It was a
time of great need. It was a time of teeth-gritting and resigned fortitude
and latte-infused bouts of very heavy collective whining. The moment Colleen
Carlton got on a plane and left Genoa City - the smartest thing she ever did
during her stay here - word began spreading that overnight rock star and
noted hunkmonkey J.T. Hellstrom would fall in love with Mac Browning.
Nobody wanted to believe it at first because J.T. had always claimed Carlton
- a minor - was the girl of his dreams; the only babe he'd ever love. When
he began sneering and snarling (that sixteen-year-old Daniel Romalotti was
an "arrogant punk" who shouldn't so much as look at the older Mac) it was
thought J.T. was merely trying to dispel rumors surrounding his fondness for
boys like Raul Guittierez.
On July 2, 2004, just one day after Colleen had left Genoa City, it became
crystal clear J.T. was hot for Mac. He stewed about Daniel day and night. He
yelped like a kicked dog when Mac displayed an interest in Daniel and when
she ignored his whimpering J.T. festered like a dud firecracker wanting to
explode but incapable of going off. When Raul snickered, "Mac's got a
boyfriend" J.T got pissed. Like a frustrated terrorist without a target he
went off to the Newman Jitter Joint hoping to find Mac so he could tell her
Daniel was but sixteen and much too young as if this knowledge, this
hypocrisy, would scare Mac away and, J.T. hoped, into his arms. But alas,
what J.T. found instead was Mac swapping spit with the "punk".
Life for hunkmonkeys can be so unfair. It was okay for J.T. to suck around a
minor child, but when the situation was reversed he said oh, "That was
different." J.T. threw fits and stomped around like a gorilla on Meth and
called guys like Kevin Fisher scum when they seduced young girls, but when
J.T. did it, it was okay.
And who could forget February 27, 2004? All sneers and girlie-like thumping
his bare chest and blaming poor Brittany's blotch on Kevin, huffing and
puffing he couldn't wait to "take him down", J.T. listened as girlfriend
Raul - who at one time couldn't stand being in the same room with him -
cried his eyes out. If only Raul's baby girl would snap out of her funk he
wouldn't have to worry about settling for a genuine same-sex wedding
ceremony with J.T. He wouldn't have to watch as Bobby Marsino walked off
with the girl both he and J.T. had loved and lost.
J.T. had always secretly loved Brittany as he demonstrated by giving
Brittany a load of his finest spit. It was a delicious and heartwarming
historic spectacle indeed as J.T. lusted for the girl his best pal had been
putting the pork to for months. Raul and Brittany had persistently talked of
starting a family and setting up a home complete with a white picket fence
and dinner parties and regular shopping excursions to Fenmore's and the mall
before J.T. came along to strike a blow against the American way of life.
It wasn't like J.T. didn't know his best bud wanted nothing more than marry
the local stripper and beat himself up at night because he wasn't man enough
to tell Marsino to stay away from Brittany. J.T. knew better than anyone
that Raul was willing to go the distance, to commit and connect, and eager
to prove his love for Brittany was something true, something that could only
serve to enforce the 50 percent-divorce-rate. Still, J.T. had the appalling
nerve to kiss his buddies' girl.
At the time J.T.'s act was seen as a well-manicured middle finger to
pro-family believers. God forbid anyone might want to love and honor each
other till death do them part in this city. Billy Abbott, unable to marry
Mac because she turned out to be his cousin, correctly pegged J.T. from the
start when he said J.T. was so much trailer park trash.
How creepy, that for
someone so in love with Colleen, J.T. would now be having sex with Mac while
Brittany carries his baby in her belly.
Sissies Pretending to be Men
November 13, 2005
by Brent Kellogg
Now that J.T. Hellstrom, Genoa City's newest private detective of
such dependability and experience the city's most powerful
businessman looks to him to handle matters akin to national
security, has arranged to have coffee shop owner Kevin Fisher look
for computer saboteurs at Newman Enterprises and has, apparently,
become Kevin's newest and best friend, it's only fitting that we
flip the calendar back a few pages. There, February 27, 2004. That's
as good as any date and is but one example of how, in this
godforsaken town, you can never be too careful. Your enemy today,
could be your pal tomorrow.
Everywhere you turned last year you could always find someone
sniveling. If it wasn't Katherine Sterling bawling in an alcoholic
haze about her daughter, it was Phyllis Abbott whining that some
woman was trying to steal her husband, or Brittany Hodges moaning
and groaning that the tiny scar on her puss made her so ugly it
scared away dogs.
