John Abbott

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John 'Yawn' Abbott History

Bring it on!
by Brent Kellogg
September 11, 2003

The insane inane circus that the Abbott family's Let's Get Victor Newman rampage has turned into took another sad turn Thursday into the realm of utter disbelief. Sure, it's one thing that another tragic event has happened to the pitiful Abbott clan but to direct their hatred toward those who had nothing to do with the death of Ashley Carlton's baby is ludicrous.

Still ranting on Thursday - that Newman practically held a gun to Mrs. Carlton's head from some far away location by remote control and made her dump her fat pregnant ass into a car and then race home to oversee the rollout of another toxic chemical her pseudo-daddy dumps on an unsuspecting public only to be used once or twice and are then left in the corner of the bathroom to pollute the planet forevermore - old man John 'Yawn' Abbott was nearly foaming at the mouth. That evil, evil Victor Newman caused his "beauty" to have an accident which resulted in the death of her unborn baby.

"What he's done to my family. The unbelievable devastation he's caused," the old geezer wheezed, pausing between sentences to take a few hits from the large tank he was connected to with the words DOW CHEMICAL on it.

That Abbott has been sucking down corn-syrup solids and triglycerides and MSG and God only knows what other chemicals are surging through is clogged arteries can only explain the sheer madness this poor excuse for a human exhibited. Even Abbott's emotionally fragile son had to caution him to calm down for fear this aging relic would have another heart attack sure to kill him the third time around and wouldn't that be a fine mess. Two deaths in the same family in the same week.

The old man acknowledged the risk for a man pushing eighty and then went right back into a rage and maybe when nobody was looking, Abbott popped Terminator 3 into the VCR and got himself all pumped up. If that wasn't enough to convince Abbott that his brittle bones and rubbery skin can take on a man twenty years his junior he may have turned on the news and heard the battle cry, "Bring 'em on" mumbled by some bile-filled opinionated media whore.

Maybe it was Abbott's angry bitter Christian God, the one that says it's okay to bomb with impunity and kill anyone who stands in the way of chemical profits and savage cosmetics empire building told him to do it. Whatever his hate-filled reasoning, Abbott sped out to the Newman ranch seething the entire one hour drive stopping only long enough to pee a few times by the roadside.

When Victor Newman opened his front door Abbott hauled back and punched him in the nose. The impact sent Newman down for the count as Abbott hissed, "Come on you son of a bitch. Come on!"

His blood pressure off the chart, Abbott did not think how foolish he looked. His bizarre eyebrows and sucked-in cheeks and odd evil-looking forehead with the holes from the hair plugs recently removed still visible basically made him appear like a cross between a dominatrix mannequin and something found in the morgue.

Even before Newman could ask what was happening Abbott was rehearsing in his warped mind what he would say next. "You killed my grandson!"

Yeah, like Abbott gives a damn and that's what makes his violent stunt so knee-slapping funny. What, exactly, was the point? Was this old man looking for a reason to be put in a home where he can never again harm anyone? Was he trying to make the case to overturn Roe V. Wade? Does he not know that his darling Ms. Carlton had an abortion? That she stole a man's sperm and had herself impregnated? That she forgave her best friend for sleeping with her scum-bucket adulterous husband?

This we've got to blame someone so long as it isn't the person directly responsible shtick has gone on long enough. This isn't about Victor Newman. The great man doesn't have weapons of mass destruction so trying to make a case built on lies that he does won't fly in Genoa City just as it didn't fly in Iraq.

And like Saudi Arabia, Abbott should stop covering for the real terrorist. His beauty killed the baby. Trying to pin the blame on Newman won't work. Regardless of how hated Newman is, physically attacking him will not make the Newman haters cheer and stroke the flag and sigh wistfully for a time when men were men and Uzis were legal.

Getting all faux manly and squinty and the thin-lipped brow-furrowed monkey confusion so common to his scrunched little face, only makes John Abbott lose what little credibility he had.

Old man in rage afterbirth
September 10, 2003

In the afterbirth that is the death of "Robert" - the baby Ashley Carlton killed as sure as she took a knife and cut it out of her belly and nobody can recall when she or her miserable husband agreed on the name Robert or who the baby was named after - were the anguished cries of the sad mother when Mrs. Carlton learned for the first time on Wednesday that "Robert" is dead.

