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Traci Connelly
Brad Carlton
December 5, 2002
Desperate, repulsive love
by Brent
Kellogg
If it's an odd
day in Genoa City, and aren't they all, it must be a day that Brad and Ashley Carlton have
put their marriage difficulties aside so that they can fall all over themselves in
desperate, repulsive love.
The decision made to tell her husband the truth before one or both of those voodoo loving
wicked evil Winters sisters do, Ashley opted out of prayer - reserved for medical miracles
only - as a means to getting through her latest dilemma and opted instead for the more
direct in your face method of breaking the news that Victor Newman's sperm spawned her
baby. She did, however, toss out a quick "Please help me God" as she promised
herself she would set herself free before the clock struck midnight.
Imagine Ashley's dismay when she walked into her partly furnished Saks Fifth Avenue partly
Fenmore's Department Store furnished home and noticed that all the tension that had been
suffocating her just hours ago had mysteriously vanished.
The feelings of hostility has been sucked out by Brad Carlton who greeted his bride with a
single rose, a freshly waxed chest and a twitching bulge in his pants. Thanks to the piles
and piles of money and slaves or relatives willing to board their otherwise caged baby,
sex on the kitchen table was in order. Ashley wouldn't even have to take off the wig.
Endlessly annoying, Brad went on and how about how nice it is to be able to come home from
a hard day's work to his amazing wife and chronically absent daughter. Every man should be
so lucky to be horribly karmatically damaged and oh how the universe has suffered by the
endless torrential repeat playing of the noxious 'I Will Always Love You' and when that
baby girl grows up she's going to be a beautiful woman just like her totally baked
cancerous downward-spiraling mother.
And the gods cowered and covered up with industrial strength barf-bags as Brad went on to
say that their lives are in sync and what a wonderful future they will have together.
Frantically brushing off invisible creepy crawlers and blinking rapidly from the glare of
her $50 manicure, Ashley belched that her daughter is so lucky to have a weasel like Brad
for a daddy and never you mind that he's never been able to bond with that annoying
biological daughter.
Perhaps the most titillating aspect of using love to promote his pagan sexual desire was
Brad's affirmation that he needed the peace, comfort, and sanity Ashley brings to his life
on the odd days when she's not making his miserable life a living hell.
And, of course, Ashley needed to fill the void in her sexless life more than Brad could
imagine. If only they could share the moment forever and maybe run out to buy a bottle of
cheap-ass $4.99 fizzy stuff from Safeway. It would make their noses tingle and get them
totally drunk really fast so the sex wouldn't be so bad and the dull karmic ache would be
only slightly muted when she told him her secret.
Even before the truth came out Brad could be heard screaming like a pig stuck in the penis
with a knife as short paragraphs containing big words like betrayal oozed from his lips
and phlegm dripped onto his shiny hairless chest as he rubbed his achy braky heart and
conveniently forgot that it was he who married the beast knowing she had a baby out of
wedlock.
October
21, 2002
Empty threats
by Michael
Kelly
Royally
pissed off to learn from loose lipped pasta pusher Gina Roma that his wife Ashley had a
clandestine encounter the previous evening with ex-hubby Victor Newman at the RoadKill
Cafe, Jabot exec and jealous husband Brad Carlton barged into the inner sanctum of Victor
Newman in yet another pathetic attempt to intimidate the mega-magnate into steering clear
of his mate.
Not surprisingly, Newman barely raised an eyebrow while seated behind his desk as girlie
Golden Boy Bradski squeaked his peace.
In fact, the usually temperamental titan reacted with benign bemusement to Carlton's
colicky carrying on.
Nevertheless, the indomitable industrialist knew how to rattle the former hedge clipper's
cage when he had the brass balls to thank the pretty boy for taking such good care of his
own wife during her bout with breast cancer!
That did it! His feathers formidably ruffled, Brad belched that the egomaniac had some
nerve insinuating Ash was one of his thoroughbred horses and Carlton was nothing more than
a lowly stable hand Vic hired to keep her groomed and feed-bagged!
If Vic didn't keep his distance from Mrs. Carlton, the immaculately manicured and
pedicured putz huffed and puffed that he wouldn't be quite so "civilized" the
next time.
Far from trembling in his boots and stifling the urge to howl with laughter, Newman oinked
that if the sissy was through stomping his foot and throwing a tantrum, he had a business
call to make.
