Male slut pokes fun at unemployed!
by Brent Kellogg  
December 2, 2003

In a rare display of empathy for the less fortunate and underpaid grunts who do a majority of the dirty work on whose backs the elite in Genoa City reap the riches, department store owner Lauren Fenmore said Tuesday that watching those applying for work at her store can be heartbreaking.

Noting that the local economy is "dicey" and hinting that rumors of a recovery are nothing but more lies, Fenmore specifically mentioned that one of the men applying for work at Fenmore's as a rent-a-santa possessed a degree in physics. While not revealing whether the man was given the job, Fenmore eluded to the tragedy of unemployment in this city.

Only recently a score of employees were laid off when the RoadKill Cafe burned to the ground. Yet, owner Gina Roma's prime concern was with what was to become of her. Only after she was handed a new job on a silver platter - a job some other poor soul was relived of - did Roma mention in passing that "some" of her former employees were also hired at Genoa City's newest and most all-purpose restaurant/bar/gym/motel, the Athletic Club.

While the number of unemployed and homeless and hungry in the most powerful nation on earth is astounding and the government that claims to be so compassionate about the downtrodden pours billions of dollars down the drain each day on pork barrel projects is indeed horrific, nothing is more disgusting than a weasel who makes fun of the unemployed.

The weasel in question was Fenmore's male slut; the nice Catholic and resident private investigator; Paul 'Clueless' Williams who recently raped his former wife, had a child out of wedlock, abandoned the baby and his wife and now sleeps around even though he is still legally married.

"Maybe he can teach the reindeer about laws of gravity," Williams snickered of the unemployed man who, with one degree, is one more than Williams can claim.

That he doesn't have an education or a permanent place to call home matters not to Williams. The mama's boy can always crawl back to his mother's home if things get tight or, find a woman to live off.

The likes of Williams need not worry about looking for work. It's not what they know - it's who they know.

That these privileged freaks will never know what it's like being unable to pay their bills is no excuse for making fun of the unemployed.

Cold, sick infatuation; a love story
November 5, 2003

Reliving his days as a horny, frustrated teenager all over again, and moping around because he hasn't had sex since that time months ago on a California beach, private investigator Paul Williams this week has done nothing but complain of having to take cold showers because just a glimpse of his former wife's black panties is enough to cause massive Viagra-free erections.

Seeking to reverse the long trend toward shamefully inadequate sexual intercourse, Williams tried this week to get his roommate to stop talking about her career long enough to concentrate on the tiny bump in his pants to no avail.

All the while thinking about Christine 'Bug' Blair, Williams went to his office where he became so desperate for sex it seemed the hole in his desk would have to absorb his frustration but was spared when the woman - Bible-thumpers would almost certainly rise up and light torches and march on City Hall if it would prevent scandalous whores from walking the clean streets of Genoa City - materialized like a bad habit.

In less time than it took Lauren Fenmore to transform herself into the voluptuous woman pushing fifty that aging men see as funky gorgeous goddess-thick witchness and divine feminine power, Williams had the town slut in a lip lock. In the sexual heat Williams did not notice that underneath Fenmore's drapery of reddish brown follicles and massive melon chest beat the raw red heart of a latent pagan priestess.

When the body fluids had been exchanged Fenmore quipped that Ms. Blair doesn't know what she's missing. That Williams boy is some stud.

"She knows," Williams oozed, because big man about town that he is, Williams forced himself on Blair exactly one year ago.

"I thought we were moving in the right direction, but things don't seem to shaking out that way," Williams sniveled, as if a woman who has been raped is supposed to forget it ever happened once the pain wears off.

Still, because scum buckets always retain that stench, Williams claims to love Blair. He has managed to get back in her good graces by inadvertently saving her life and the couple shared an abode until Williams asked the woman of his dreams to marry him. Turned down, he asked again this week and when turned down for a second time, Williams threatened to move out.

Like a battered woman who doesn't know a bad thing when she sees it Blair expressed concern for where Williams will be resting his weary head but was not moved when Williams said humbly, "The office."

Like the spoiled brat who can't get what he wants, Williams screeched that being friends with the Bug isn't good enough. As a man, he has certain needs. If the Bug can't satisfy those needs then he'll find somebody who can.

