Brittany Hodges Top News 2004
See also: Raul Guittierez  Kevin Fisher  Anita Hodges  Fred Hodges  Bobby Marsino

Marsino Bride Returns to Little Shop of Horrors, Please Don't Tell Mr. Marsino!

December 16, 2004

Hopelessly attached directly to a tank with the words DOW CHEMICAL on it, noted numbskull and new bride Brittany Hodges Marsino has, in a blaze of glorified shame, been reinstated at Fenmore's Little Shop of Horrors.

The job of selling trinkets and sexy garb to flaccid seekers of sex will be part-time and shop owner Lauren Fenmore has promised not to tell Mrs. Marsino's husband as if nobody will notice, Mr. Marsino in particular, that his new bride spends way too many hours away from the love nest.

Nobody, not even hunkmonkey J.T. Hellstrom will walk into the shop one day to see his former Sugar Shack roommate fondling underwear like he and pals Billy Abbott and Raul Guittierez once did and then run straight to accuse Mr. Marsino of forcing his wife to work or make weird statements like, what kind of a man does that?

It will, of course, take months before Marsino finds out. That's how hard is it to get informed in Genoa City. Truth right now is highly toxic. They've set it up that way so that it only gets worse, darker, more gloomy and unsettled. It's how they maintain the jittery balance.

Homeless Stripper-Chanteuse Hits All-time Low

November 29, 2004
by Michael Kelly

It's not bad enough she whined and cajoled her male best friend she secretly lusts after into being her bridesmaid. It's not bad enough she could barely utter those crucial two letter words during her wedding ceremony that symbolize lifelong love and commitment to the man she was about to marry because she was ogling said male bridesmaid.

It's not bad enough she wed a man she doesn't love and is old enough to be her father who obviously dyes his hair because the color is too flat and harshly dark with no hint of gray and with whom she shares nothing in common but a meat market wannabe cabaret. It's not bad enough this older man steals kisses from and reveals his deepest, darkest, most tragic secrets to his slumming, older and very married blonde bimbo socialite business partner while his wife remains blissfully unaware.

It's not bad enough her husband can offer her nothing but a failing business and a physique that will likely only decline with time in the form of a bear belly, love handles, receding hairline, high cholesterol and erectile dysfunction. All of which she'll have to contend with just when she reaches her sexual peak.

Last but far from least, it's not bad enough these two bozos didn't see fit to discuss where they were going to live before tying the knot, which led them to stay in a hotel suite they can't afford because the deluxe condo Mr. Marsino wants to give his poor little rich girl wife accustomed to nothing but the best isn't ready to be lived in and even if it were Mr. Marsino is such an overextended financially kind of fool that he lacks the funds to pay for it.

All of this led to stripper-chanteuse Brittany Marsino to turning up at the Java Hut with the male bridesmaid she's still got a major thing for J.T. Hellstrom and having the unfathomable gall to suggest - without discussing it with her hubby beforehand - she and Mr. Marsino shack up with Hellstrom and ferret faced Mac Browning in the downtown loft Mrs. Marsino lived in as a bachlorette!

I'm not making this up!

If it weren't downright disgusting enough, the Marsinos will likely have sex in the same room, the same bed and - because these Genoa City-ites are so filthy and kinky it isn't even funny - screw on the very same sperm stained sheets Mrs. Marsino did the nasty with former roomie and diabetic boy Raul Guittierez.

I should also mention that when both Browning and Hellstrom heard Mrs. Marsino's sordid, sickening suggestion they so lacked common sense and strength of character they did not squeal in unison, "Ewwwwww, that's really gross, Britt! Thanks but no thanks. We're warped and weird, but not quite that warped and weird."

Or are they?

This reporter predicts Mac and J.T. will mull it over a little bit and end up telling Britt, "Sure, grab your crap and stay awhile, but only on one condition. We insist you and the flesh peddler agree to let us watch you in the sack and perhaps let us film the two of you in the act. Hey, we'll even have a can of whipped cream close at hand so that we can spray every orifice of your hot, pagan bodies - and even between your toes - with the white sweet stuff for our own perverted jollies.

Not surprisingly, Mr. Marsino to his credit is bound to be less than enthused at the thought of this obscene arrangement, but it would be a hoot and a half (not to mention quite consistent with the den of debauchery that is Genoa City) if Bobby came up with a similarly inappropriate place for he and the Mrs. to drop anchor. Somewhere like the Newman Ranch, which just happens to be the property of the woman with whom he's gotten entirely too chummy!

But let's not get ahead of ourselves and recap what we already know.

