Larry Warton

Larry 'Wartman' Warton news archives

Wartman calls it quits!
November 17, 2003

Arrested in March, 2000, for stalking when a so-called 'fan' letter to Victoria Newman was found in his locker, Larry 'Wartman' Warton wouldn't be absolved until May and didn't forget what happened in 1995 while he was incarcerated at one of Wisconsin's finer prisons.

Out of the pen on probation Warton went on that year to team up with date rapist Matt Clark. Together, the pair planned to kidnap Cassie 'the orphan kid' Newman as payback to Nick Newman who Clark blamed for stealing his girl, and who Warton had a run-in during their stint in prison.

Regardless of his criminal activity, Warton was never charged with a single parole violation and went on to become the town hero when he pushed pedophile, kidnapper and jewel thief Ralph Hunnicutt over a cliff and in the process saved Billy Abbott and Mackenzie Browning.

And while Warton would repeatedly say his parole was for five years he was apparently given an early release as he announced this Monday that with his parole over he's moving on and away from Genoa City.

Warton's departure had been foreseen the moment he went from being an interesting hero to a meaningless sounding board and "big dog" to be kept on a leash by his female employer for the purpose of sexual servicing.

Jabot Cosmetics stock holder Jill Abbott took Warton into her bedroom following his employment at the firm as a janitor. After teaching the dumb cluck a few rules of etiquette, Abbott promoted Warton to security guard and the two went on to live together at the Chancellor mausoleum. When Abbott grew tired of being serviced by the stud muffin she stashed him on a mantel and for all intents and purposes Warton became pretty much useless.

So when Warton eyeballed Abbott swapping spit with Gentlemen's Club owner Bobby Marsino recently, he threw in the towel, quit his job and said the time had come for him to move on and presumably away from Genoa City.

Abbott tearfully begged him to stay on, but as she's becoming a full-fledged booze hound Warton indicated he has no desire to become an enabler. Thus, it is with deep regret that Genoa City must again witness the passing of an interesting character so that other, old and boring, characters may hog the limelight.

Old woman accosted outside restaurant

September 30, 2003

There's a good reason Jabot Cosmetics employee Larry 'Wartman' Warton is still working for peanuts as a security guard when he could be making $40 per hour as a mechanic. The man does not have a functioning brain! This fact was evidenced Monday by the stunt he cooked up with Chancellor Estate co-owner Katherine Sterling.

In an effort to get Jill Abbott - the woman he services sexually - to open up and accept Sterling as her mother and live with the old woman in peace at the Chancellor mausoleum, Warton rolled out a plan designed to place Sterling in harm's way to test Abbott's loyalty.

The elaborate plot unraveled in a back alley behind the RoadKill Cafe. Under the illusion that her mother wanted to have dinner to discuss why the maid hadn't been fired, Abbott met with Sterling and even before they could order a helping of pre-frozen three-day-old eyeball soup Sterling groaned how tired she was and needed to go home to rest her weary bones.

Sterling's desire to go out the backdoor should have tipped Abbott off that something was amiss since nobody except RoadKill employees and delivery truck drivers unloading heavily processed canned crap that probably shouldn't be fed to dogs have ever used that exit.

But because Sterling said taking the long way out would provide much needed exercise Abbott went along. Just as they were clearing the doorframe a man wearing a hood over his head began accosting the old woman.

Quick thinking Abbott noticed some logs leftover from years ago when something like fifty trees were cut down in their youth to make way for vacuum-sealed road kill restaurants, picked one up and cracked the man over the head. Just as Abbott was about to crack the thug again Sterling stopped her.

"It's Larry," Sterling muttered, and sure enough when the hood was removed the face under it was Warton's.

The extent of Warton's injuries was not immediately known but based on the hard heads in this city - like Victoria Newman and Ryan McNeil who both were once hit in the head with a baseball bat and in each case refused medical treatment and had not so much as a headache afterwards - it's expected Warton will be none the worse for wear.

Sleeping with the devil
September 18, 2003

Single-handedly helping to bitch-slap the term "friend" into a sad joke, Jabot Cosmetics rent-a-cop Larry 'Wartman' Warton may just as well have plunged a knife deep into the back of Chancellor mausoleum maid Ether Valentine this week when he told the ditzy cleaning lady that if she doesn't stop flapping her gums about how evil Jill Abbott is she could find herself standing in a long unemployment line.