"Last chance, babe. You gonna put out?" Williams did not say, but may as well have because this was the message.

Sadly, the Bug dropped to her kneepads to tell the slug what a "wonderful, sexy, interesting man" Williams is and that "any woman would be proud" to call him her main man.

Still not satisfied Williams huffed, "I'm riding off on the horse that brung me."

And because she can be such a stupid bitch, Blair did not say, "You creep! You raped me! You think I'm going to forget that just so you can get your jollies? Screw you and the horse you rode in on. I never want to see your sorry, cheating, adulterous ass ever again. And don't forget to take your stinking dirty laundry with you."

Bug+Clueless = Miserable failure
October 1, 2003

Without a doubt private investigator Paul 'Clueless' Williams and sometimes she actually pretends to be a lawyer Christine 'Bug' Blair are two of Genoa City's most utterly confused and twisted people. Perhaps it's their addiction to "unhealthy love" that made the couple flip-flop again on Wednesday.

Aware that they are engaged in a sick "obsession" - not to be confused with being in a fugue state - Williams and Blair conceded today that after all that has been said and done they still love each other.

Apparently, because he gets off wallowing in self-pity Williams seemed to have a hearing problem for he turned right around and asked, "Is there any hope for us?" And although she's repeatedly said she still loves him, the Bug squealed she doesn't know.

Noting again that what he did last November was "wrong" and having confessed that it was rape, Clueless said, "I don't know if it was rape" before asking if the Bug can ever forgive him.

Regardless of the fact that she's already said a number of times that she loves him and has forgiven him and sorta liked being raped, the Bug replied, "I don't know."

And frankly, nobody except these two freaks could give a rat's ass at this point because the issue is moot. Their credibility has been shot to hell. Had the creepy critter not already said that she loves Clueless and has forgiven him a big stinking deal might have been of some interest. Would a woman who has been raped find it in her heart to take the man back?

Since the answer is yes, for Williams and Blair to keep changing their stories every five minutes serves no purpose and only increases the annoyance level. This insidious little lame-ass attempt to make anyone who isn't already fed up with Blair and Williams change their mind is a miserable failure.

September 30, 2003

Forces of darkness grip PI, Bug
With all the bad things happening to Genoa City's most clueless private investigator, Paul Williams would be better off dead. That was one conclusion drawn Tuesday when Williams himself seemed ready to throw in the towel. For the millions of times he's tried to move on with his meaningless life, damn but what he can't get anywhere.

"I did something terrible to a woman I love with all my life," Williams said of the rape he committed last November.

Hoping against hope that confessing his sins to a priest would cleanse even the darkest of souls, Williams was left with more questions than answers when Father Todd Williams told him that he suffers from a "sick obsession" brought about when two people engage in an unholy alliance. The Holy Father ever went so far as to blame the woman Williams raped for contributing to the stupidity of a moron.

Even after Williams committed adultery, married a woman he didn't love, brought another child into the world to be ignored and then raped his former wife, Christine 'Bug' Blair continued to engage Williams in what the Father termed, "unhealthy love."

And for that little enabling sexual mess on a California beach alone, the Bug shares the responsibility.

The general conclusion reached here this week is that Williams and Blair are two acutely disturbed people. Both should be seeking the services of a psychiatrist, not a priest, preferably alone in individual padded rooms at the Shady Hills Mental Sanitarium.

September 29, 2003

Act of rape called sick obsession
Confirming that he was only concerned with the gratification of his own selfish and unholy desires when he raped Christine 'Bug' Blair, private investigator Paul Williams said Monday that he knows what he did "was wrong" but because he's the dumbest dork on the face of the earth he needs "answers" from a priest who can better explain what God meant when He said, "Thou shalt not commit adultery."

In addition to the criminal act of rape, Williams committed adultery last year when he forced himself on his former wife apparently as some manly attempt to prove to Ms. Blair that he is more of a man than the one she had planned to marry.

During a confessional with his brother, Williams told Father Todd Williams that attorney Michael Baldwin is "the worst person in the whole world" and did not add that if not for Baldwin his sweet Bug might very well be dead.

