Ashley Carlton Top News - 2004
See also: Brad Carlton  Abby Carlton  Sperm Special  Business News

Jabot to File Chapter 11

December 28, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

It might be thought that professionals making a decision to place their ailing company into Chapter 11 bankruptcy would have the decency to act as, well, professionals. Call together the Board of Directors, conclude that more than two years of struggling and a cosmetics war did nothing to avoid the inevitable and be done with it.

But not in Genoa City and not when the company in question is the very toxic Jabot Cosmetics.

Just hours prior to a meeting with his board of directors Jabot founder John 'Yawn' Abbott had been feeling chipper. Christmas had been a happy day with most of his family gathered around the tree opening presents and singing carols. The old man had a new wife to celebrate the festivities with too, but when Monday morning rolled around the geezer was so depressed he couldn't get out of bed!

"John is so terrified about losing his company he can hardly speak," his wife Gloria said.

Abbott's sudden depression came about because it was a day of reckoning. A day he had to have known was going to kick him in the ass and maybe said, "See? See what happens when you appoint a sperm thief CEO of your company?"

Totally unskilled at anything more than sniffing skunk oil, Ashley Carlton was prepared to make the decision without her surrogate father present.

"I will take care of my father as I see fit," she told the newest Mrs. Abbott when Gloria burst into the boardroom to say that a sale or development of another fine cosmetic product would surely turn the company around and to ask why the kids were sitting around like bumps on a log.

As Carlton was reaming Mrs. Abbott for worming her way into the family the old man had managed to haul his sagging bag of bones to the office just in time to get a taste of the venomous evil she was spewing.

"Never talk to my wife like that again," Abbott growled, and noting his obligation to be on hand for the company's funeral asked other company executives for their take on the matter.

Asked to provide vital sales statistics, Nikki Newman was so distraught on a personal level she couldn't think straight and bolted from the meeting. Twenty-percent share holder Jill Abbott harped on the fact that Jabot wouldn't be in trouble had it not fired former CEO Jack Abbott even though she knew Abbott's termination was part of a settlement with Victor Newman.

Given this fact Mrs. Carlton told how she'd gone begging to Newman to release her brother but that it was Newman's expert opinion Jabot is too far gone to be saved by anyone mush less Jack Abbott. An opinion Carlton said she agreed with.

Why Carlton ever asked Newman to free Abbott is only something that a confused woman with a history of mental illness would comprehend.

Following their typical boardroom antics it was decided that Jabot will go into Chapter 11.

"I'll talk to our lawyers and prepare some papers to take to a judge," COO Brad Carlton beamed to what should have been an outcry of objections. Someone should have told the former hedge clipper/pool boy that one doesn't prepare papers one later takes to a judge. Corporate lawyers do that via the bankruptcy court.

And while Mr. Carlton's statement was idiotic it couldn't top the one Mrs. Carlton made.

"What if our creditors get wind of this?" she asked.

What if pigs fly, you moron. That's the purpose of Chapter 11, fool. One of the first to be notified are creditors who must agree to go along with what amounts to a repayment plan.

In an attempt to shift the brief focus on what a dumb bitch she is Carlton began blaming herself much the way she blames everything bad that happens in her miserable life except when bad things are not being blamed on Victor Newman as the Abbott's have done from the moment Jabot's belly became exposed to its certain demise.

But all is for not. Bigger and better companies than Jabot have gone through Chapter 11 and lived to tell about it. It won't come as any surprise when in less than a year Jabot will be flying high again, passing off skunk oil as perfume and selling $2 vials of the stuff for $40.

Heel, Thy Name Is Ashley Carlton

November 18, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

Just in time to ruin her father's new life Ashley Abbott Carlton moved back into the Abbott Hotel this week where she says she'll be able to "think" and "heal" and undoubtedly go ballistic at the slightest hint of sexual kink in John "Yawn" Abbott's relationship with Gloria Fisher.

Not that it should matter to the sperm-stealing baby-killing bitch given that Abbott isn't really her father, but it's a game they've played for eons so why stop now? Why make a major fuss over who the father of Ashley's baby is or who Cassie Newman's father is or who sired the Jenkins baby when everyone except the old timer knows the truth about Ashley's paternity but don't want to say anything for fear the truth might hurt someone?