Not knowing whether to crap or wind his watch, Carlton could only stand statue still and
stare daggers at a nonchalant, nonplussed Vic, who ignored the ninny nonentity while he
yapped on the horn.
Realizing he lacked the manhood to back up his tough talk, Brad tucked tail between his
legs, limped toward the door, gave Newman the stink eye one last time, and slithered away.
Carlton, who regularly raids his wife's make up bag and likes to emulate professional
swimmers and female impersonators by shaving his chest, is in desperate need of a
testosterone injection.
Only the most wishy washy weenie would cower before the likes of doddering, decrepit
dinosaur and former father-in-law Yawn Abbott, who refuses to allow Carlton to have any
say in the rearing of his own daughter.
Speaking of daughters, the emasculated, hen pecked cluck can't even summon the balls to
demand his wife inform him who sired her two year old daughter crabby Abby!
And it's more than a little gallantly hypocritical of Carlton to rant with self righteous
indignation about a platonic chat Newman had with his wife when Bradski thought nothing of
betraying his cancer afflicted bride by nearly boning local butcher, Dr. Olivia Winters.
Newman is an oily, unctuously arrogant, crater faced, controlling bastard, but bigger and
better men than Bradski have tried and failed to crush him.
Rather than feebly flap his gums at the Mustache, Carlton would be far better off
recommitting himself to those he professes to care about and thank his lucky stars the
Black Knight didn't give him the crotch kicking he inflicted upon dishonorable dung digger
Diego Guittierez.
October 8, 2002
Behaving badly
by Brent
Kellogg
Despite the
horrendous carnage that passes for moral fiber in Genoa City, a worthless Brad Carlton and
sexed crazed Dr. Olivia Winters forced themselves to do the right thing here Tuesday when
they broke off a sexual coupling of the worst kind.
"We can’t do this!" Carlton gasped putting away his bent penis and pulling
his clothes on.
"We can't?" an overly optimistic Winters oinked in utter disbelief while
sputtering that it had been so long since either of them had sex. How she knew when
Carlton had sex last was unclear.
Carlton confessed that he wanted to hold Winters in his arms and feel her hairless skin on
his and that he wanted to screw like a super-charged Craftsmen 13-volt drill but damn,
doing so would hurt his wife more than it would Winters.
A sudden burst of guilt spread over Winters as her grotesquely deformed brain kicked into
gear.
"I almost made love with my best friend’s husband. What’s wrong with
me?" she asked lamely trying to dilute the fact she would have gone down on Carlton
in a heartbeat if he hadn't called it off.
Passively, Carlton condoned Winter's action by pretending that they hadn't done anything
wrong and shouldn't feel guilty for their sinful action. Instead of learning from their
past errors, Carlton said, as he had before, "This won't happen again."
Ignorance her guiding principle, a frantic Winters continued to shamelessly distance
herself from any wrongdoing. Like a fox caught in the hen house she belabored the point
that she hadn't had fried chicken on her mind.
Similarly, Carlton waged the dog by claiming he really does love his wife and he'll be
there for her like the proverbial life line.
Satisfied that her conscience was clear again, Winters assured Carlton that his wife will
be back to normal in no time and that - undoubtedly with God's help - the Carlton's will
be a happy family again.
That these sleaze balls didn't consummate the act doesn't let them off the hook. Adultery
is a disgusting sin ranking right up there with child molestation. If Carlton can't get no
sexual satisfaction from his wife and it frustrates him to the point where having sex with
himself won't solve his craving, he need only file for divorce.
As for Winters, this woman, simply put, is a disgrace. After having sex last year with her
brother-in-law she told Neil Winters, "That was the best sex ever." He, however,
was less enthusiastic.
October
7, 2002
So lonely they should die
by Brent
Kellogg
Cackling like a shriveled, simpering sissy on meth, dejected loving husband, biological
and adopted father of two, Brad Carlton made a complete jackass of himself Monday when, at
the home of butchering general malpractice doctor Olivia Winters, the soul wincing goety
replayed the tale of a lonely man.
For months Carlton's cancerous wife has been pushing him away, shutting him out in the
cold like an unloved dog and blaming cancer treatments for her unwillingness to behave
like a human. After trying everything to stand shoulder to shoulder with the woman he said
he would always love and that nothing would ever tear them apart, Carlton has apparently
accepted that once a lie is repeated often enough the weak are inclined to accept it as
truth.