Warton's traitorous action was seen as somewhat bizarre considering all Valentine has done for him, including picking up with her bare hands his sweaty bandanas and dirty underwear.

But this is how it is in Genoa City. In the blink of an eye people here can find their friends are now their enemies especially if the smell of wealth and power are in the air. And this explains why Warton is sniffing around in proud lockstep, accepted and nicely conformist and a happy member of the Abbott-approved herd, ready to share sole ownership of the estate, fornicate hard and defend Abbott against those gul-dang outsiders Katherine Sterling and Ether Valentine.

In a related development, estate co-owner Katherine Sterling is reportedly considering Valentine's termination after being given three seconds by her newly-found daughter to decide it's me or the maid.

Big dog blasts little mama

March 17, 2003

Called a stupid fool for attempting to steal birth records from the God Have Mercy Medical Center, Larry 'Wartman' Warton on Monday ran straight to the Newman Rocks coffee shop cry on the barkeep's shoulder.

[She] "said some very nasty things to me when all I was doing was trying to help her," Warton said of the aging sexy mama known as local girl Jill Abbott who currently has Warton chained to her bedpost.

Abbott scolded Warton for ignoring her instructions to take only legal means to obtain a copy of her birth certificate which is easily available simply for the asking and for not listening when she said local banker Fred Hodges was already helping and not to get involved.

"He [Hodges] told me everything had to be done in a legal way or a judge could decide to never let me get the information I need," Abbott barked at Warton.

"I didn't hurt your chances did I?" Warton asked, as if obtaining a birth certificate is some weekly lottery drawing and Abbott being so equally dense could only reply, "I hope not. We'll have to wait and see."

Because he is just too dumb to know that no judge on the planet can prevent any person from obtaining information regarding their birth or that a trip to Madison is all it takes to get a copy of her record, Warton scarfed how Mrs. Abbott could pretty must kiss his ass. He was taking off the leash hooked to his collar and moving out of her home.

Worse than the soul-cringing rants of the Wartman and Abbott was Katherine Sterling's comment following the obnoxious display of ignorance.

"Was he trying to help you find your birth parents?" Sterling asked with one of her infamous snorting rat's blood rituals when she already knew the answer and reprimanded Abbott for hurling pit viper snot at the poor Wartman because, "It's hard for Larry to trust anyone."

Sterling's profound and deeply moving concern for Warton was hypocritical. On the one hand she has told Abbott repeatedly to give up the search for her biological parents but here on the other hand she was telling Abbott not to treat Warton like a dog for trying to help.

Not to worry, Abbott was already in the process of whipping up a batch of martyr's blood and human tears and ferret semen. Off she went to the Chancellor mausoleum because she just knew Warton would be there packing his saddle bags and maybe running around naked flapping his arms and making vague threats before collapsing in a heaping flabby self-urinating lump as deep in his warped brain he heard a sad voice whispering, "I'm sorry."

"I took some time off to catch you," Abbott sputtered, as the flying monkeys huddled in the corner wondered; time off? From what? Searching for herself? Surely she wasn't speaking of work as she hasn't engaged in any work for years.

"I won't even try to apologize," Abbott told Warton and in the same breath said, "I'm so sorry for what I did and said" and then looking stern and frowny and trying not to make further dumb statements or being anal and uptight and basically making Genoa City just that much more tense and boring, reveled in the fact that at least they're not pygmy slugs living in the bottom of a nuclear reactor drainage pipe and would Warton like a nice massage or eat her lunch?

Not now my love. You showed your true colors and because of that it's all over. Find yourself another big dog the Warton retched until Abbott reminded him that without her he'd have to go back to being a shockingly massive and disturbingly celibate void-like belly button.

"You may be able to borrow me," Warton giggled, as Abbott recalled her motto never a lender or a borrower be but in this case would make an exception and hunkered down on her knee pads for some good dog servicing while thinking about Fred Hodges' shriveled up penis so that she can repeat the process with Warton when, as sure as the day is long, he sees her true colors again.

Bonk bonk hee hee woo that's so remotely funny. All observers are hereby encouraged to imagine lots of really noxious, heavily shellacked Jill Abbott and other heavily made up and horridly perfumed women, and paunchy hollow Viagra-infused macho men swapping partners delaying and ignoring the ease with which birth certificates can be obtained because this is their warped little lives and anything closely resembling reality would be unworthy of a Writers Guild Award.