Nowadays, the slightest hint of sexual perversion can make the likes of Ashley feel all dirty and naughty and outlandish. The slightest twinge in her faux-father's groinal region and Ashley gets to sneer and backbite and says how Gloria is a deviant, a heathen, a whore, a pagan, a loveslut out to take the old man's fortune of which was spent long ago trying to save a failed cosmetics company.

For Ashley, Gloria is something to be feared and loathed and dreaded while simultaneously, once secretly, as she waves her vibrator in the air, Ashley lusts for a married man. She is, in short, a moral terrorist.

Like any good terrorist Ashley needs a victim, someone to take her frustrations out on. Someone whose life she can make just as miserable as her own pathetic life. What else can explain why she moved into the Abbott Hotel? Why couldn't she, like Arthur Hendricks, move into the the Athletic Supporter Motel? Why couldn't she, like Diane Jenkins, move into a suite at the Genoa City Hotel? If money is a problem, how about one of those sleazy motels near the airport?

And why is the pushing 50 Jack Abbott still living under his father's roof? Why hasn't he found a job and just who pays his tennis club memberships?

No sooner had Ashley made her fat ass to home but what Yawn and Gloria walked in fresh from a cruise on the Love Boat. Spotting his "beauty" Yawn began oozing. Had Brad Carlton done something to hurt her again? Did it make any difference since Yawn has never dared harm a hair on Brad's mostly hairless chest?

Confessing that she hasn't been right in the head since, well, ever, but mostly since she killed her baby and has made some "terrible" mistakes, Ashley said that moving out of her husband's home and leaving her daughter behind was her brilliant idea. It's what all women needing to sort things out and think and heal do.

Stammering on about how happy she is to be receiving so much support from the family and isn't life just this great fuzzy warm hunk of precious blah blah blah, Ashley flipped when Gloria announced that she and the old geezer had been married. At that moment Ashley knew the time had come to conjure up the demons from deep within her bowels. Now, not only does she get to heal and think, but she gets to be a bigger heel than the one at the bottom of Nick Newman's left foot.

4 More Years Of Hate
September 22, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

How much more of this must we put up with before we just say, "To hell with this! I've got better things to do."

How long have Ashley and Brad Carlton rehashed her relationship with Victor Newman? How many times has Brad said he's aware that there will always be a connection between Newman and his wife, a connection that he cannot unplug? And how many more times will Brad scream and stomp and huff and puff and say that peace in the Carlton family will never become a reality and then in the same breath say how much he loves his sperm-stealing wife and gosh Ashley, could you work me into your sex schedule?

It's enough to make you laugh 'til you gag. And choke. Take the scene at the Carlton home this week for example.

Acting as if preparing meals for her brood is something only slaves at the Newman and Abbott households do but that she was making a rare exception to the rule, Ashley was actually trying to prepare breakfast when Brad came down the stairs to say that his fragile wife really should not be doing lowly woman's work just for him.

And to prove that she must always have an ulterior motive for simply breathing Ashley said, "I wanted to show you how much I appreciate the effort you're making with Victor. I know it's not easy for you ... but I really feel like this is the beginning of something good for us," she cooed over Brad's agreement to let their rapidly aged daughter go to a place after long days at school where drug dealers have been busted and at least one girl was drugged and nearly raped.

Pleased with his decision Brad said he did it for their little girl and agreed that Abby Carlton should not only spend time at the Newman Wreck Center but at the Newman ponderosa riding horses too and maybe asking the hired hands what's that funny thing hanging down from the male horse.

Hey, it happens. Sometimes you just gotta purge. Vent. Let it all out. Because, really, it all makes you ask: are the Carlton's on drugs? Mass delusional? Are they blind? Or is the vicious love/hate spin machine really that powerful? Why, yes, yes, it is. And isn't it just the funniest thing?

"I was really moved when you agreed to accept Abby's day at the ranch," Ashley blathered trying to make the point that for the first time during their tragic marriage she can see "hope" that the end to at least one of their many "painful" issues may be near and thus would bring them one step closer to her ultimate goal of securing "peace in this family."