When he thinks back, Carlton cannot recall the last time he and his wife were close in
every way. He lives in a home with another warm body but stills finds himself so lonely.
He can no longer contemplate the joys of nature and anal sex and fine wine and good books
and the feel of a nice, well made wristwatch.
Oh boo hoo hoo.
The evil demon interrupted the personal pity party long enough to say that she too knows
lonely on a first name basis. There are those times when Winters has wanted a man's arms
around her and a penis shoved violently between her legs. Embarrassing?
Oh holy Christ with a riding crop, does no one have any damn integrity any more?
Hell no!
Winters tried to bring up the heinous fact that she's a class 'A' quack and such intimate
talk didn't embarrass her. In fact, she was getting turned on by it.
"You are a beautiful, compassionate, intelligent, caring doctor," Carlton
slobbered slumpingly, sinking a bit lower and wondering just how he came to be a
chronically depressed snake in the grass.
Feverishly, Carlton went on to admit that he's become a worthless tit not knowing where to
turn.
Working herself into a frenzy, Winters saw before her a hapless, beaten man. But always
ready to kill if it serves her agenda, she took advantage of the situation by ogling that
Carlton is, "a wonderful caring man who any woman would be lucky to have
around."
Wiping away his tears, Carlton perked up. Any woman? Even an ugly, old butchering hag?
Looking deep into Winter's empty eyes, Carlton took her hand and they both confessed that
what they were about to do was wretched. But they didn't care. Their unused sexual organs
had taken on a life of their own. Whatever happened next could be explained away later to
others as meaningless and having no impact because they had only done it once.
That's a good boy, Brad, mama likes it when you talk like that, now hurry off and go buy
yourself a rabies shot.
The vile and deleterious love fest portrayed by Carlton and Winters is nothing new. Except
for the children too young to have sex, every adult in Genoa City has on at least one
occasion committed adultery. It's a way a life here. The fornicators get a kick out of
insulting God and losing divine protection.
And then they wonder why society is morally bankrupt.
September 10, 2002
Ebony & Ivory lock lips!
by Michael
Kelly
While shrewish,
self absorbed sperm snatcher, and prodigiously pessimistic breast cancer patient Ashley
Carlton cryptically admitted to her pitifully overprotective papa that she has
"regrets" about her life, her long suffering spouse Brad swapped extramarital
spit with his wife's black best friend!
Addle brained old coot Yawn Abbott let himself into his daughter's home, and shuffled into
his drearily depressive daughter Ashley's upstairs bedroom.
Yawn made the mistake of asking how his cancer cry baby "beauty" is doing, but
when Ash's phone rang, she surmised hubby Brad was calling to "check up on me,"
to which the old codger croaked, "indeed he should!"
Sure enough, it was Bradski.
But unbeknownst to wifey dearest, he was phoning home not from the Newman wedding
reception at the colossal ColonRoom, but from the flat of Ash's only friend, quack factory
hack Dr. Olivia "The Butcher" Winters.
Despite the fact that Winters and Carlton had brought their own vehicles to the Newman
event, he followed her home. It isn't known who issued the invitation.
Thinking Bradski was still hobnobbing with the elite at the ritzy reception, Ash told her
spouse to stay put and have fun. She was obviously content to let her old timer's disease
afflicted dad wipe her nose and dry her eyes.
Once off the horn with hubby, Mrs. Carlton carped that she's "sick every minute of
the day," and her terrifyingly turbulent emotions are "all over the place."
Without being specific, the simpering, skeletal skank spat that "life is passing me
by," and she ruefully regrets "so many things."
Patronizingly patting his bellicose, bitchy brat on the back, Yawn groaned that the skunk
oil sniffer has "led an exemplary life!"
In an insufferable attempt to abate her unabashed bawling, the old boob assured the
overbearing bone rack that he loved her from the moment she was born, and babbled,
"My baby, you have to fight, and I'll tell you how. With love."
Not knowing the meaning of the F or L words, Carlton sent the old simpleton home, replayed
the videotape in which she purged the paternity secret that Victor Newman is her daughter
Crabby Abby's daddy, and then stored the incriminating, earth shattering evidence in a
locked, concealed strong box.