"Are you sure?" the sperm thief asked her husband as if telling a woman that her baby is dead is a common joke all proud papas tell the mother. Surely the baby must be around the hospital somewhere.

Told again that the baby is dead, Mrs. Carlton asked, "How can that be?" and then began moaning and groaning. "Now our Robert is gone. Just like that. Why? Tell me why?"

For a woman able to remember the name of her dead baby it was odd that Mrs. Carlton couldn't recall driving alone and pregnant at an excessive speed and crashing her car into another vehicle, coherent and talking at the accident scene and then again at the God Have Mercy Medical Center.

Gosh, how could it be that her baby is dead?

And as sure as Satan is evil it won't be long until Carlton starts blaming herself for killing yet another baby.

But the biggest joke of the day took place at the Abbott home where old man Yawn Abbott had taken time out from drooling in a cup to fondle a photograph of his "beauty" and yet after all these years not a single person has had the guts to tell this old fart, "Hey! Stop calling her your beauty. You ain't Ashley's daddy so just stop it or we're going to put you in a home!"

Gazing at Mrs. Carlton's image the old man wondered if she had been told of the death and just how Ashley was holding up.

"She's a fighter!" Jack Abbott volunteered for the umpteenth time not waving a flag and saluting smartly as if his sister is some damn hero just back from the war who will soon be sought after by ShowTime to make a movie about.

Because this is how they fabricate history and spin the truth and bake jingoistic pie, old man Abbott proclaimed then and there, "I'm one hundred percent sure this is Victor Newman's fault."

With not one iota of proof, nothing but the lies of his son to go on, the geezer made it clear that he had bought into the fabrication hook, line and Brad Carlton.

"He's going to pay for this," Abbott spewed, puffing out his chest and looking like he wished there was a statue of the great man nearby so that he could topple it, declare liberation and then go off to maybe land a plane on an aircraft carrier.

Only it got worse. Much worse.

"I may even take him to court," Abbott hurled, as his dimwitted son cheered him on and promised that court or no court Victor Newman would pay and that he, Jack Abbott, would see to it.

These are the things that make you wince and sigh. These are the things that put it all in perspective, make you realize what the Abbotts really value. They never take responsibility for their own actions. They must always find someone to blame. File a bogus lawsuit. A mother kills her baby and damn it, somebody else will pay.

These are the things that make you realize, damn, here I am working every day and struggling to make ends meet in a gutted economy and all I really needed to do all along to make a million bucks was kill my baby, blame someone else and then maybe write a book or give away the rights to my story for a TV movie in some sort of heroics and sell it to a hypocrisy-numbed Genoa City populace for $24.95 in hardback, $17.99 DVD and, boom, let the revenge madness ring.

In short, the Abbott myth helps numb the idea that Mrs. Carlton is a sperm thieving baby killer who has left behind a reeking miasma of hate. She's a beauty, all safe and secure with her riches and we should all feel sorry for her and fully understand that next year at this time when the name "Robert" is uttered everyone will look around and ask, "Robert? Who's Robert?"

What! Me worry?
Jabot founder puts on happy face
August 6, 2003

Is Jack Abbott not one of the biggest pansies in the flower garden of life? How pathetic can this boob get? There the CEO of Jabot Cosmetics was Wednesday crying on his father's shoulder and throwing a mini-pity party.

Oh daddy, Newman Enterprises has hired Michael Baldwin and we think it has something to do with Victor Newman's vow to bring our little cosmetics company to its knees. I tell ya, just thinking about the what ifs has me waking up nights in a cold sweat.

If Abbott would engage his tiny brain instead of always running his mouth he'd hire a private detective to find out what Baldwin is doing or find a disgruntled Newman employee willing to rat the company out. Hasn't Abbott been reading the papers? Baldwin is a suspect in the disappearance of Izzy Williams and that can't be good PR for Newman. So stop worrying. Look at the big picture. What's the worse that could happen? That those competing Safra skunk oils might get eye-level space on store shelves alongside Tuvia?