We know the snooty, high society Brittany Hodges we've been aware of since 2000 never would have set foot in a strip club let alone shed one layer of clothing or even become romantically involved with a working class, feminine pulchritude purveying troglodyte. She would have found it all far beneath her the moment she met him and would have been too shrewd to believe for a second that bumping and grinding in some backwater dive would lead to a legitimate singing career.

We know too that Hodges would have asked former best friend Rianna Miner and not an awkward bland, blonde geek to be the bridesmaid at her wedding.

Finally, we know for damn sure the new Mr. and Mrs. Marsino happen to be one of the most blatant and inconceivable marital mis-matches in Genoa City history that makes about as much sense as buttinski Browning nagging Hellstrom to profess his love for Hodges before her wedding only for Mac to turn around the next day and pout like a jealous lover when she realized he'd suddenly become a player whose first conquest post-Hodges is a pretty, perky chick named Robin.

However, unlike Browning, Hellstrom, Marsino-Hodges and the other angst-ridden 20-somethings in this one horse town, we'd have actually liked to have gotten to know Robin but never will because she was a one-time only walk-on walk-off type, which means we're stuck without relief with a sorry lot of losers whose romantic entanglements, Ritalin-esque attention spans and lack of long-term decision making skills which defy comprehension and is a chore to put up with.

Nov 2, 2004
HODGES/MARSINO WEDDING
It's a done deal. Bobby Marsino and Brittany Hodges officially tied the knot during a late night ceremony at the Chancellor mausoleum. The happily married couple will be staying in a Genoa City Hotel bridal suite thanks to a generous donation of cash from the bride's Pa, Fred Hodges while Marsino's apartment undergoes a last minute renovation. Sad guests included Mackenzie Browning who wondered if J.T. Hellstrom will ever grow the gonads needed to tell Ms. Hodges he loves her. Browning also caught the bouquet following a juicy kiss on the lips Hellstrom gave her.

Nov 1, 2004

GCN prediction that strip club owner Bobby Marsino will utter he's Charles Robert Casein during wedding vows does not materialize. GCN says that's what happens when sources asking not to be identified are taken seriously but notes wedding isn't over until the skank sings. Bridesmaid J.T. Hellstrom backs down; won't tell Brittany Hodges that he's in love with her; wants wedding to be one she'll remember. Father of the bride Fred Hodges redeems himself; makes last minute appearance to walk "little girl" down the aisle. Invited guest Nikki Newman no-show; said to be at ponderosa "alone with my thoughts" after run-in with sperm thief Ashley Carlton. Hodges stumbles during do you take this man. Signals cold feet may cause wedding to end prematurely. Smells like: Brad Carlton/Nikki Newman botched wedding of days past.

Bobby Marsino Is Out! Kinky Is In!

October 28, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

It is suicide to dare suggest an alternate truth to the one supplied by the all-knowing who see opinions that don't agree with their viewpoints as those of an angry man in need of religion, but as someone trained to be suspicious and wary and fully cognizant of the fact that there is always more to a given apocalypse than meets the eye, that buried just beneath the slippery surface of any good conspiracy theory lies the real truth, a question that begs to be answered or at least looked into and thought about from more than one angle.

That's why, given the overt touchy feeling stuff going on between J.T. Hellstrom and Brittany Hodges, it must be said that Hodges' marriage to Bobby Marsino will not go off as planned. Everyone has seen this coming. Genoa City is like a black hole. It is the place where ideas that don't fit quite right, that unsettle and disturb are tossed never to be seen again. Like, the departure of Arthur Hendricks.

One day the judge appears out of nowhere to say he's Jill Abbott's father and the man Katherine Sterling had an affair with years ago and oh my, the judge never quite got over the old woman, never wondered if she might have got pregnant that night he porked her on the mausoleum floor, just happened to find her by accident in Genoa City and praise the gods but what they shouldn't get married for it's what they've always wanted.

Seemingly the next day the judge was turned into a very evil man who for the sake of Abbott's and Sterling's sanity must be flushed down the black hole. God forbid that anyone living in this city should become a truly happy family.

For more than a year Hellstrom and Colleen Carlton fought to be together. Their love for each other was undeniable. Just when they'd turned the corner damn but what Hellstrom didn't become a rock star with a schedule so hectic he'd never have time to see his girl. Distraught that a life with J.T. was not to be Colleen returned to New York with assurances that J.T. would never forget her, nor she, him.

