what I mean Saara? Women with no style wear that boring lipstick."

What I want to know is--why isn't my mom a pundit on CNN?

PHOTOGRAPHIC ZOLOFT

So, I woke up a little depressed today.
The mood was gloomy and blue.
Then by sheer good luck, I stumbled across this picture.
I am posting it, just in case any of you need a pick me up.
How can anyone be unhappy while looking at this stylish woman and her divine interior design?
Her joy is infectious!
Surely she is waiting for some equally fashionable pals to arrive for a fondue party.
I wish I were one of them.
But the question is:
What song do you think is playing on that excellent sound system?
I'm going with this one: DISCO TEX AND THE SEX-O-LETTES
What do you think?

A PLEA TO THE AIRLINE INDUSTRY

Why don't flight attendants have outfits like this anymore?
Look at how fabulous these Southwest Airlines professionals are. Now think about the hideous polyester shitpiles that you see on flight attendants these days. Horrible unflattering skirts or pleated pants and some type of fussy little button down shirt.
And bad shoes.
I say:
Since you have to pay for your stale snacks, cum-ridden blankets and crappy headsets now, I think the least airlines could do is mandate hot pants and go go boots again.

CONDOM CREATIVITY

I've said it before and I'll say it again:
I love Florida. It's the Potluck State--you just never know what you're going to get:

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla. - Police in Port St. Lucie are on the lookout for a cross-dressing man who snatched a 74-year-old woman's purse. As if that weren't odd enough, they're depending on a strange clue. The suspect left behind a condom filled with water he had been using as a fake breast.

The woman said she believed the thief followed her while shopping. A witness told investigators he was wearing a short denim skirt and black tube top, and fled in a silver car with two other male crossdressers.

Police are processing the condom for fingerprint and DNA evidence.

In all my years of having, shall we say, less than large boobs, I've tried to remedy the situation in many ways. I've used tube socks. I've used Kleenex. I've employed the Wonderbra.
But a water-filled rubber never occurred to me.
Not once.

FAREWELL, STAR TREK EXPERIENCE

It is with more than one tear in my eye that I bid adieu to the Star Trek Experience in Las Vegas. Apparently, yesterday was the last day drunken conventioneers and hard core dorks could have a Klingon Encounter or undergo a Borg Invasion.

A fellow Peon and I were fortunate enough to enjoy this attraction during our last trip there. When I mentioned this tragic turn of events, this person said,

Vegas is a sadder place now.
First Sigfried & Roy and now this!?

What's next? Shutting down the all you can eat buffets?
And where do the displaced Trekkies go?

I thank the Lord Almighty we got to see it while we were there.

I couldn't have said it better myself.
But does anyone have an answer to this person's question?
Honestly, just where will all the displaced Trekkies go?

VINTAGE 1997 VJ FASHION RULES

So-
I was going through some photo albums, looking for pics of pals to embarrass them on Facebook, when I found, tucked behind a shot of me on the CNN set, a dot matrix print out of 10 fashion rules. These were created by another VJ and myself circa 1997. Considering I still wore shoulder pads in 1997, I don't quite know how I decided I was the arbiter of style.
However...
Let's see how many of these rules hold up today:

1. Never buy your perfume from the same place you buy your Tampax.

2. NO WHITE PUMPS. I do not care if it is before or after Labor Day, white pumps are strictly for the tuna casserole set.

3. The fanny pack is the downfall of an elegant silhouette.

4. "Suntan" pantyhose: WHY?

5. Thou shalt always wear a belt if belt loops are showing.

6. Only cooking in the kitchen: NO home perms or dye jobs.

7. On that note, NO PERMS! PERIOD! EVER!

8. Miami Vice is over. No rolling up one's jacket sleeves.

9. If you buy trousers that come with a belt (which in itself is a violation of the fashion rules) THROW IT OUT!!

10. Large breasted women should refrain from wearing very large polka dots. It makes people dizzy.

Observations:

- I think with the Tampax comment, I was trying to prevent people from purchasing the likes of Lady Stetson, Charlie, and Primo! (the Giorgio knock off.) So, that's a noble effort.

-The belt loops decree must have been drilled into my head when I worked at Express in Seattle during the summer 1991. I think that was one of their policies. Why I adopted any policies from that shithole is another story.

-I cannot believe I was still doling out advice on perms in 1997. Who was getting a perm, let alone an Ogilvy home perm, in 1997? Nobody, that's who.