Interestingly enough, the desperate to be discovered, deceitfully dizzy dame placed the
key to the paternal Pandora's Box within plain sight on a table top!
Back at the Butcher's place, a blue Bradski was urged by the poisonous practitioner to go
home and comfort his worse half hag, but Carlton complained, "There's a big Do Not
Disturb sign hanging on my wife."
Right on cue, the witch doctor droned, "You are there for Ashley, and she knows
that," and patronized the patsy by telling Carlton his wife "is lucky to have a
man like you in her life."
Responding to the wishy washy warm fuzzies like a cat takes to catnip, the love starved
Carlton cooed, "In case there's any doubt, you've truly been a lifeline for me."
Bradski went on to melodramatically claim he often wakes up in the middle of the night in
a cold sweat with what he thinks is a heavy weight on his chest.
To soothe the emotionally scarred soldier, the malicious medicine woman muttered, "I
wish there was something I could do to help you."
Tilting his noggin to one side, Golden Boy gazed longingly into the Butcher's cold eyes,
and smacked his lonely lips against hers!
It goes without saying that ebony and ivory can and often does work together romantically
in perfect harmony.
And if there's any woman who deserves an unfaithful husband, it's Ashley Carlton.
Only a malevolently malignant monster would refuse to divulge to her husband the name of
her daughter's biological father, despite the fact that Carlton has lovingly raised the
child as his own.
For the longest time Mrs. Carlton even frowned on Bradski bonding with his biological
daughter due to her own possessiveness and jealous insecurity.
And the timing of her taped confession is questionable at best.
Naming Victor Newman as Crabby Abby's father on the man's wedding day would lead many to
believe her revelation is based on nothing but unrequited lust for the mumbling egomaniac.
But if Brad bedded down with his bride's best friend rather than seeking sexual solace
from someone Ash doesn't know, it would seem to be nothing but passive aggressive payback
for what she's put him through.
The martyred man will tarnish his halo and sacrifice his shot at sainthood if he doesn't
immediately back away from the Butcher.
Speaking of Dr. Death, it's only a matter of time before she expects Bradski to transfer
his surrogate dad duties from Crabby Abby to her genetically time warped twerp, Little Big
Man.
And after the grief Winters gave her two previous husbands about their lack of moral
mettle as role models worthy of rearing her retarded runt, the two men should rise from
the dead and slap the hypocritical hussy silly.
Unless Winters and Carlton intend to confront the two faced ire of Ashley, and the self
righteous wrath of the Abbott family they'll nip this ill advised relationship in the bud.
Until the powerful paternity videotape is played, Bradski and Butcher would be perceived
as the only heavies in this perverse plot.
They shouldn't give atrocious drama queen Ashley the satisfaction of playing the injured
party since the only part she deserves to play is that of town pariah.
August
29, 2002
Rent it on video!
by Brent
Kellogg
It's hard to
fault a guy for falling in love with his wife's best friend especially when that guy
summed up the "event of the year" in just 4 words.
"Watch
it on video."
If there were an award for most intelligent statement of the week, Brad Carlton would get
it this week.
Treated like nothing more than a pool boy most of his life by the Newman and Abbott
families, Carlton couldn't understand Thursday why his sickly wife feels so much better
whenever the name Victor Newman comes up.
Ashley Abbott wallows in self-pity, has turned into raging, bitching maniac but the mere
mention of Victor Newman is like injectable Valium.
Noting that his wife was excited beyond belief, Mr. Carlton suggested that the stress of
going to a wedding might be more than her fragile body could handle.
"For god’s sake!" Mrs. Carlton erupted. If her husband didn't want to go to
the wedding she'd go by herself. Victor Newman is a good pal. There's no reason why she
wouldn't attend the wedding of the man who's baby she aborted years ago.
In total sync with reality for a change, Mr. Carlton pointed out that if anyone has seen
one Newman wedding they've seen them all. Additionally, it's probably not going to be the
last. Victor and Nikki Newman are in the Guinness Book of World Records with the most
marriages to the same person.
In a perfect example of how depraved she is, Mrs. Carlton said she thinks the Newman
marriage is "life affirming" and that she was surprised her husband would object
since he almost married the bride once.