As much as he too craves a lasting peace Brad said that the way things are going, "peace is the last thing we'll have."

This, of course, made Ashley stop her kowtowing for a moment and think. Gosh, what did Brad just say? There can never be peace? After all the trials and tribulations and swearing that they'll always love one another regardless of the odds against them it's come to this?

For all the times they've said there is nothing they can't overcome and that they'll never lie to each other ever again, what did Ashley say next?

"If I ask you a question will you answer me honestly?"

"I'll try," honest-Abe Brad replied.

He'll try? How will she know whether his answer is the truth or not? Not that it mattered because the question was rhetorical.

"Do you think I'm in love with Victor?" Ashley asked.

"Do bears crap in the woods?" Brad did not say, but as you know, should have because this is how stupid the dialog between those two nit wits has become.

But lo, let us not hold back any longer. Let us now laugh out loud, hold our sides in pain, gasp for air as we look at the Carlton flip flop record, in brief. Let us observe the short list of issues about which the Carltons have either completely reversed their position, or has simply openly lied about to further their shockingly small-minded, self-serving agenda:

1 - Ashley has always loved Victor.
2 - Brad has always known that Ashley loves Victor.
3 - Ashley forgave Victor for killing her unborn baby, which he didn't kill, but never mind that someone had to be blamed except those directly responsible.

The list, as they say, goes on. And on. And on.

Single-handedly Ashley has generated more hate in Genoa City than all the cosmetics war combined. Yet this week she had the audacity to say, "I won't live a life filled with hate."

The bitch should guess again. Ashley has been and will be in a world of hate so long as she sucks on the Newman teat which she will be because without it her life and Brad's have no meaning.

Then, as if there hadn't already enough hypocrisy spread around to fill the Grand Canyon, Brad said he believes Ashley loves him, "when we're close like this."

The masterful deflection away from Ashley's truly appalling record of flagrant deceit and Brad's role as the outraged enabler has worn to the bone. It's Ashley new line of defense with a nasty vengeance. Let us watch as this all-encompassing mantra, this absolutely odious comeback line mutates in a twist of raging egomania, into Ashley's most bestest catchphrase du jour.

"Do you think I'm in love with Victor?"

Golly, Brad. I keep insisting that I'm not because I am. But what do you think? Oh, that's right. You've told me a million times what you think. You've gone into fits of rage over my love for Victor. You've left our home I don't know how many times without telling me or our child where you were going as you plotted to kill Victor. But tell me, Brad. Do you think I'm in love with Victor?

My darling Ashley. You know what I think because I've told you a million times how much I hate that man and will always hate Victor and even slept with your best friend because of him. Do I think you're in love with Victor? Gosh, Ashley. I don't know. What do you think? Are you in love with Victor?

Well Brad, as you know there is no connection between Victor and me even though I secretly had Victor's baby and there will always be this connection even though I say there is no connection. I stomped into Victor's life for justifiable reasons because I said there are justifiable reasons. But I do not love him - much.

Ashley and Brad's desperately clinging to the tattered shreds of whatever the hell it was they claim is the original reason for shoving this lame excuse for a story into a tailspin and launched into a brutal, violent, unwinnable situation, has gone on long enough. They have become far too whiny and bitchy and destructive.

Could it be true? Are there simply millions out there who are so gullible, so unsure, so unclear about who they are that they'll sit back and take another four years of this Carlton crap all the while asking, gosh Mildred, do you think Ashley still loves Victor?

Conversations with Satan
August 6, 2004

by Ashley Carlton

Are you there, Satan? It's me, Ashley Abbott Carlton and a bunch of other last names I can't remember. Come in, Satan. Do you hear me? It's about midnight and just after my last bubble bath of the day and here I am again, kneeling here in some slimy hotel room all by myself thinking about the daughter I bore with a man's stolen sperm. I gots some problems, Satan.

Look, I've done everything you asked. I've been good. Haven't I?

I took a third and fourth tour of that cosmetics manufacturing plant which has nothing to do with the survival of Jabot and since my purpose here is useless I'm going home to my loving husband a day early.