The very next day J.T.'s career ended. Did he call Colleen? Did she ever call him? No. The romance of the century was tossed into the black hole and mostly forgotten. Since then the closest J.T. has come to being with a woman is that he shares a love nest with his best friend's girl. If J.T. had ever had sexual feelings for the Hodges girl he never showed them perhaps out of respect for the get-out-of-town because he'd become a whining bitch Raul Guittierez who loved Hodges but lost her to the much older, but real man, Bobby Marsino. And too, J.T. may have suppressed his desire for the girl because they'd always be reminded that he'd had sex with her mother.

Suddenly, with no indication whatsoever that there is anything besides animosity between the two kids, Mac Browning, not much older than five mentally, comes along to say she's seen all the signs. It's clear in Browning's warped mind that J.T. loves Hodges and damnit he better let her know this just days before she marries Marsino.

So now J.T. can be seen accidentally locking hands with Hodges and undoubtedly having sexual fantasies about her as he helps plan her wedding and grumbles over how he was ever talked into becoming the only male bridesmaid in history. Whenever Browning tells J.T. he's in love he just shrugs his shoulders. Too much a stinking pussy he can't even pretend to be a man for a moment by telling Browning she's out of her freaking mind and if she doesn't shut her crooked mouth he'll slam her head in a door.

It's too much for Hodges to just say she's had second thoughts about marrying a man old enough to be her father and bail out while she's got the chance. It's too much to expect that Hodges will say that rushing into marriage is very bad and contributes to the fifty-percent divorce rate. Isn't it better to shove daddy's all expenses paid college education down the drain and get married for the sake of marriage? Isn't it the desire of all women to be like Sharon Newman? Who needs an education when they've got rich connections who can get them the finest jobs nepotism has to offer?

Hello? Bobby? I'm so sorry, bud. I can't marry you. You see J.T. is in love with me. And you know what? I've always been in love with him. Yeah, that's right. Just like Ashley Carlton has always loved Victor Newman. You didn't see the signs? You had no clue? You can't understand why I led you on like this; had you make foolish statements like, our wedding day will be the first day of the rest of our lives? I can. Being truthful would have meant anarchy, disorder, revolution and much sadness. God knows we can't have that. Now that you're out and J.T. is in would you like to be my bridesmaid? I don't need anyone to give me away because my daddy fully approves of J.T and kinda liked it when he found out my mom had sex with him. Oh, Bobby! I tell you, there's nothing finer than a kinky family.

Is Your Daughter Safe? Anita Hodges Is On the Anti-marriage Warpath!

October 6, 2004

Can you hear the outcry? Can you feel the snippy puritanical heat? Can you feel Anita Hodges' hot, predatory breath bearing down on Bobby Marsino's adult DVD collection and Brittany Hodges box of vibrators and smacking the soon to be married couple across the face with a Bible, all before skipping off to the dungeon to feed Satan's helpers?

Because while her daughter wants to marry the town's purveyor of smut and female meat market, Mrs. Hodges is back on the anti-porn warpath, hell-bent on slashing and burning her way through the porn industry like a priest through an all-male boarding school as she sets her sights on smearing Marsino before the all reverend preacher man Minister Palmer and God Himself.

Sworn to eradicating porn and making Genoa City safe for uptight wannabe singing strippers once and for all, Mrs. Hodges was prepared Wednesday to stop the wedding at all costs. This is the renewed battle cry. The seducer of young boys is out of control and nothing - not HBO's fabulous late-night Real Sex series, not flirty juicy strip clubs, not her husband's copy of Bend Over Boyfriend, is safe from prosecution.

Now where have we heard this before? That's right! The ultra-religious Mary Williams tried stopping her multi-marriage good Catholic boy from making the same mistake. First by pushing Paul Williams into Izzy Brana's arms and then again into Christine 'Bug' Blair's bed and back and forth until the once impotent boy wonder concluded his best bet was to go back to the widow Lauren Fenmore who eventually said she didn't want the raping pig.

Yes, the sexually benumbed Mrs. Hodges is taking time off from sitting around for 8 hours a day watching porn videos and trolling for young boys to tell a man of God what a slime Marsino is.

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. This poor sap, working day and night to essentially label anything with an exposed penis and open-mouthed moan as categorically punishable, prosecutable and sinful must do this now because it's her daughter about to be eaten by wet sticky bliss.

Pious Christian lizard that she is Mrs. Hodges has lubed the gears of the conservative steamroller and Marsino better look out 'cause it's headed his way. The porn industry of which Marsino is a part is full of disgusting and degrading stuff and he must be stopped from marrying her daughter even though Fred Hodges' attempt at preventing their little girl from having a relationship with the man failed miserably and almost got Brittany killed.