March 14, 2003

Jabot employee busted!
She's not the brightest bulb in the overhead lighting but God Have Mercy Medical Center records supervisor Mrs. French was to be commended Friday when she broke up Jabot Cosmetics employee Larry 'Wartman' Warton's scheme to enter the hospital all but wearing a sign on his back reading, "I'm God's gift to women. Obey me," and coerce a dumbed down candy striper into arranging it so that he could steal the missing Jill Abbott's birth record.

After catching Warton red-handed, Mrs. French telephoned Abbott and warned her to never ever again send a boy to do a man's work and that any further attempt to obtain her birth certificate by illegal means would be reported to the police.

Mrs. Abbott later gave Warton a good talking to for doing something so stupid and did not slap herself for not knowing that birth certificates can be easily obtained in Madison, Wisconsin if she would only get off her fat ass.

February 20, 2003

Sex demons of the round musty bed

A Michael Kelly report

Putting his recent Officer Shlong Thong routine to shame, industrious Jabot security guard and Chancellor mausoleum grease monkey Larry "The Wartman" Warton swept his favorite forlorn Mrs. Robinson off her feet and onto a round mattress within the wild and woolly walls of the once respectable, upscale ColonRoom restaurant, which has suddenly become a brothel!

Before receiving the Wartman's surprise invitation on Thursday, Jill Abbott still felt rather disconnected from the ecstasy of living due to the discovery she's adopted as well as a pesky not so fresh feeling after throwing herself at a married banker like a cheap harlot in heat.

Storming into the company boardroom, Jill let out a primal scream of frustration that nearly caused her severely startled ex-hubby and Jabot founder John "Yawn" Abbott, whom she didn't know was there, to dump a rather large log into his drawers!

Jill apologized for her outburst, and began verbally mutilating herself like a goth teen who digs body piercings. Why does she do such asinine things like invite banker and business associate Fred Hodges to play hooky in a Motel 6 during a misplaced moment of mirth when that frigid bitch of a wife of his is within earshot?

Yawn, no stranger to his former spouse's spine tinglingly lusty libido reminded her this isn't the first time Fred Hodges has been privy to her bawdy behavior. Hasn't she ever heard of the time honored 3 strikes you're out golden rule?

Jill jabbered she didn't want to hear any lectures. Not now that "Liz Foster's in town."

As on the ball as ever, Yawn inquired, "Your mother?," to which Jill did not retort, "Well, technically the old bag's my adoptive mother, which she announced after all these years because there's a tumor growing in her head but really, how many Liz Fosters are you familiar with, you senile old fart?!

Once Jill brought her ex up to speed on her tale of woe, the Wartman called and invited her to the ColonRoom. Warton had just been in her bathroom, knew she'd taken a shower, and man, the steam combined with the aroma of the Chanel No. 5 she nearly drowned herself in gave him a massive woody so no refusals were allowed!

After a few words of encouragement from the old geezer she married and divorced twice, who urged her to "go have fun" with the stud because he's a live one who's actually unmarried and be sure to come back and lie that Warty's Big Dog is really a stubby puppy because it'll make Yawn feel so much better, Jill was outta there!

Before Abbott arrived at the ColonRoom, the monosyllabic ex-con and Jacques the prissy maitre 'd were getting along like a house on fire as Frenchie assured Mr. Warton that his sumptuous surprise afternoon delight for his lady friend was all set.

Never mind that the blue collar bloke with no more than 2 nickels to rub together couldn't afford a salad in a swanky place like this because he's held down a lowly security guard gig for only a few weeks in real time, which translates into a few days in GC time. Perhaps Jacques worked out a unique, ahem, installment payment plan with Warton after Frenchie imagined how well hung Mr. Minute Lube is.

Jill nearly departed the establishment as quickly as she entered once Warty led her into the private dining room, where she was shocked and dismayed to find a round bed with a single red rose on it!

"Oh no!" a suddenly prim and proper when you consider her ample amorous escapades of the past Abbott exclaimed and then tried to bolt before the Wartman brought her back.