J.T. Hellstrom, all sneers and girlie-like thumping his bare chest
and blaming poor Brittany's blotch on Kevin Fisher, huffed and
puffed he couldn't wait to "take him down". But each time he had the
chance J.T. always had more important matters to deal with.
Raul Guittierez, who once couldn't stand to be in the same room with
J.T., stood before him crying his eyes out. If only J.T. could help
his baby girl snap out of her funk Brittany might realize that being
in love with Bobby Marsino was so wrong. If something wasn't done
soon Raul and J.T. could very well find themselves in a genuine
same-sex wedding ceremony holding hands as they watched Bobby walk
away with their girl.
And yes, J.T. had always secretly, if not openly, loved Brittany as
he demonstrated by giving her a load of his finest spit. It was a
delicious and heartwarming historic spectacle indeed, and there was
simply no way for any person of any elevated consciousness to
witness the event and say, wasn't that sweet? Isn't J.T. the man?
Did not everyone feel the intense emotional energy?
Together for months, Raul and Brittany had practiced starting a
family, talked of setting up a home complete with a white picket
fence and dinner parties and regular shopping excursions to
Fenmore's and damn but what J.T. didn't come along to strike a blow
against the American way of life.
It's not like J.T. didn't know his best bud wanted to marry the
local stripper and beat himself off at night because he wasn't man
enough to tell Bobby to stay away from his girl. J.T. knew better
than anyone how badly Raul wanted to go the distance, to commit and
connect, and was eager to prove his love was something that, in
truth, would only serve to enforce the 50 percent-divorce-rate.
J.T. was in a situation in which he simply could not imagine anyone
hurling gobs of intolerant hate at Brittany let alone herself. But
rather than tell her in no uncertain terms that becoming stagnant
and wallowing in self-pity was unbecoming a skanky stripper who
should have known one day that some freak in the audience would wait
for her in the alley and do bad things, J.T. had to show Brittany
that even he, a hunkmonkey, could kiss an ugly bitch. It would have
required a serious amount of nasty, inbred ignorance and appalling
nerve to have done anything else. Kiss your buddies' girl, make them
feel all warm and fuzzy.
Talk about your immoral disgusting sodomites. J.T.'s act was a giant
well-manicured middle finger to the pro-family believers. God forbid
anyone in this city might want to love and honor each other till
death do them part.
And this was the best part: Besides hating Kevin so much he couldn't
stand it, J.T. had also professed his love for a sixteen-year-old
girl. He swore never to do anything to hurt Colleen Carlton if only
her parents would stop rousting him. Since passing himself off as a
Bible-thumping wannabe priest who thought it was okay to be with a
minor child, J.T. said he had changed? Ironically, Billy Abbott had
J.T. pegged from the start when he called him "trailer park trash".
From pretending he's a rugged urban soldier on a badass recon
mission, to selling his heart-thumping male body, the mind reels at
the thought of J.T. as just the coolest khaki-wearing knave boy.
It's so funny whenever he tries passing himself off as an all power
and muscle military-inspired thug stomping all over the city looking
to take out those pesky little Kevin types when he's really a girlie
boy.
Since becoming a guitar-strumming frog-crooning overnight rock star
failure J.T. has persistently embarrassed himself with his rather
childish and typically all-American delusion of seeing himself as
something he isn't. What really keeps him busy is his tiny sense of
self importance and deep need to be a lady's man when the closest he
came to female gender companionship was the underage Colleen. Still,
when Colleen was willing to put out J.T. wasn't up for it. When
Colleen left town the best J.T. could do was a chick named "Robin"
and then only, probably, because he thought her first name was Cock.
J.T.'s flag-waving righteousness is a joke. He avoids the real truth
in favor of safe, predigested tripe widely eaten by media whores.
What are you, scared? J.T.? Repressed? Gay? If you want to do some
good, why not profusely apologize for being a wimp. Look into Ashley
Carlton's past and find out once and for all if she's really a man.
Okay, so if she is it'll turn you on.
Does this make you laugh? It is, after all, incredibly easy for
desperately lonely high-pitched singing fatalistic geeks to do.
Every good PI knows that when asked to find an expert in computer
espionage to hold up their worse enemy. To do otherwise would cast
J.T. into the madhouse of impossibility and therefore render him
impotent. To do anything in this city that remotely resembles
reality would give sissies pretending to be men credibility and they
can't have that.
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