But Satan, dear. I can't sleep. My husband, you know him, Brad, has been under a lot of pressure lately and I can't stop thinking about my precious little Abby.

What do you think of this, Satan? Do you think I should tell my husband again how difficult I know it is for him to accept the fact that the biological father of my baby has a legal right to see the girl and that he should just accept that he'll have to give up Abby every other weekend and two weeks in the summer? You know, it's not like Brad spends his every waking moment with her. Should I tell Brad that, if as he says, he really wants only what's best for Abby to just shut the hell up about Victor? You know, Victor. Right Satan?

Look, I take the message to the people, don't I? I spout that crap about moving on with life and putting the past behind us like I was emceeing a freakin' rodeo at the Newman Ponderosa. And they eat it up, Satan. They eat that stuff up. Hell, I even believe a lot of that fire-breathin' Second Comin' evildoer-hatin' stuff myself.

Satan, darling. Help me out here. Should I go tell Brad again what a wonderful loving father he is and how he's always supported me? Oops, except for when he screwed my best friend. But I know Brad was doing your work then, Satan, so I forgave him. And yes, I know there has been a lot of craziness in our lives, but what adulterous couple in Genoa City hasn't?

I mean, forgive me 'cuz I know your helpers were great and all, but did you have to make me kill my other baby? Maybe if Robert had lived Brad wouldn't be so all hell-fired up over Abby and Victor breathing down his neck, screaming about one lousy visit with Abby since we keep her stashed in that day camp most of the time. Did Lucifer really do that or was it you?

Look, Satan. I behave. I think of Victor a lot and fantasize of having sex with him, and to this day I'm damn proud that I stole his sperm because I couldn't wait for his marriage to that used up stripper to end. You know, don't you Satan? To this day Nikki Newman still calls me a wicked witch. Doesn't that prove I'm doing your work?

Remember, Satan, back when I aborted the demon child? Wasn't I doing your work then? So tell me, should I rush back to Brad and tell him how blessed - sorry - I am to have him and how sexy he is and that even though I stayed up all night and then flew home I'm never too tired to have sex?

What's that, Satan? You say Brad might be at or on his way to work? You are too funny! You know the elite in that city only work when they want to. Look at that bitch, Nikki. She's got a nondescript job at Jabot and now I hear she's taking on another nondescript at a strip club. Say, have you thought of enlisting her to do your work? Oh, wait. She already is. Sorry about that.

Hello? Satan? You still there? My, look at the time. My plane leaves in about an hour.

So, again, before I rush off I just gotta ask: What gives? I pray every night that you'll smite my enemies and hold back the heathens but nothing seems to be working anymore. This Abby war is only getting worse, and more confusing and giving me rashy itches in my nether parts. S'cuze my French, Lord, but dammit, why you lettin' that cheap ho Olivia Winters off the hook? Is she working for you too? Is she sucking around Brad again? You'd tell me, wouldn't you? You aren't gonna let Brad keep threatening to walk out on our marriage, are you? Would you please give me a sign 'cause we gotta end this boring bit with Abby. The longer you let it go on and the more scandals you dip me in the more it stains my pure, holy name.

I guess that's it for now, Satan. I'm getting sleepy from all this hard thinking and I gotta stay awake for Brad. Thank you for listening, Satan. I know you're down there, right now, fanning the flames. You be cool and think of me, won't you?

Liar, Liar, Ashley's On Fire
April 24, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Sometimes the colon clench-inducing Carlton cow pies pile up so fast you almost can't keep track. It's getting so it's nearly impossible to follow which baby killing or sperm-stealing or sinister domestic squabble Ashley Carlton will step in next. Now that Victor Newman wants to cuddle and bond with the baby she hatched Ashley can't understand why the great man won't move on and leave her alone to raise the child with the only father Abby Carlton has ever known.

And what of Abby? Why, nobody seems to know where the kid is. Least of all the Carltons. Conspicuously missing first thing in the morning earlier this week at breakfast time, the six-year-old was presumed to be in kindergarten so that her mother could sip gourmet coffee and whine how she can't understand why Newman didn't greet the news - that she used his stolen sperm to spawn Abby - with open arms.