It amazing how these so-called business leaders stay in business for all the unimportant things they worry about. As for Abbott's father, old man John 'Yawn' Abbott, the founder of Jabot wasn't at all worried. Jabot goes through these minor crisis every year it seems and each time they come out victorious. Hell, one look at the company books and a child of four can see Jabot is in debt up to its eyeballs. Now that's success!

But daddy, daddy! This time our best lab rat took off just days before our big launch and for a major cosmetics company competing in the big world of business we don't have another rat capable of taking Damon Porter's place, Jack sniveled, nearly breaking down in tears.

Again, old man Abbott had to soothe his son's fears. Think Jackie. Remember your sister? You know, the sperm thief? Ashley Carlton has been cooking up skunk oil products since before some of those bozos at Newman Enterprises were born. If you've got a product customers trust and love to clog their pores with, it's going to sell. Ashley will be back in a few days and then you can leave the worrying to her unless, of course, the stress of having a baby and worrying that the company I built from the ground up might go down the toilet in one flush is too much for her in which case, well, who knows? I might start worrying for a change since I've had little interest in my own business since you nearly destroyed it by sinking us in some serious debt what with your bogus war with Victor Newman and all.

Oh daddy, I just don't know what is to become of us, Jack ranted and then like a child who has been caught masturbating confessed, "I've been waking up in cold sweats. This time I may have taken on more than I can chew."

Befuddled at this point the old man could only say that every project Jack has ever developed as Jabot CEO "has been a winner" and Tuvia will be a winner too. That said, John Abbott went back to drooling in his cup and maybe thought to check his portfolio because with a smuck like Jack in charge of the family fortune, he'll need more than Social Security to cover the nursing home bills.

The non-emergency emergency
June 24, 2003

In a city where employees demonstrate their loyalty by passing up vacation and routinely overdose on the anti-depressant drug Paxil thus becoming so depressed they can't think straight, it came as no surprise this week when the founder of Jabot Cosmetics, that hunk of mold living in a sump pump behind his home because he turned it over to his adult son and allows a former employee to camp out in the spare bedroom, John 'Yawn' Abbott called an impromptu "family emergency."

When Jack Abbott received the urgent call at his office he looked at his dizzy wife Phyllis, told her that he had to go see his father, but said nothing of any family emergency. He did thank the gods that his wife and he had driven to the same location in two separate vehicles, thus doing their small part to add to the dark pollution filled sky and increasing the profits of oil barons.

As it turned out the Abbott men never met. Somewhere along the line they must have remembered that the emergency - thought to concern the youngster member of the Abbott family - should have been declared the moment Billy Abbott announced he was getting married. The old geezer had known for some time there was a good possibility that the little road scholar his son planned to wed was in fact his son's cousin. Yet Yawn sat on his hands and did nothing while the wedding took place.

For all the old fart knew Billy had already consummated the marriage, but only then stopped drooling in a cup long enough to call an emergency.

Before the emergency meeting was abruptly cancelled there was one important question to be answered. Who, other than Jack and Yawn Abbott, would attend? Family member Ashley Carlton is out of town at an undisclosed location waiting to have another baby, family member Traci Abbott Carlton Connelly is in New York totally unaware her young brother even got married and family member Colleen Carlton is so lost in her own troubled love life exposing her to the horror of married cousins would go right over her empty head.

Even if everyone could be gathered together what could they do? The damage is done. What is the emergency? So Billy married his cousin. This is not a big deal. The kids may act like children but they are adults and should simply have the marriage annulled.

Calling a family emergency was an overzealous act on Yawn's part and would have served no purpose since some family members were excluded. So you see, this "emergency" was just another part of the divine circus playing out each day right there on your Comcast/Viacom-owned TV. All they want you to do is tune in, shut up, stop picking at the scabs and not wonder why a man called his son to an important family meeting which never took place.

Aging comment tips balance in Ramsey case

May 13, 2003

It's a slow grueling process but at least old man John Abbott is making more progress with his investigation of Charlotte Ramsey than some private detectives make during their entire careers.