-And on that note, who was making tuna casserole? (Apart from that woman who insisted upon microwaving tuna at work, thus making the breakroom stink of smelly pussy.)

-I think I violated the "rolling up the jacket sleeves" rule myself on a regular basis. Short arms and no money for tailoring=rolled up sleeves.

-"If you buy trousers that come with a belt"...where the fuck was I shopping back then? No, I don't want to know.

THE FINEST PRIZE EVER AWARDED, JACKIE COLLINS STYLE

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

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

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

READER REQUEST: MY PINK MUUMUU

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

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

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

EDITOR'S CORRECTIONS IN MY LIFE STORY

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

-CORRECTION #1:

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

-CORRECTION #2:

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

CORRECTION #3:

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

CORRECTION #4:

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

CORRECTION #5:

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

CORRECTION #6

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

THE GUAYABERA SHIRT: FIRST STEP TO CATALOGUE GLORY

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

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

THE BEST DAMN CATALOGUE ON THE PLANET

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

TOP 5 ITEMS IN CATALOGUE FAVORITES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TOP 5 WORST SMELLS IN BROADCAST NEWS

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. Cheap perfume.

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

CARLSBAD CAVERNS: AMERICA'S STALAGMITE DELIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

CARLSBAD CAVERNS

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

Case closed.

RATTING YOU OUT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE BIG BAMBOO

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

ISLAND RADIO

ESPIONAGE AT THE BORDELLO

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

A TALE OF CNN SURVIVAL

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NO BOOZE OR NUDITY AT THE OLYMPICS

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

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

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

FART AND DICK JOKES: A LINK TO OUR ANCESTORS

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

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

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

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

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

THE PENIS SONG

SAXOPHONE=PEOPLE DOIN' IT

So there I was on the sofa, watching a little Magnum P.I.
This certainly isn't a rarity at my place. Not sure what it is, but I can't get enough Magnum P.I. This show has it all: Hawaii, intrigue, a Ferrari, women with feathered hair and frosted lips---it's 1980's TV at it's finest.


Anyway, at a certain point, Magnum was about to get laid.
How did I know this?
It wasn't because his already tight OP shorts bulged with a boner.
It wasn't the twitching of his moustache.
It wasn't because Higgins put a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door.

It was because the saxophone music swelled.

And it got me to thinking:
TV was so much simpler in the 1980's. You heard that saxophone music play and you knew intercourse was about to commence. In fact, that brassy sound was the harbinger of fornication. Moreover, David Sanborn (see above) telegraphed sexual intent on a regular basis.

Now it seems that the saxophone as love makin' audio cue has gone out of fashion.
People just wind up naked and I am totally unprepared for it. I'll look up from a crossword or picking my toes to find tits and tongue all over my TV screen. It's slightly unsettling.

So I say:
With other 80's trends such as skinny jeans and huge belts over t-shirts making a comeback, why not resurrect the saxophone as instrument of sex?

ASS ASSESSMENTS

So-
I was just thinking about an ex co-worker of mine.
A while back, he stumbled into work, slumped into his chair and announced, "I love puttin' it up the butt."
I turned in his direction and said, "Well, that's nice. Everybody needs a hobby."
Undaunted, he continued with "Seriously man. I'd buy my woman any kinda Coach bag, any kinda...you know...shoes. I'd give her mad cash if she gave me anal on the reg. Not just like on my birthday or Christmas. But on the reg."

I wished him best of luck with his quest for anal on the reg. Although I reminded him that he shouldn't take for granted the wondrous, nutmeg scented joy of holiday anal.

For the entire day, he continued to assess women as to whether or not he'd "put it up the butt".
Any woman who dared stray too close to him was subject to his anal analysis. Producers, editors, interns. The cleaner even made his assessment that much easier by bending over to empty his trash.

As it turned out, only one woman was not worthy of his anal attentions, primarily because she had smelly breath. He then changed his mind and said, "Maybe I'd buy her some gum. Then I'd put it up the butt."

Another co-worker and I were discussing a new employee at the Assignment Desk, stating how competent, kind and smart she was. Naturally this guy butted in and said, "I'd put it up the butt."

The point is: some people really have no business doing employee reviews.

BLACKBALLED AT THE NUDIST CAMP

Good morning Peons!
Today, we have a new mystery to solve...