"I thought I could trust him. Now I'm not so sure. I thought Victor would move on with his life after I told him and leave us in peace. Whoever said the truth will set you free is a liar," she lamented like the ignorant menace to society she is.

Isn't that cute? Isn't it amazing? A woman would think a man told he has a daughter would just go about his business as if nothing had happened? Wasn't it to be expected considering Newman didn't object when hopeless Hope Adams took his newborn son to Kansas and told him to stay out of their lives?

Might it be worth mentioning that as this baby-killing bitch was ranting about the need for truth and getting everything out in the open she said, "I can't discuss it right now," when her husband asked how Newman had taken the news?

Instead of savaging his wife like a rabid feral swine attacking a cantaloupe for being a hypocrite, Brad Carlton merely waved his magic penis. Sweet Ashley should never doubt that no matter how many lies drip from her lips he will always be there for her. To prove that the feeling is mutual Ashley led the whimpering vagina-whipped Brad to her candlelit bedroom.

"Looks like you have your entire candle collection out and lit," he mewed, all meek and guilty and powerless.

A candle collection? Is this what a sperm thief does in her spare time? Collect candles?

Oh yes she does! And here all this time Brad knew it because he gave her a very special candle on the day Abby was born and they were married. And did Ashley light the special candle on that special day of days? Nosiree! She's been sandbagging it. Waiting for another special day like the day when the indoor water fountain was hooked up and pouring forth a stream of good vibes that when coupled with the lighting of the special candle would make a person feel more peaceful.

But after all the babbling about peace and love and the lighting of the candle Brad couldn't help but notice. Ashley was very scary looking. Gosh, what was making her so edgy? Could it be that his wife knows better than to think she can just walk away from her dastardly deed?

It did not matter. Whatever was troubling Ashley they'd face it together like the countless other mind-numbing, soul-crushing bizarre events they've inflicted upon themselves. With a wink and a nod, those screaming night sweats and the instant burning death would be banished after some bad sex. Only this time the sound of squeaking bedsprings nor Brad's tiny love stick couldn't chase away Ashley's demons.

"What is it baby? Wasn't it good for you? Wasn't lighting that special candle supposed to have prevented any further karmic meltdown and utter disgusted nausea and suicidal tendencies?" Brad did not actually say as he noticed the scary look on her face and the snot running from her nose.

"Oh Bradley, I do declare. I don't know what will become of me," Ashley should have said as this is the never-ending message.

Sadly, sex with Brad didn't help. Lighting the candle didn't help. For there Ashley was again the next day at the office having a bawling fit in front of her brother who had demanded to know how she could have been so careless.

Careless? Did Jack Abbott say careless as in, oops, you spilled some milk. How could you be so careless? Or, dang it Ashley, you've got to stop leaving razor blades around where Abby might get them. How could you be so careless? Is stealing sperm and impregnating oneself with it something someone does carelessly?

"I know what I did was wrong," Ashley sobbed, adding that she's got enough people beating on her without Jack piling on. Didn't he just kiss 75-million dollars good-bye? Now, that's careless.

As if his sister carries around with her a crystal ball and that peering into it every five minutes explains why her eyes are always glazed over, Jack asked what was going to happen next. Ashley said she didn't know, but that she does know she needs support. That's why she croaked, "So back off" at only the third of three people likely to support a sperm thief.

And so again this week the Carlton's, the in-laws and outlaws overloaded the collective gag reflex with enough reckless and shockingly irresponsible circus acts any one of which would, by itself, offend and appall anyone with a pulse (except maybe the candle thing would have excited Damon Porter).

As usual, and maybe explaining why the 4.2 ratings are only slightly better than CNN, they all simply become a numbing swirl of indecipherable atrocities no one has the energy to object to anymore. Just like Sierra NoLastName's spreading baby fat - it's happening, it's unstoppable, so why fight it.

You Steal Sperm? You Pay the Price!
April 13, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Rationalizing that she stole his sperm and had a baby out of a desperate act of love for Victor Newman, Mrs. Ashley Carlton was counter-attacked this week with the mother of all bombs.

For her despicable act she will pay the ultimate price.