Seen Tuesday at the RoadKill Cafe with his mark and the woman who knows more than she's telling, Abbott's trap snapped shut sooner than expected when the bait wiggled out of harm's way.

Denying that she's the same woman Katherine Sterling claims to have known Ramsey refused to answer any questions or even take advantage of a free meal. Saying that memories of the past are too much for her to bare Sterling also refused to talk but did let it slip that Ramsey "didn’t age well."

Based on the women's demeanor, Abbott said he's certain Ramsey and Sterling know each other. But when the RoadKill meeting went south Abbott seemed to change his tune.

"I thought they knew each other. There was intensity. But after Charlotte left Kay slipped up."

Asked what he meant by the awkward statement Abbott focused on Sterling.

"She said Charlotte didn't age well."

Asked to elaborate because he was starting to nod off and saying somebody doesn't age well is like saying the woman was missing one eye and every other toe, Abbott snapped, "I'm sure they know each other."

Ramsey and Sterling know each other alright. The problem is; proving it. Did Ramsey once live under the mausoleum staircase? Is that where she gave birth? Did Sterling lay claim to the child like some guardian angel and take baby to the local grocery store where she handed it over to that nice newspaper publisher who thought he was being given a fresh loaf of bread? Every story like this has that little tell-tale gem, that nugget of odd reality.

With John Abbott vowing to stay on the case until he finds out everything there is to know about Charlotte Ramsey it shouldn't be long until the skeletons are vanquished.

May 9, 2003

John Abbott, Private Eye?
Thank God for Jabot Cosmetics founder John Abbott! While his company is smack dab in the middle of a cosmetics war with Newman Enterprises and could succumb to complete financial destruction at any moment, the old man whiles away his time fretting over his former wife's personal problems.

Not that helping Jill Abbott is a bad thing. For the first time in something like ten years the old man actually has found something more meaningful to do than drool in a cup. In fact, at the way the old geezer is unraveling the Charlotte Ramsey case, he should consider dumping Jabot and starting up his own private detective agency. God knows this city could use a real one.

As reported in these pages on Thursday it has become painfully obvious that Ramsey is a flimflam woman who is trying to sink her hooks into Jill Abbott's money.

John Abbott came to this same conclusion on Friday when he suggested Ramsey might be "a con artist." The problem is that Abbott has hit one of those proverbial moral bumps in the road. Worried that making an allegation against Ramsey could backfire if she really is Jill's mother he needs proof that she's nothing more than a gold-digger.

Luckily, the old man says he has at least one other lead to check out. If the progress Abbott is making is any indication it won't be long until Ramsey is exposed and all the people involved in this case can stop saying birth mother.

April 16, 2003

Gold watch time for old man?
"I can’t condone this," a dejected mostly dead old man John 'Yawn' Abbott cried Wednesday upon hearing that his twenty something - but pretending to be a teenager - son Billy plans to wed the beak-nosed Mac Browning as early as June.

In a resigned tone of utter disbelief and probably recognizing just how pathetic and sad it is that in this day and age, in the year 2003, basic, skull-bonking statements about teenagers having sex and getting married still need to be restated and gasped at as if would prevent the inevitable, Abbott stopped drooling in his cup long enough and took time out from chaperone duties at a party for teens to tell his son "you know how I am about someone making his own mistakes."

The scene, like so many others the old man has been involved with recently, proved what a miserable commentary it is when the founder of a cosmetics company must beg for emotional does anybody care about my feelings scraps. Could there be just a slight parallel between the antagonistic conflictive grunting teens and Yawn's outright bogus ass-kicking we're such righteous white American prudes mentality?

Between his inability to get a grasp on reality, living in a land time forgot and his monosyllabic kill-em-all approach to the world, there is no doubt Yawn Abbott has outlived his usefulness. Keeping the old fart around to baby-sit teens is shameful. Abbott should be given something meaningful to do or put out to pasture.

January 28, 2003

RoadKill owner saved geezer's life!
Fast thinking Gina Roma was credited Tuesday with rushing Jabot Cosmetics founder John 'Yawn' Abbott to a local emergency room where the aging geezer was treated for what was termed "acute angina" brought about by stress.