Reflecting upon his brother's pitiful sob story, Father Todd declared that Williams suffers from "a sick obsession."

Here comes da priest!
September 25, 2003

As expected, Paul Williams' guilty conscience finally emerged like a drunken snake on Thursday when the clueless private investigator began having guilt pangs concerning the horrible act he committed nearly one year ago.

It was November 2002 when, in a fit of rage, Williams forced his former wife to have sex with him. Some called it rape. But because Christine 'Bug' Blair appeared to have enjoyed the molestation what was really a heinous crime was sugar-coated and repacked as "rough sex."

Now, Williams says he can't move on with his miserable life until he is absolved. Nor can he remember little details like, the fact he has yet to file for divorce from his illegally imprisoned wife, Izzy Williams or that he has a baby stashed away in Los Angeles or the phone number of his brother.

His entire angst-filled soul in limbo at this juncture, Williams made an impromptu trip to his mother's home where the previously drunken Mary Williams - having dropped out of sight for weeks at the height of the Vanishing Victim case - was seemingly clean and sober but alarmed that her son would drop by "at this time of day" which was actually, an otherwise normal time of day.

Forgetting that there is a six month waiting period imposed by law in Genoa City regarding how soon divorced persons may remarry and that her son has yet to file for divorce, Mrs. Williams pestered her son about a wedding date. Just when would the lucky Ms. Blair, a creature she couldn't stand to be in the same room with at one time, become Mrs. Paul Williams again?

Mr. Williams shined the old woman on, obtained the phone number of his brother and headed straight for the nest he shares with his love bug to sputter about how he can practically feel Satan sucking out the last remaining shreds of his darkened soul.

Praising Williams for saving her sorry ass both emotionally and literally and all but saying that she harbors no resentment and kinda liked being raped, Ms. Blair let Williams off the hook. Sadly, Williams didn't want to be let off so easily. Informing the creepy critter that he doesn't know how to move on, the Bug opened the flood gates of Hell when she suggested, "Don't you think it's time you find out?"

And so it came to pass that Williams called Father Todd Williams.

Located in Detroit after the archdiocese moved him out of Grand Rapids, which pretty much says it all and alludes to perhaps way too many complaints against him by young alter boys, Father Williams said he would drop his duties as head priest of St. Tarcisiusand and fly immediately to Genoa City to pray for his brother's soul.

"What are families for?" Father Todd actually said, and did not wonder, "Gosh! Whatever is bothering my 'bro must be serious because he and the entire family have ignored me for something like twenty years."

Meantime, in a related development, hardware stores across the city have reportedly sold out their entire stock of industrial strength barf-bags in anticipation of Williams' incessant what is to become of me now soul searching.

PI confesses, It was rape!
September 26, 2003

Private Investigator Paul Williams admitted Friday that forcing himself on Christine 'Bug' Blair last year was an act of rape.

"I raped Christine!" Williams said during a brief confessional with his holy brother, Father Todd Williams.

The priest arrived at Genoa City International Airport aboard We Fly You Anywhere Air within moments of being summoned by his brother whom Father Todd has not seen in twenty years. Adhering to the words in the Good Book, friar Williams voiced no ill will towards his brother for not having the common courtesy of meeting him at the airport.

In a related development, Ms. Blair maintains she doesn't consider what her former husband did to her an act of rape and in fact likes rough sex.

The rape that wasn't
by Vicki Johns
September 12, 2003

So Paul Williams now wonders why he raped his ex-wife. And by what definition is what happened last fall "rape?" She wanted it and he wanted it and rape doesn't begin to play into that equation on any level.

To call that insignificant episode of angry sex rape is a blasphemy to rape victims everywhere. Rape is a vicious, sick and brutal crime perpetrated on innocent victims who are usually left battered and beaten and left with emotional scars for a lifetime.

Yes, there is date rape and yes, husbands can rape their wives. True, when a woman says no, that is rape as well. But in those and other situations, the usage of the term "rape" should rightfully be brought into question when the woman continues to live her life as if not much happened.