Despite what Carlton has done, Newman said Tuesday that while he could never hate her personally, he cannot ignore the fact that he has a beautiful baby girl and intends to be a father to Abby Carlton in every way much the way he was to his missing daughter, Victoria.

Mrs. Carlton didn't seem to get it at first. Why, her daughter has the perfect family. Abby has the perfect father in Brad Carlton the only daddy she's ever known. Why would she need another? Why should any man who has had his sperm stolen and used to create a likeness in his own image want to be connected in any way to the child? Can't Newman just accept that what's done is done, forget about the past and move on?

Without going into detail Newman snorted, "That's not satisfactory."

Newman's implication was clear. No child with Newman blood surging through its veins should ever be subjected to growing up with a pool cleaning hedge clipper heredity. Old as he may be, the Newman bull still grazes in the pasture and doesn't intend to let Brad Carlton encroach on his territory. Accordingly, Newman said he intends to claim Abby Carlton as his own.

"You can't take our baby away from us," Carlton moaned. But what did she expect? You steal sperm, you pay the price. Did she think Newman was just going to accept that she had his baby, say, that's nice. Have a good life? Did she think he wouldn't want to know his daughter? Did she think that like Victor Newman JR., Newman would bow to her demand to keep quiet, not see the child and pretty much forget that he has a son probably much smarter and more loyal than the one that recently stabbed him in the back?

Yes, she did. She thought that clearing her guilty conscience would make all her problems go away. She thought she and Brad and Abby and Victor would go on with their meaningless lives as if nothing had ever happened. Oops, spilled some sperm. No problem. Clean it up. See? It's like it never happened.

Mrs. Carlton must feel like a lesbian whose pregnant "wife" has just died during childbirth leaving her a single parent and has been told by the surviving wife's relatives that this changes everything. They are keeping the baby because she's been a naughty, naughty girl. You aren't heterosexual, you pay the price.

And while it's sad that society as a whole can preach the importance of love and peace and knowing God, it cannot stop hating those with differing live styles.

But in Carlton's case it's different. She stole sperm. Now let her pay the price.

Coming To a Wal-Mart Near You From the Do It Yourself Network, Abbygate Empty Heart Filler!
April 12, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Kneel down. Put your hands together. Offer thanks right this very moment to whatever deity you desire that you are not a sperm thief and living in Genoa City right now. This gratitude is so much of a given you might not even need to hear why. You just say to yourself, oh my freaking God, I can only imagine.

As if being a sperm thief isn't bad enough add blood stealing to the mix and in rush countless notions about violent vampires and dizzy Izzy Williams who drained her own blood in a plot to fake her death.

"I saved up a pint's worth of blood," Williams said on August 15, 2003, to explain how she had followed the creepy Christine 'Bug' Blair to the home of Mary Williams after the Bug had threatened her, hid in the back seat of the bug mobile, knocked her out and then drove the Bug to Lake Michigan where, while draining an entire pint of blood from her veins, returned to pour it all over a row boat to make it appear as if the Bug had killed her.

Wait wait wait, you say. What the hell is that?

Why, it's the craziness. The things that can only happen in Genoa City. It's Ashley Carlton at the Newman ranch this week telling the man whose sperm she stole that she's sorry he feels violated, but her biological clock was ticking and she had to act fast. She had to plot, connive, lie and steal. There was no time to maybe ask if she could have just a taste of Newman's sperm so that she could have a baby. And not just any baby. Not some ordinary conceived baby that might be born without legs or arms or a brain. She needed a baby with the Newman gene even when she has seen first hand the gene has never benefited other Newman kids.

Compounding matters, Carlton was able to find a doctor willing to artificially inseminate her like some cow without so much as asking where the sperm had come from or whether she had obtained it legally. Got sperm? Come right into the doctor's office, lady. Spread your legs. Let's activate your egg before it scrambles.

And so what that Carlton and the unnamed doctor violated Newman's rights? As usual, Carlton said she was only thinking about herself and much like those who get caught cheating on their spouses, smirked, "It just sort of happened."

In a statement that should have caused Newman to slap her silly, Carlton, acting as if she wanted to copulate with the devil Himself and maybe a few dozen demons just for kicks, despite not really knowing how, not really addressing the sex issue at all, erupted, "it's not unusual to have a baby this way."