Full of drugs and exploitation and bad boob jobs and Botox and Viagra and inadequate oral sex and fake orgasms and really bad lighting, Ms. Brittany knew that the gentlemen's club known as Marilyn's was not a place she should be working. But she just couldn't stay away from the buffed puffed tucked liposuctioned nose-jobbed bleach-toothed anorexic bulimic $100-per-week tobacco addicted strippers and assorted freaks who work there so she not only went back but now plans to marry the boss.

The upshot: The Hodges' girl is safe. Mostly. Mrs. Hodges will make many loud Bible-thumping sounds and a fool of herself before the preacher. There will be much scowling and the never-ending cry will continue to wail right through October until: Who - pray, who - will save the innocent Brittany? The poor dear. It's amazing she's not all depressed and rebellious and forced by her parents to become addicted to prescription meds. Oh wait! It's early yet.

It is, of course, all one big ratings-getting sham, with Mrs. Hodges as the earnest, scowling dupe. And it will all be over soon enough. After November, Brittany will become an instant afterthought. The marriage will never have taken place and the antiporn battle cry will subside and the Hodges can get back to doing what they do best: patriotic, flag-waving, well-lubed hypocrisy.

Bedside Mannerisms
July 15, 2004

Peasants of Genoa City without health insurance or insurance premiums and deductibles so high they avoid seeking medical care at all costs were kicking themselves this week. Damn, if only they had been born with silver spoons in their mouths like the rich and powerful. If only they had names like Newman or Abbott or Marilyn or Brittany. Maybe then they'd be able to get surgical appointments with doctors in about an hour. Maybe then they could have their faces rearranged and not worry about or ever see a medical bill. Maybe being rich and powerful or a former stripper is what it takes to have doctors come to their homes unannounced to check up on them.

As if the collective intelligence of the common people hadn't already been slapped enough this week it was further loathed, disrespected, mocked, and made into a sad joke on Thursday when Dr. Frick Napolitano came a calling to the downtown Sugar Shack infested by hunkmonkey J.T. Hellstrom, diabetic boy Raul Guittierez and my name is Marilyn, no really, it is, Brittany Hodges.

Without bothering to call first, the good doctor, elated that somebody was actually home, asked, "did I come at a bad time?"

To their credit, Hellstrom and Guittierez were puzzled. "Why are you here?" they asked.

As Hodges introduced her cheesy roomies the doctor explained that he works with her plastic surgeon Dr. Frack Dragon and since he wasn't in surgery like his partner, decided to race right over to see what was shaking when Dr. Dragon's nurse paged him to say that a patient was "experiencing some discomfort" and could Napolitano maybe have a look see.

Satisfied that the doctor is who he says he is, and without checking for ID Hodges said she wasn't sure that anything was wrong except that the skin on her face "feels like it's tightening". While there hasn't been any bleeding the wound is itchy and her buds have been standing at the ready to prevent any scratching.

"We told her we'd tie her hands behind her back," Guittierez injected, prying a smile off the doctor's stern face.

As the flying monkeys huddled in the corner began to chuckle at the absurdity of it all, the doctor said that after surgery it's normal to have itching and maybe any number of complications but that it's all part of the healing process. Hell, they don't call it practicing medicine for nothing.

But, since the doctor was there, he'd might as well look. Does it hurt when I do this? How about when I do that? No? That's it then. You're fine. I'd love to stay but I must be going. Feel free to call me any time. Who knows, maybe next time the doctor whose patient you are might see you. Ta, ta.

As the doctor departed Hodges called out after him, "thanks for stopping by" but did not suggest he call first next time. Not that she had to as just about everyone knows these freaks are almost always home except for when scandal after scandal is staining their pure, holy names and they've flown the coop to sort things out.

There was some good to come out of this schtick, however.

Fed up that his baby girl continues to think she's a "singer" and that she plans to go back to work at Bobby Marsino's failing cabaret as soon as the kinks in her new face have been ironed out, Guittierez said it's over. He'll always love Hodges primarily because she was the first and only girl ever to have sex with him, but living with her is sheer agony. Accordingly, Guittierez said he's moving on with his life, out of the Sugar Shack and out of Genoa City.

Scar-faced Skank Will Have Surgery
July 1, 2004

To hell with logic and any sense of credibility. If you live in Genoa City you can get surgical procedures done in about an hour. What, too sarcastic? Too funny? You've never heard of such a thing? Well, hold onto your sides, because it gets even funnier.