PARIS (Reuters) - France's data protection authority has given permission for a nudist resort to keep a "black list" of guests barred from its facilities, the organization said.
The Rene Oltra nudist center in southern France was obliged to seek permission after a person complained of being denied a reservation, the authority said on its website. French law requires organizations to seek authorization to keep lists of individuals denied use of their services.
Contacted by Reuters, the resort declined to give further details regarding individual's exclusion from its site.
The centre's rules require guests to abide by its "naturist ethic" of nudity at all times, weather permitting, and bans upsetting other guests or failing to observe hygiene standards.
"But nudity is not exhibitionism. Any indecent behavior will be sanctioned by immediate exclusion," the rules say.

Now-
While this is very interesting, they neglect to explain why these guests are being barred.
Thus, I am forced to draw my own conclusions.

POSSIBLE REASONS A PERSON COULD BE BARRED FROM A NUDIST CAMP:

1. Skips around a little too carelessly with scalding hot Starbucks coffee.

2. Repeatedly accosts other nudists with the accusation: "Hey, you got your chocolate in my peanut butter!"

3. Tends to experience severe "treatment effects" after cheating on the ALLI Weight Loss Program

4. Looks, points and says, "Man! Check out that gunt. I thought there was a no fat chicks policy here! Where's the fucking manager? If I wanted to see Orca I'd go to Sea World."

5. Does morning "yoga" a la the Anonymous Obama supporter from the "Smokin' Presidential Polls" post.

Any other ideas?

POWER TO THE MOUSTACHE!

On the whole, I'm a pretty lazy person. I'm not what you'd call an activist. Odds are you won't find me in Union Square on a random Saturday, passing out flyers, crusading on behalf of downtrodden Alaskan skateboarders/Pimply street meat vendors/Fat people who can't fit into airline seats.
But I think I may have found a cause worthy of my ire, sweat and Sharpied placards...

Japanese Postman Fights For Moustache

TOKYO (AFP) - Japanese lawyers are rallying behind a postman whose boss told him he had to shave off his moustache to comply with grooming standards for letter carriers.
The bar association in the western city of Osaka said Wednesday that the order against 55-year-old postman Noboru Nakamura was "irrational" and violated his human rights.
"Having a moustache is part of an individual lifestyle and should be an individual decision," said Kazuo Okawa, a lawyer for the bar association.

Where can I donate to this cause?
Where is the rally/rubber chicken charity function for this man and his beleaguered moustache?

The time to act is now.
This postman cannot be denied his moustache.
So I will use this blog for good today, helping my fellow man, by making a list of the top 5 moustaches in history.
By seeing all the names of these great men, perhaps then the Japanese postal service will see the error of their ways:

1. Tom Selleck
2. Ron Jeremy
3. Doc Holliday
4. Burt Reynolds
5. John Waters

Did I miss any?
Please add to this list, thereby aiding this postman and his quest to maintain his flavor saver.

MY DRUGGY PAST

Just read an AP article today that completely destroys a huge part of my childhood:

NEW YORK - Drug company sales representatives will have to stop doling out coffee mugs and pens that push their products when they visit doctor's offices. But they can still sneak in the occasional free lunch.
Pharmaceutical Research and Manufacturers of America announced Thursday that it has revised its conduct code for interacting with health care professionals.
The updated guidelines ban the knicknacks bearing company and product logos.

This is tragic. Since my dad is a doctor, I cannot tell you how many of these drug company emblazoned items floated around our family homestead when I was growing up. Nearly every grocery list/diary entry/letter to granny was written with some herpes medication pen.
Aside from pens, we also received...

1. A Nerf football (Those of you who know just how amazingly athletic I am will appreciate just how much I used this.)

2. A wooden gavel (This was simply so the drug rep could deliver the line: "You be the judge.")

3. Countless mugs (Which I filled with colon blow-strength Starbucks, took to school and left in my locker until A) they became moldy and B) there were so many crammed in there that they came crashing out onto the floor.)

4. A penis statue from Viagra (Which my mother sent me in one of her infamous CARE PACKAGES and I left behind after vacating an apartment. See above photo.)

5. Tablets of paper in the shape of Anaprox pills

6. T-shirt showcasing a cheery, smiley-faced cartoon liver and the message "Be Kind To Your Liver" written on it. (The fact that my hard drinking father used to wear this item frequently was beyond ironic.)