What? It's not unusual to steal sperm, be inseminated by a witchdoctor, spawn a child and keep said spawning a secret? Not in Carlton's world.

To support the notion that her baby is a genuine Newman, Carlton said that along the way she had a paternity test which left no doubt, even though Newman had a vasectomy, that the baby is his.

It's always amazing that smart men like Newman, with their money and power, can be so dumb. The great man did not for a moment think that in order to have had a paternity test, blood or other body fluids would have been needed. Unless of course, and not surprisingly, Newman's DNA sample, like white paint, is a common staple at testing facilities nationwide. Think you've had a Newman baby? Compare your child's DNA here!

Taking what could be another Carlton lie at face value, Newman did not request to see the test results. He did not say, "Look you despicable thieving bitch, I want my own paternity test. I want proof that this baby is mine before losing another wink of sleep over this matter."

And this is the gist, this is the great ironic disconnect. Now that he knows the truth, Newman doesn't seem to know what he should do.

"You don't have to do anything," Carlton seethed, as if to say, "What's the damn problem? So I had your baby. Haven't half the women in this town and Kansas had your babies?"

Wanting Newman to go on as if nothing has happened, Carton reached between her legs and pulled out the old tape she stores in her vagina for safe keeping. Even though she rarely sees the kid Abby Carlton is a happy little girl adored by her mother and by the only man who has been a father "in every way that matters", Brad Carlton.

Therefore, let's just put all this behind us and move on because, really, who gives a rip? Abby? Sure, but she's only six. In a few years it won't matter that she's a Newman when she can be a second-rate Carlton whose heritage is cleaning pools and clipping hedges for rich people with Bon Bon-eating daughters watching from the windows.

If only because her frantic choreographed gyrations were tragically free of necessary juicy subtext and insinuation and feminine power, Carlton must have suspected at this point her ass was grass and Newman the lawnmower. Considering how many times she's been told that what she did was a criminal act, Carlton may have thought, "Damn! This sucker is getting out of my control. I've got to say something to make Victor melt like the pitiful putty he is whenever I'm so much as in his dreams. But what? What can I say?"

As Carlton thought Newman mumbled. Had Carlton done what she's done as a way to get even with him for that time years ago when he forced her to abort his child and thus become the only woman in Genoa City to have ever had an abortion? Was that the method to her madness? Had she brought another mostly unwanted, rapidly aging child into the world so that she could get her pound of flesh?

"Having your baby filled a hole in my heart," Carlton blurt out.

Oh God, it's the rarely used fill my empty heart line! And perhaps the only magic cliche that will cause Newman to momentarily cling to the idea that there still exists in the culture small doses of potent glimmering hope for progress and enlightenment and individual freedom and free back rubs and a nice pink pony for everyone.

Gul-darn it. Carlton had a hole in her heart. How sad. Looks like Newman will have to forgive his darling Ashley for sure. Who wants a woman walking around with an empty heart even if she's a heartless sperm-thieving bitch? If Newman's sperm can fill empty hearts maybe he should market it. It'll outsell Crazy Glue and Tuvia. They could call it Abbygate Heart Filler.

So let this be a reminder. Good can come from bad, even amidst the firestorm of sticky stolen sperm and finger-pointing. Progress can be made, the demons of regression and sexual oppression can be slapped and muzzled and returned to Ashley Carlton's house and the gauntlet to other women can now be thrown down. Want a baby? Can't get one the old fashioned way? Biological clock ticking? Steal some sperm!

Worried that there will be aggressive hacking away at a woman's right to choose to have a baby by whatever means possible when you're found out? Invoke the empty heart clause and be absolved of all wrong doing.

Our Hero! Ashley Carlton!
February 24, 2004

Back in the saddle again running interference and looking for dead weight, Jabot Cosmetics chief skunk oil sniffer Ashley Carlton shook the living daylights out of the company this week by announcing that the widely invasive pathetic cancer known as the living dead orchid research product should be immediately halted.

"I've come to conclusion that this product is a waste of our time and money," the once-crazed and wandering in a fog Carlton said, appalling and blowing away nearby Jabot executives and useless employees who had been willing to risk everything in return for a hair straightening product designed for "women of color" and which was expected to generate minimal sales.