No mention was made of the fact that Mr. Carlton was once married to his current's wife
sister and for good reason. The in-breeding in this city is bad enough without recalling
that Mrs. Abbott has been married to Victor Newman and only she knows who the biological
father of her baby is. Trying to create family trees for these ingrates is nearly
impossible.
August 27, 2002
Love 'em and leave 'em
by Brent
Kellogg
One of the
saddest things about Ashley Carlton's battle with cancer is the appalling misinformation
the victim - and now her spouse - are espousing.
After a discussion with Dr. Olivia Winters on Tuesday, during which they exchanged
knock-knock jokes and burst out laughing at themselves, Brad Carlton suddenly recalled how
long it's been since he and his cancer stricken wife had a good belly laugh.
Try as he might Carlton couldn't remember the last time.
Told by Winters to keep his chin up because his wife will "be just fine",
Carlton babbled how the stress causes him many sleepless nights. On those nights he whiles
away the hours by going on the Internet. But even that doesn't help because
"it’s difficult to find anything positive there."
Carlton was apparently referring to cancer web sites he reads looking for a miracle cure.
But alas, "The statistics are stacked against us."
Carlton's statement about the grave crises facing him and his wife caused a deafening
silence when he added that it will take "five years" to know if his wife's
cancer is in remission.
The problem is that Carlton is getting all his information from the wrong places. Web
sites like the Afghan Medical Professor are not good sources. Even the un-trained doctors
at Genoa City's Center 4 Disease know that time measured in years has nothing to do with
whether cancer goes into remission. Cancer either goes into remission - or it doesn't. And
when it does - if it does - a doctor would be able to determine this IF the Carlton's
would get their heads out of their butts long enough to see a cancer specialist. Going to
the general practitioner quacks at the C4D is as useless as teats on a bull.
Carlton's concern about his ailing wife is disingenuous as he's now using her illness as
an excuse to see other women. Not just any women mind you but old scalawags in
desperation. It seems like only yesterday when Carlton swore on a stack of Bibles that he
would always be there for his dear Ashley and that like so many other tragedies they would
get through her cancer together.
However shallow he's become, Carlton cannot shoulder all the blame. His wife has driven
him away with her constant nagging. But there's something about the men in Genoa City.
Once the women they've sworn to love become damaged goods they want to trade them in for
new models. Albeit in Carlton's case a new used model.
August
26, 2002
Racial roulette
by Brent
Kellogg
Already
compared to a train wreck the forthcoming union of Brad Carlton and Dr. Olivia Winters is
a cruel, exploitative joke.
First
there is the obvious question; why would a shiny-chested and fairly young stud like
Carlton want anything to do with Winters who, if she's a day, is pushing 50? Has Carlton
developed a hankering to prove himself a total man? There is after all, an old saying that
a white boy isn't a man until he's taken a black woman into the sack and ravished her.
The issue of bi-racial affairs always brings the worst out in some people who, as
patriotic as they claim to be, can't stand the thought of black and white together.
This past
Friday there was the Latino woman who got fired from her $9 per hour job as a healthcare
worker because she spoke Spanish in front of white woman who, barely able to speak English
much less any other language, thought the woman was "talking about me."
All this indignant disapproval seems oddly misplaced, as if a bunch of cardinals suddenly
started taking the pope to task for being Catholic.
That said, it
must be remembered that Neil Winters and Victoria Newman tried to break down the mixed
race barrier and it went down alright. Down the toilet. Not because of the race issue but
because of the age difference and the fact that these two had and still have nothing in
common.
And then there's the mix and match mentality. Why is it that the rich and infamous in
Genoa City can never stay with one man or woman? One year Victoria Newman was with Ryan
McNeil, then she was with Cole Howard, then with McNeil again, then with Winters, then
with McNeil and now Diego Guittierez and even that relationship is doomed.
These people
are always getting sloppy seconds too. Winters got McNeil's leftover, Carlton got Victor
Newman's leftover and now he's about to get Neil Winters leftover. It's a regular
kaleidoscope of sex!
It must be the exhilarating philistine vulgarity which would explain why Carlton told Dr.
Winters on Monday she's been a "life line" for him and that if she weren't
around to confide in, "I don’t know what I’d do."
It would help if Carlton had a friend his own age and sex to turn to. But that would be
asking too much because the elitists in this town, with all their power and money, don't
have friends, many don't have parents and very few can stay married for longer than a
year.