Stating the obvious, Jill fretted, "Look Larry, there's a bed in here" and gosh, this lewd love shack is probably crawling with cameras, or the warped waiters will watch them swing from the chandelier, and no way in hell does she want their erotic encounter to end up on the internet for voyeuristic vultures to get jiggy with.

But fortunately, Warty assured his hung-up paramour that, "This isn't about sex." No ma'am. He just thought it would be "cool" if they slipped into those white robes over there, and rubbed up against each other under unwashed, semen stained satin sheets sheets while "dining in bed."

Larry assured a still hesitant Abbott that "this isn't the first time" the ColonRoom has catered these bed and fed sessions. In fact, "that's why they keep the mattress down in the store room," which explains the cobwebs and rat turds and the musty stench that covers the mattress. What could be sexier and more sophisticated, but still wholesome?

Wow! Wait until well heeled, white collar Genoa City Casanovas like Victor Newman and Fred Hodges hear about this!

And won't RoadKill Cafe owner Gina Roma, who invented the concept of combining food and fornication in 1983 when she boinked Jack Abbott in one of the rooms above her restaurant after serving him a delicious possum parmesan, be pissed that these swinging johnny come lately joints like the Lodge and ColonRoom have horned in on her ingenious innovation now that's she's inexplicably gone respectable.

Perhaps it's time for Roma to remove the sanitary but oh so stuffy sneeze guard from her snazzy salad bar so that her horny customers can screw each other on top of the wilted Romaine lettuce while dipping their decadent body parts into scads of salacious salad accessories like the RoadKill's rich, randy, and definitely handy ranch dressing.

Talk about dinner theater! No more of this behind closed doors hanky panky. Sell tickets, and let those diners too skittish to perform in public at least take home a few ideas for the boudoir or perhaps munch on a stray olive or lettuce leaf that somehow managed to squeeze out of a fornicating fellow diner's orifice!

Needless to say, Jill and Warty were in their robes denting the moth eaten mattress and chatting about her harmless flirtation with a married man, the jealous wife who dared to call her "old," and Abbott's determination to find her real kin folk faster than you can say, "Except for the 13 year old girl who survived submersion in a freezing pond for nearly 2 hours, this is the stupidest scenario head hacks and meth lab mavens Kay AllDone and Jack Smith have ever concocted."

January 20, 2003

Wartman lays down the law; no office sex!
Genoa City News staff report

It's been nearly a year since any member of the elite in Genoa City has had sex at the office. Previously, the freaky and very horny people couldn't get enough. They'd bang and hump on their desks and sofas and other office furniture capable of holding the weight at the drop of a hat.

The participants never cleaned up their messes or themselves and often ate on the same desktops where they had sex or allowed unsuspecting guests to sit on the sticky furniture.

After a series of complaints by the GCNews, sex at the office subsequently seemingly to have been wiped out and dried up. But that almost changed Monday when the always horny Jill Abbott got a gander of new Jabot Cosmetics security guard Larry 'Wartman' Warton decked out in his new uniform.

"You’re a new man," Jill drooled.

Admitting that his new life as a security guard is as "phony" as it gets, and if his ex-con buds could see him now they'd slap a Sold Out label on him, Warton cowered in sexual repression when Jill noted that he looked like a fuzzywarm glowing hunk of burning love she'd like to swap spit with.

"I'm not going be your lapdog at work anymore," Larry said in just the kindest, most conservatively compassionate sentiment token-bone bile ever heard.

Worried that Warton might see himself as sexually harassed and would sic the lawyers on her again, Jill made a feeble attempt at convincing Larry that a little sex at the office never hurt nobody and she'd really like to get down on her knees and take his big dog for a walk.

The offer may have been tempting, but Warton had a new image to protect. Snatching the rent-a-cop badge from his uniform, Larry hacked up some smirky, self-righteous dogma. No sex at the office and no fondling tin badges to turn him on because just thinking about unleashing his dog turns him on. So long as Jill could live with his on-the-job rule she would be well-rewarded with some of the best sex ever - off-duty.

Pleading with Larry to put the badge back on, Jill promised to be a good little sex slave and saying this with a straight face, no violent lightning bolt striking her dead on the spot, called Larry "Admiral".

And thinking she really meant Rear Admiral, Larry executed a snappy salute as visions of the fleet coming in later that night danced in their foggy heads.