"We don't even know if it works. I think it's a drain on Jabot's resources. Our company has devoted a lot of time, energy and money on this endeavor," Carlton added, much to the dismay of company lab rat Damon Porter who vowed that with the help of cancer-researcher Vanessa Lehner who hangs around Genoa City with her thumb up her butt.

In desperate need of funds to keep his father's firm out of bankruptcy, a snarling Jack Abbott hacked, "It takes money to make money" and seemed oblivious to the fact that even if the hair product were to hit the marketplace it would not in way, as Abbott put it, "revolutionize the industry."

Mrs Carlton also pointed out for the first time that there is no guarantee the FDA would approve the product for sale and could take years.

While she failed to mention what might happen were it discovered the orchid plant was illegally smuggled out of Japan, Carlton gave hope to those who have given up.

The constant embarrassment a dead orchid has wrought upon what was once a reputable company may actually have ended.

Carlton deserves a rousing round of applause for stepping up to the plate and saying what almost the entire universe has been saying since this horrendous and silly project first began. It's a joke and should end. Her action this week was of such high caliber Carlton should be forgiven for the endless stupidity she's engaged in over the years. From sperm thief to baby-killer to insane woman Carlton has, in one fell swoop, turned into a savior. If this is the end result of acting dazed and crazed more people in this city should be encouraged to wig out.

When Ashley Carlton became the Devil

February 5, 2004
by Vicki Johns

It's interesting to think back and attempt to pinpoint the exact point in history when Ashley Abbott Carlton became the undisputed Mother of Evil, Anti-Christ and Values Slayer.

Was it the day she decided her biological clock was ticking and refused to accept that barrenness was her lot in life like millions of other women? Or was it the day she decided that she could only love her own natural child, instead of setting an example for others in her position by making the world a better place and adopting one of the millions of needy babies from places like Cambodia or Romania?

Maybe, or . . .

Was it the day she decided she needed to replace a baby – with the same biological father - that she herself aborted many years before? Was it the day she decided that this sickening logic actually righted a wrong? Or did her fall into the pit of wickedness arrive on the day she decided that it would be okay to actually steal this man's sperm, have herself impregnated with it without his permission and never tell him?

Okay, that could be it. But then . . .

There was also the fact that she initially lied to her entire family about the paternity of her baby. Remember Christian, the guy from the cruise ship, the guy Ashley told her family was the baby's father? Jack Abbott flew across the Atlantic Ocean to have a chat with Christian – actually give him holy hell – about the matter, while Ashley sat guiltlessly around knitting baby booties. Was it that day that she became the Queen of Vile?

And what about the day she married Brad Abbott, a man helplessly in love with her and who is also Victor Newman's arch enemy? Did she bother to tell the man she vowed her life and love to that the child he was willingly and happily about to raise was the daughter of his most hated opponent? Was it that day?

Or was it the day in the ninth month of her pregnancy that she purposely and with willful disregard got behind the wheel of her SUV and single-handedly turned it into a death machine which took the life of an innocent and unborn child? Was it the moment she decided that the financial future of her company was more important than the God-given life of a child?

So many days to choose from aren't there? No wonder the woman is comatose the majority of the time – no one in their right mind could live with the misery they'd wrought on their own life and the lives of others. But sadly, her trail of destruction due to self-absorption does not end there. This week there was one more day to add to the pot of "When did Ashley Carlton become the devil?"

In order to cure herself from the self-induced dementia she has been pretending to have of late, she has decided to inform Victor Newman, the married man the entire world knows she clearly harbors hopes for a future with, that he is the biological father of Abigail Carlton. Having determined that this secret is what has thrown her into a mummy-like state and not the guilt of murdering her own child, Ashley again shows concern only for herself by making the statement that she is "sorry if Nikki's marriage isn't strong enough to handle it, but I can't go on living a lie" and regardless of the fact that Victor Newman's life is currently in utter emotional and psychological shambles as it is.

After all, of what importance is being the cause of the end of a marriage, the holy state of matrimony between a man and a woman? It's just another line item on Ashley's resume of evil.