7. Key chains

8. Several baseball caps (Who wouldn't want to advertise constipation remedies on their head?)

SMOKIN' PRESIDENTIAL POLLS

One of the hazards of the 24-hour news industry that so many of us work in is that there is a lot of time to fill, and only so much legitimate news to go around. This probably explains why I've been noticing some ridiculous presidential polls. I understand journalists are searching for a fresh take on the election, but it's getting to be preposterous:

"Pet Owners Prefer McCain Over Obama"
WASHINGTON (AP) — If the presidential election goes to the dogs, John McCain is looking like best in show.
From George Washington's foxhound "Drunkard" to George W. Bush's terriers "Barney" and "Miss Beazley," pets are a longtime presidential tradition for which the presumed Republican nominee seems well prepared, with more than a dozen.
The apparent Democratic nominee Barack Obama, on the other hand, doesn't have a pet at home.
The pet-owning public seems to have noticed the difference.
An AP-Yahoo! News poll found that pet owners favor McCain over Obama 42 percent to 37 percent, with dog owners particularly in McCain's corner.

If we're going to take it to this level of minutiae, what's stopping us from really bringing it on home? What about a poll that figures out the presidential preferences of:

1. People who have done the Electric Slide at a wedding...without irony.

2. People who clip their toenails on the subway.

3. People who click on NSFW links whilst at work. And then examine celebrity pubic hair on the company's dime.

4. People who sneak Jiffy Pop popcorn into the movie theatre to save a buck or two.

5. People who dress their pet ferrets up in Halloween costumes.

6. People who have taken an Olan Mills special family portrait at K-Mart.

7. People who know all the words to "We Want Some Pussy" by 2 Live Crew.

8. People who have tried to contort themselves into a position that allows them to suck their own cock.

9. People who go to a "cute little restaurant" for brunch and shriek and drink the one mimosa allotted with the prix fixe and wear idiotic capri pants with matching floral tops and tell lame stories they heard at the after church service coffee hour and HOW I HATE THOSE FUCKING BRUNCH MUNCHING HEN PACKS.

10. People who get worked up over nothing.

5 REJECTED HURRICANE NAMES

So-
Bertha has the distinction of being the first hurricane out of the gate this season.
I think Bertha is one of the better hurricane names I've heard. Bertha sounds big, blustery and rude. Bertha would slap your face with her fat ham hocks.
Then I started to think of names the Hurricane Center in Miami may have rejected:

1. Hurricane Liberace
2. Hurricane Mussolini
3. Hurricane Shaniqua
4. Hurricane Muffy
5. Hurricane Rae Dawn Chong

Any others?

CELEBRATE THE 4TH, PAUL LYNDE STYLE!

Seeing as how I'll be busy making burgers, marveling at fireworks and drinking assorted cocktails out on the terrace tomorrow, I'm wishing you all a festive holiday today.
Also, if any of you need an idea for delicious vintage side dish, I'm offering up this 1978 recipe from an American original, Paul Lynde.
I never got that Paul Lynde lunchbox I wanted, but at least I can make his "Millionaire's Salad".

Enjoy!
(Scroll down page for recipe)

MILLIONAIRE'S SALAD

GIRAFFE AS WORKPLACE LIBERATOR

This AP story is for anyone who feels imprisoned by their job:

AMSTERDAM, Netherlands - Amsterdam police say 15 camels, two zebras and an undetermined number of llamas and potbellied swine briefly escaped from a traveling Dutch circus after a giraffe kicked a hole in their cage.

Police spokesman Arnout Aben says the animals wandered in a group through a nearby neighborhood for several hours after their 5:30 a.m. breakout.

The animals were back at the circus later Monday after being rounded up by police and circus workers with the assistance of dogs. Aben says neighbors fed some of the animals — which he said was a bad idea — but they were tame and nobody was hurt.

Says Aben: "You have to imagine somebody rubbing his eyes first thing in the morning and saying, 'Am I seeing things or is that 15 camels walking past?'"

Kudos to that kick ass giraffe!
Because of his/her ingenuity, these hardworking circus performers were able to savor a few precious hours of freedom.

Now if only that giraffe would gallop over to my newsroom and knock over the computers, trample the TelePrompter, push the anchors off the sets and kick the pasty cube drones out the door. I'm picturing a bunch of Dockers clad producers and overly shellacked anchors wandering the streets of New York, bewildered, blinking at the sunlight, confused, foraging for food.

Unlike these circus performers, their freedom would not be appreciated.

They would be only too grateful to be herded back to the newsroom--back to the safety of readily available make up artists and a plentiful supply of Doritos in the vending machine.