What did Christine Blair do the supposed morning after the rape? She laid there in bed, confused and somewhat perplexed. Those might be considered to be normal emotions after you've had sexual relations with your married ex-husband when you are engaged to another man. She did not confront her then submissive attacker, she did not call the police, she did not seek medical attention, she did not contact her lawyer. She just dipped into that endless pot of cash she's got stashed somewhere, and took off for parts unknown for months on end. Probably all women who have got endless pots of cash and no obligations periodically take off for parts unknown whenever they want. Doesn't prove a damn thing.

And what did Christine do when she came back into town? She assumed some grotesque personality for the sole purpose of uncovering the "truth" about her ex-husband's spouse. Wow, now that is symptomatic of the overwhelming anger that is usually associated with a rape victim's feelings for her attacker. She didn't walk back into town, contact Paul, and say, "Look, you miserable bastard, you are lucky I didn't file suit, and stay the hell away from me for the rest of my life, you sick, perverted SOB." No, no, she assumed the role of savior for her ex-husband, you know, the "rapist."

Then, when Christine finally did learn the truth about Michael Baldwin and Isabella Williams' deception, what did she do? Did she say, "Good, you jerk, you finally got what you deserved and I hope it's just the beginning?" No, she flies ACROSS the country to inform Paul of the news, and then has sex with him on the beach. Now, just what is the statue of limitations on "rape?" Might it expire with the next occurring episode of sand and sex?

Of course, after all this, it was only natural for Christine to actually invite her ex-husband/rapist to share her domicile. Certainly, it is customary for most women to allow their rapists to co-habitate with them. Come, you angry vicious criminal, come into my home, my harbor, and partake of my hospitality, for I have no fear that you might attack and violate me again. And by the way, can I fetch you a glass of wine?

And you never know exactly who might be at the other table the next time you and your spouse splurge on an expensive dinner for an anniversary or a special occasion. Might actually be a rapist and his victim, who've just adopted a song associated with a couple of children's puppets as their very own love theme. Could be, you know, rapists and their victims just love expensive restaurants and romantic nights out, serenaded by their own professional pianist.

Of all of the unfinished sagas in Genoa City, this was the only one that truly deserved to be left behind. Instead, it will be used as vehicle to bring to us once again, the sufferings, the pain, the agony, the righteousness of all that embodies the glorious Christine Blair. It's an outrage and an unconscionable indignity not just to observers, but especially, and most offensively, to real rape victims everywhere.

PI says vanishing victim is dead!
July 30, 2003

Clueless detective ends marriage!
May 27, 2003

April 10, 2003

April 2, 2003

Turn out the lights, another Williams marriage is over!

The universe was heard to quietly applaud and sigh with a tiny sense of shimmering hope for the soul of humanity after all on Tuesday when detective Paul 'Clueless' Williams confessed, that yes, he is a despicable miserable excuse for a human being and rapist.

Her son tucked away out of sight out of mind with the always convenient - we are at your beck and call regardless of the hour - sitter, dizzy Izzy Williams sat on the floor of her tiny apartment before the fireplace when Williams returned carrying what is thought to be the only aluminum briefcase in the world.

Looking around the dungeon caused Williams to have yet another flashback to that fateful day when he aggressively raped his former wife because it was what he had assumed the woman had wanted. The thought of women throwing themselves at him was so compelling Clueless didn't hear Izzy asking if he were okay.

"I didn't see you there," Clueless smirked before asking Izzy the exact same question. Was she okay? The question had to be repeated because Izzy might not have otherwise had an excuse to whine. Ever since the christening of their baby things had not been the same which was not to say that things had ever been normal.

In her spare time, Izzy spent countless hours gazing into a crystal ball and knew there was something Clueless wasn't telling her. Was he keeping his lips sealed because of some pent up anger? Had she not been playing the perfect little sex goddess? Was it the burnt sauerkraut and ribs?

Due to an unprecedented slump brought on by weariness and guilt, Clueless confessed. Every single thing gone wrong in their sham of a marriage was his fault. He should never have tried to kill Michael Baldwin that night at the reception and Lord have mercy, he was keeping Izzy in the dark about what he did afterwards.