"It wasn't a heart attack," a cheerful Abbott said instantly placing blame for his failing health on a stressful encounter with local sperm thief, Diane Jenkins.

After running a series of tests including an EKG, quacks at the Center 4 Disease released Abbott, but failed to warn him to stop eating the grease covered slop served daily at Roma's RoadKill Cafe.

Jabot founder not completely dead after RoadKill heart stopper

by Michael Kelly

January 27, 2003

During a vitriolic confrontation with Diane Jenkins at the RoadKill Cafe over Jenkins' intent to take her child and his grandson out of the state here on Monday, Jabot Cosmetics founder and befuddled old fart Yawn Abbott suffered what appeared to be severe chest pains!

If Abbott did indeed suffer a ticker attack, it would be the third such malady in the crusty codger's long life!

Jenkins' sashayed into the RoadKill for lunch carrying her infant son Kyle and approached owner Gina Roma for a table. Secretly wishing that Jenkins was African American and that the greasy spoon she owned was named Denny's so she could deny the sperm thief and alleged arsonist service, an annoyed Roma had to settle for oinking an oh so obvious and obtuse, "What can I do for you?"

Informing the old sow she'd like a table, Diane cooed to her kid it's apparent the ornery owner wasn't happy to see them when Roma rhapsodized, "I'm always happy to see Kyle!"

Jenkins requested a booth, but quickly changed her mind when she saw Yawn, and announced to Gina she'd join the geriatric one. Roma's request that Diane let Abbott gum his fried possum in peace fell on deaf ears as Diane sauntered over to Yawn and asked to join him.

The cantankerous cosmetics coot cracked she was the last person he wanted to see, but Jenkins jabbered she stopped by to let him say good-bye to the grandson the old goat hasn't spent two minutes with since he learned he's related to the pygmy.

Diane proudly proclaimed she's taking the tyke to Florida for two months because it's 20 something degrees there now and what better place to take a supposedly sick child who needs sun and sand? Without even bothering to say boo to the baby or perhaps smile or wave at Kyle to acknowledge his presence because it's more of a sick kick to be rude to his mother, angry Abbott burped, "Does Jack know about this?"

Once Yawn learned his sonny boy is aware of the trip, the senile senior snorted there's nothing wrong with the rug rat and, "You're not going to get away with this!"

With his blood pressure climbing sky high, an enraged Abbott seethingly spat that torching his poolhouse and framing his arsonist, murderess, hit and run driving, blood test tampering trollop of a daughter-in-law for playing fire bug was bad enough. But for Jenkins to take her own child away on vacation out of state without a crooked judge's permission and the apathetic Abbott family's blessing is outrageous!

Never mind that even before Diane began playing the role of possessive custodial parent/woman scorned, Jacko spent precious little time with the little twerp he professes to love so much.

In an attempt to soothe the savage beast, Jenkins reiterated the prevarication that the trip was for her son's sake, but Yawn, pounding his table twice in rage, roared, "That is bull! It's all about you and you know it!"

At that point, a wincing Abbott slumped against the table in apparent angina agony as Roma rushed over with Kyle. Treating the helpless tyke like a hot potato, the RoadKill slinger hatefully hissed, "Take your son!" before Jenkins scooped up the boy.

Expressing shock and denying all culpability for the catastrophe with, "It wasn't my fault," Diane was reprimanded by Roma with a withering, "Look what you've done! Get out of here now! Leave!"

The idle architect vamoosed as Gina volunteered to call an ambulance, but Yawn wouldn't think of it. Just give him a minute the old goat groaned and grimaced. Let's see if his weak, worn out heart can take another licking and keep on ticking.

Plying the old fool with H2O, Dr. Roma diagnosed the dinosaur would be A-OK in no time. Since he was too addle-brained to ask her out on a date in a coon's age he could damn well die right there for all she cared!

For those who are gruesomely curious, here's Yawn's harrowing health history at a glance:

1983: During an argument with son Jack over whether to sell Jabot to the Parisian based Mergeron Corporation, (a conglomerate secretly owned by his ex-wife Dina) Yawn was felled by an arterial blockage.