Imagine the
conversation if Carlton were to run into Mr. Winters after consummating his affair with
the butchering doctor. "Hi Neil! Did you know I'm sleeping with one of the women you
had sex with?"
Carlton's entire chit-chat Monday with Dr. Winters was sexually ambiguous. Just back from
England his first stop was the doctor's office where he whined that his marriage is in
shambles. Living with Ashley Carlton has become so irritating he's lost much of his
concern for the cancer stricken woman. His wife has driven him away with her constant
nagging and feeling sorry for herself.
Discovering
that her best friend has shoved a scalpel deep into her back should do wonders for Mrs.
Carlton who had to have seen the pair up coming a mile away when her husband developed a
strange desire to be a role model to Winter's stunted child.
With male
members of the her family either dead, missing and thought to be dead or hopeless drunks
in rehab, Carlton must be the butcher's last hope.
All Carlton has to do is paint his body black and he'll fit right in with these misfits.
He gave it his first best shot Monday by expressing a concern for the family drunk, the
cantankerous sister, the runt of the family soon to be his "son" and soon to be
new niece.
Dr. Winters was thrilled to tell how a friend of the drunk tried to rob them, scared them
to death but the ordeal was not serious enough to warrant calling the police out of
misguided concern for the drunk. The attempted shakedown horrified young Lily Winters and
on top of that the poor child saw her estranged father in a drunken stupor. Now Dr.
Winters is deathly afraid of what the implications mean for MiniMe Lily belle.
Hearing about the events of just one day in the life of this dysfunctional clan should
have caused a major ringing in Carlton's ears had they not already be infested with ear
rot.
"How are Dru and Lily doing?" Carlton asked.
What part of horrified didn't he understand?
In a flamboyant example of the vulgar yet to come, Carlton switched the subject slightly
to Winter's remarkable parenting skills. Based on the exemplary job she's done with her
son Carlton has little doubt Dr. Winters will be able to help her sister and niece too.
"I’ve got a great family and friends like you," Winters said refusing to
take all the credit for a boy born before his cousin Lily who now dwarfs her by a good
four years.
"The silver lining here is that we have gotten closer," Winter oozed.
To her credit, Winters is already milking it for all it's worth. A mere few days into the
relationship and already she's in slack-jawed amazement and will be humping door knobs
before too long and taking off work early so that she can go home and masturbate to
thoughts of the day Carlton asks her to polish his pole.
July 10, 2002
Soup's on!
by Michael
Kelly
Depressed and undernourished because chemo caused a few strands of her flowing, flaxen
straw to fall out, vain breast cancer patient Ashley Carlton sent her sympathetic spouse
Brad to the RoadKill Cafe late this evening for a steaming bowl of her favorite possum
soup!
Until supermarkets decide to carry such exotic brands of soup, late night errands like
Bradski's soup run to the RoadKill will be necessary.
Since the Carltons are the only upper crust clan in Genoa City without a live-in
butt-wiper, there wasn't even a can of alphabet soup stocked in their bare cupboard. What
would these people do if Ash's dad, John "Yawn" Abbott didn't send his slave
Mrs. Martinez to his daughter's place to dust and vacuum once a week?
Speaking of Yawn, he visited his dejected daughter in her bedroom while Brad fetched the
possum.
When his beauty didn't confide in him about what was bothering her, Yawn yapped, "I'm
not some fluttery old guy whose chin is going to tremble. I can be quite strong. Hell, I
am strong!"
Utterly convinced of Yawn's emotional brawn, Ash handed her pop her brush with the hair
ball embedded in it.
The old man comforted her, and Ashley cracked a cute joke, wondering how she'd look in a
"baseball cap."
Yawn assured her she'd look lovely as ever, but he got a little testy about Bradski's
absence in his wife's time of need. Ash assured him that she's got the most marvelous mate
in the world. Hubby's out fetching her some possum soup!
At the RoadKill, Bradski sat at a table while he waited for the piping hot pot of possum,
and ogled pictures of his wife as he flipped through his wallet. A moment later, he
received a visit from family friend Dr. Olivia "The Butcher" Winters.
As soon as the Butcher asked about Ash, Brad admitted the truth about his spouse's stray
straw. Playing the concerned friend to the hilt, Dr. Death placed her cold hand on his.