"I've hurt you and our son," Clueless sniveled and facing up to the fact it's about damn time karma slapped his flabby ass, Clueless tried to rationalize that if he could only turn back the hands of time it would make the world forget that he's a noxious and never ending cancer on society.

"I had sex with Chris that night," Clueless spewed and oh Satan, why do you make me do these things, he implied but did not say.

Forgetting that it was she who lied and cheated and told Clueless she was pregnant with Michael Baldwin's baby, Izzy threw a major fit and at the same time dredged up the it's all about me syndrome while thumping on Clueless' manly chest. "How could you do this to me?" she squawked.

And like so many other instances where the woman discovers her man has done her wrong, Izzy claimed that by screwing the Bug, Clueless had ruined her life and that their marriage was over.

As Izzy stormed out of the apartment, Clueless came to grips with the fact he's a self-righteous ideological dinkwad without a wife who won't be giving it up anymore because she's sick to death of his grunting spank-me crap and his slimy Vaseline advances.

Perhaps it was the realization he'd have to go back to sneaking peeks at the other old flabby men in the locker room for cheap thrills that made Clueless breakdown bawling. But at least, the truth was out.

January 23, 2002

Idiocy runs rampant
by Michael Kelly

January 22, 2003

Snoop-dogs run out of Olive Pit, commit 5 more blunders!
by Brent Kellogg

January 21, 2003

Snoop-dogs go off half-cocked

Tagged as Williams' latest flunky, Richards has been relegated to doing dirty work for the PI. His first task: to obtain the legal documents on arson victim Diane Jenkins from the law offices of all-purpose attorney John Silva.

Declaring his objectivity, Richards thumbed through the documents noting the great detecting work done by police detective Hank Weber and almost immediately noticed a loose end Weber had left untied. The term loose end made Williams' mouth water. A man like Weber would fit right in at the Clueless Detective & Alarm Company.

While Williams twitched he had no idea that his client, Mrs. Abbott, was telling attorney Michael Baldwin, "I want her to die."

Clearly directed against Jenkins' life, Baldwin dismissed the threat as something he didn't want to hear and went on to tell Abbott he no longer represents Jenkins and that her case had been dropped by the police for lack of evidence. Secondarily, Baldwin told Abbott that not pursuing Jenkins would save taxpayers money, which was quite the joke considering the government has absolutely no interest in saving taxpayers anything always eager to spend, spend, spend going deeper into debt.

"After what that bitch did to me, this taxpayer ain't taking it lying down," Abbott oinked, and sounding like Victor Newman, added, "you got that?"

"I want that woman prosecuted," she persisted, cramming her uptight little interpretation of the law down everyone's throat and straight past the gag reflex. To that end, Phyllis announced she hired Williams causing Baldwin to reel in laughter.

"That man can't find his own head on his shoulders," Baldwin said, but was unable to convince the hate-crazed Abbott to give up her warped vendetta lest it comes back to bite her in the ass.

"I'm not going to let this go," Phyllis snorted in the general direction of the Homeland Security office and maybe wondered if she could get a job there too. At the very moment she cried, "I want justice," Phyllis' received a summons from Williams and scurried off making the twenty minute trip to the alarm company in exactly nine and a half.

When Phyllis arrived at Clueless' office the only thing missing was the absence of one of those evil hooded dark-rider things from "Lord of the Rings" covering his empty head. Clueless explained how, on the night of Victor Newman's wedding reception, the phone call Phyllis received had come from a pay phone near 3rd and Algonquin. Clueless said he knew, because quite obviously, the police had overlooked this important piece of evidence in order to advance the social bitterness. Furthermore, the caller was male.

Phyllis confirmed she knew the caller was male, would never forget that "gruff" voice and maybe if they hurried they'd find the caller still on the phone trying to get his quarter back.

As if going into a part of town was not quite up to her wealthy standards, Clueless warned Abbott that Algonquin street is on the seedy side of town and while "I shouldn't take you there," he was going to anyway.

Should these half-cocked bumpkins happen upon a man using a pay phone, the snoop-dogs took along a photograph of Jenkins to hold up and ask, did you make a call on behalf of this woman? You can tell because we're just total strangers in the wrong part of town asking dumb questions and smelling very much like pigs.