1985: Shortly after eyeing a profane puzzle piece of then wife Jill having sex with a man who's face was obscured, (which he later learned was Jack!) Yawn suffered a massive stroke.

1990: In the midst of a bitter boardroom brouhaha with Victor Newman, who had engineered a hostile takeover of Jabot months before, Yawn had a heart attack.

1995: While going through a nasty divorce from second time wife Jill and a custody battle over their son Billy, Yawn once again suffered a massive stroke, which led to temporary loss of speech and memory lapses.

January 8, 2003

Cosmetics founder offers small thanks

Within moments of suggesting Tuesday that former employee Larry Warton be re-hired and given an even more prestigious job at the company he filed a frivolous sexual harassment suit against, Jabot Cosmetics founder John 'Yawn' Abbott began waffling.

"He has a prison record!" Abbott groaned in objection to Warton's proposed employment as a security guard.

Besides skunk oil secrets, there is little of value at Jabot to be stolen and if Abbott was so concerned, why did he allow Warton to be hired in the first place? Furthermore, Abbott said the company should be thankful Warton withdrew his complaint and, "we owe him big time".

Big time apparently means small potatoes and only a slightly better than minimum wage job. Some thank you for a man who presumably saved Jabot thousands.

January 7, 2003

File a law suit - get a better job!
by Lois Hill

There's a shortage of jobs and unemployment rates are at an all-time high elsewhere in the country, but the effects of a tanking economy are hardly being felt in Genoa City.

This was evident Tuesday when Jabot Cosmetics founder, John 'Yawn' Abbott, suggested re-hiring a former employee and giving the man an even better social standing within the company.

The subject of putting former Jabot janitor Larry Warton back to work came up during a meeting between Abbott and 20-percent stockholder, Jill Abbott. Also one of the old geezer's former wives, Jill was first asked how she spent the holidays.

As important as family is to the wealthy in this city, it was stunning so many spent their holidays apart and Jill was no exception. Usually stopping by the Abbott home, if for no other reason than to drop off gifts, Jill completely avoided the Abbott scene this year choosing instead to volunteer an hour of her time at the local homeless shelter.

"Wasn't it nice to have our son at home," Yawn asked and for a moment it appeared Jill would reply, "Who?"

Jill confessed she hasn't seen much of Billy Abbott, but is cognizant that her son has been in the swamps of Louisiana building homes for the homeless and enough of that crap already; Billy belongs in a Rhode Island college, but why she doesn't know because rich kids in this city can get the very best of jobs with little education or experience.

The old guy thought the Louisiana experience did the boy good. Billy seems so much mature; bossing people around and acting like he owns the local coffee house and all.

Noticing Jill's sagging lips, Yawn said one of the most insulting things he's ever said to a woman. "Is it hormonal?" Should Jill see a doctor?

That Yawn is surrounded daily by uptight, humorless, lube-less drones could only explain why he sunk ever so briefly into the slimy gutter. His inability to see his toes for the past decade and his deep love of all things impotence-causing and colon-blocking may have played a part too.

A good slap across the old fart's face would have been deserving, but was beyond the dignity of a lady like Jill. She did, however, make the mistake of saying she has been feeling lonely.

"Two words. Larry Warton," Yawn snickered and again avoided a good whack upside his dementia-ridden head and was not told to take some of the company money, get some porn and some nice flowers for his ex-girlfriend and try to get a friggin' life.

Again, lady that she is, Jill refused to say the two words beginning with F and ending with U that came immediately to her mind.

Yawn could have turned his gutter-mouth off right then and there, but he persisted making a fool of himself and encouraging the injection of formaldehyde directly into his veins.

"You know we owe him big time. He could have sued us for a bundle but he walked away," Yawn said of Warton who never once stood the slightest chance of winning a sexual harassment suit against Jabot.

"I was thinking we should give him a job," Yawn blathered until he was making absolutely no sense.

Jill reminded Alzheimer's next victim they already have a new janitor. But no! Yawn didn't want to hire Warton as a janitor but as something more prestigious, like, maybe a security guard. Why, it would show all those potential litigates they better not mess with Jabot.