Once the witch doctor switched the subject to how he was doing Brad replied, "I'm
O.K. I'm not in love with the cancer. But what do I have to complain about?"
Deciding to answer his own question, Bradski's voice suddenly broke as he blubbered about
his bride, "I'm scared. This is my life. This is my soul."
Pulling himself together, Carlton inquired about the Butcher's growth stunted son, the
father-less Little Big Man.
Admitting that her gnome was still down in the mouth about his dipsomaniac uncle, Brad
offered to treat the twerp to a ball game and a pizza.
Not surprisingly, the insufficient physician loved the idea and felt that Carlton needed
to bond with her beast as much as Nate needed a virile male role model.
Once the possum soup was ready, Carlton picked it up, gave the malicious medicine woman a
peck on the cheek, and went home to his wife.
Is there something brewing between Bradski and the Butcher that Ashley Carlton should be
concerned about? What's with the hand holding and smooching?
If they're no more than friends, why is Mr. Carlton consumed by the idea of playing
surrogate dad to her dwarf? The last time he tried to befriend Little Big Man, the rude
runt told Brad to butt out. Either the Jabot exec is a glutton for punishment as a saintly
Good Samaritan, or he's trying too hard to impress the genetic freak's mother.
At the very least, Carton's priorities are seriously out of whack. With a seriously ill
wife, a full-time job at Jabot, and two daughters, one would think Brad has his hands
full. Particularly since his former dope smoking daughter Colleen hasn't seen him in
weeks.
Brad has no right to bawl like a baby about what he and his wife are going through when a
real man would look out for those near and dear before volunteering for a misguided
mission of mercy.
May 31, 2002
No guts, no
glory
Jabot Cosmetics
executive Brad Carlton had a golden opportunity handed him on a silver platter here Friday
to put the great Victor Newman in his place but weaseled out at the last moment. Strolling
into Carlton's office like he owned the place, Newman demanded Carlton give up personal
details about his wife's medical condition.
Carlton tried to explain that his wife is particular who she tells and
Newman wasn't on the need to know list. But, like the boy in the schoolyard who torments
the girl and pulls her pigtails, Newman only had to remind Carlton that his wife was once
his wife and that he will do everything in his power to support his favorite ex-wife.
To his credit, Carlton did tell Newman that there are some things in the
world which are none of Newman's business.
Friday, 01.11.02
Carlton invests 10-grand in 'Lottery'
by Brent Kellogg
It could be
nothing. When I heard that Jabot Cosmetics executive Brad Carlton purchased 10-thousand
dollars worth of a skeptical stock I didn't think too much about it at first. But the more
I thought about it the more I wondered. Is there an underlying issue here? Is Carlton
getting himself mixed up in an Enron deal?
If what Carlton
calls "a lottery ticket" pans out he stands to more than double his money. If
the stock turns out to smell like Enron he's only going to lose a few grand. Not a problem
for the rich and famous of Genoa City. Right?
Or wrong? What
if Carlton has been losing money on the stock market for longer than anyone knows? It was
revealed a couple of years ago, when Carlton was unemployed, that he had been spending
time as a day trader. Daytrading is very risky. Could Carlton be deeply in debt?
If Carlton is
in debt from a string of bad stock picks would that affect his life? His wife's family
could come to the rescue but at last report the Abbott's have all their money tied up in
Jabot.
Maybe it's
nothing. But something about this stock deal bothers me.
Wednesday,
01.02.02
Carlton to seek custody?
Foiled in his
early 1990's attempt to gain custody of his daughter Colleen, Jabot Cosmetics executive
Brad Carlton had to settle for visitation rights.
After a few
trips to New York, Carlton couldn't make a connection with the then infant child and soon
forgot for the most part that he had a daughter.
When Carlton's
daughter returned to Genoa City some ten years later his desire to bond resurfaced but try
as he might the bond wouldn't stick.
As Colleen
traveled back and forth between the two cities it didn't dawn on Carlton that his former
wife might not be stable enough to handle a growing teenager. Her marriage in turmoil,
Traci Connelly would blame herself one minute and then be perfectly normal the next.
During
Connelly's waffling, Carlton didn't see his opening. But with word out now that his
daughter will be staying in Genoa City alone and that her mother and step-father have
considered shipping the 14-year-old Colleen off to a boarding school, Carlton should
strike while the iron is hot by filing for custody.
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