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Scratching the Surface

Fashion/Style by Liza Van Horne
 

The Sprinkling Victim himself was decked out in a white lace cap and a dress composed of about ten yards of white ruffles, which I'm sure will not give him issues later in life when the picture resurfaces and is passed around to all his friends' MySpace pages. What is it, 1890? Why the formality? The Newmans aren't even religious. They certainly couldn't be bothered to get the damn baby baptized in - I don't know - a CHURCH.

It drives me crazy the way these blasphemers hire a man of the cloth and drag out the candelabras for any and all occasions at the Ponderosa. Victoria doesn't even belong to a church. I've had about enough of Miss Fourth Marriage herself throwing God up in everybody's face when it's convenient - as if she gives a shit about God. I don't recall her turning to the Lord when she was cheating on her third husband with her current husband. Hey, I don't believe in God, but you don't see me running around pretending I do, either, since I respect the God in whom I don't believe better than to use Him as an excuse to be a judgy hypocrite. In conclusion, Victoria sucks and should be promptly struck down by lightning for putting on her little Precious Moments farce.

Now that I've got a hornet up my ass, let me backtrack from the World's Most Boring Sprinklefest for a moment to revisit Amber and Porniel's hackneyed "first date". I've got news for those two: once you've made a few joint trips to the Red Door Clinic for delousing and a Clorox dip, you don't really need to bother with a first date because you sort of skipped that part in your hurry to rip off each others' drawers. I have to tell you that my eyes rolled back into my head upon witnessing Amber's grand entrance in that... Thing... she was wearing. It was like a red tutu with two red flaps in front, barely covering her Dinners. Her back and sides were completely, completely nekkid. Shit man, the only reason to wear a getup like that on a "first date" is if the "date" takes place in a stranger's car, and you leave twenty dollars richer at the end. Doesn't IndiBlow have a "no shirt, no shoes, no service" policy?!

Boy oh boy, dear readers, all this irritation has given me quite an appetite, so I think I'll go page through the phone book to see where I might be able to order some takeout, because paying through the nose for food that's cold by the time you get it home is what all the cool kids are doing. Hello, waiter? Can I get some champagne-poached eggs please? Throw in a few lobster tails and a pheasant under glass, thanks. Don't forget the paper napkins and plastic silverware! Only the finest for me! Oy.

Editor's note: Liza is a struggling freelance writer who gives her talent at no cost to the Genoa City News. If you like her work and would like to contribute to her cause, please send a donation directly to Liza by clicking the PayPal button below.
 

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