Hunkered down in their Sugar Shack late this week Brittany Hodges and J.T. Hellstrom were commenting on how well the toxic facial cream roomie Raul Guittierez had found on the Internet to heal her blemished face is having remarkable results. In just two days Hodges' unstable scar seems to be disappearing.

This was good news because if Hellstrom hadn't noticed Hodges may have gone on thinking that her mind is playing tricks on her because she was thinking too that the scar has begun to dissolve. Now that Hellstrom has confirmed her suspicion Hodges is certain of it.

As they rejoiced Guittierez walked in with yet another tub of toxic goop for Hodges to try and without maybe asking, "Gosh Raul, can't you see the last gunk you gave me is working" Hodges went off to plaster another layer of what could have been a mixture of weed killer and turpentine for all she knew onto her mug.

Alone with his sweetheart, Hellstrom told Guittierez that Bobby Marsino wants to marry the skank and that if Raul has any intention of carrying on the facade of pure heterosexual romance he better move fast. Coincidentally, since J.T. and he have been sharing the same bedroom, Raul said he's lost all interest in Brittany. If she wants to marry the mobster, fine with him.

When Hodges returned to show off her pretty face the phone rang. Dr. Dragon, a plastic surgeon probably well connected to the God Have Mercy Medical Center, was on the line to personally invite Brittany to come in for surgery. Since there had been a cancellation Dragon said he could perform the surgery "in about an hour."

Are you holding your sides? Are you rolling on the floor in laughter? No? It gets better. It gets funnier. It gets sadder.

If it wasn't well known that in Genoa City people can obtain medical services as easy as ordering a burger and fries from the drive-thru, Guittierez and Hellstrom might have fallen down in a fit of pained hilarity. They might have laughed off the bloody circus of it all and tore out their hair and start popping purple pills like candy and pound large nails into their skulls to deflect the pain and asked, "Oh my freaking God what the hell is wrong with with this pathetic story we've fallen into?"

Surgery? In an hour?

And the kicker? The cutest aspect of all? There was no effort to hide it. There was no attempt to question the abrasive stupidity. Not a word like, hey Brittany, isn't it odd? Shouldn't you check this doctor out before you let him carve up your face? Shouldn't you wonder how humans can be operated on without pre-surgical testing? Shouldn't you be scheduled to have an EKG or an EEG or a blood test first? Shouldn't someone tell you not to eat twelve hours before surgery? Shouldn't the medical facility want to know first if your insurance covers elective surgery or what payment arrangements will be made?

Not that Hodges would have answered. She was in too much of a rush to get to the doctor's office, or the hospital, or more like the back alley. No time to think, boys. Gotta hurry. My surgery is in about an hour. Isn't that great?

Stripper to Change Evil Image
April 21, 2004

Oh yes, there will be strippers. There will be skankiness. There will be Brittany Hodges back at the Gentlemen's Club - soon. Only she won't be stripping. So she says.

After much hand wringing and thanks to the encouragement of a washed-up rock star who told her everyone has scars so they might as well "move on" with their meaningless lives, Hodges said this week that she intends to return to her job at the local strip joint.

"Hearing it from him, a singer who's been on stage, made it different," says Hodges, of Danny Romalotti's pep talk during which he blathered in general that if you've seen one ugly face you've seen them all.

Nobody was more excited to hear the news than club operator Bobby Marsino. With Hodges back, or "Marilyn" as his clientele know her, the club will once again be raking in the big bucks.

"Guys who were here that night have been asking about her," Marsino said, of that fateful evening on January 23 when Hodges was electrocuted while simulating a sex act with a metal pole. During the process of shimming up the representation of an erect penis the seductive friction grew so intense a surge of electricity spurt through the pole causing Hodges to go into erotic shock when her foot touched the ground.

Marsino would later say, "The pole was set up by someone who knew what he was doing. He pulled a switch to turn on the power from under the stage."

Marsino also spread word around that his organization was under the thumb of the local mob and that it was his belief that mobster Sal Staley arranged to have Hodges fried.

Still, police to this day have refused to take Marsino's allegations seriously and have in fact targeted former employee Kevin Fisher as the culprit. While the case against Fisher was slowly being made, Hodges' perturbed friends and family members squeezed their narrow ideologies into little fiery balls and berated, as they so often do, strippers and those that hire them for being vile, crude, disgusting, and awful. They sniveled that God doesn't like women who shake their bodies for money and tried desperately to get Hodges into a more sanctimonious pseudo-Christian way of life. Hodges told them to just cover their eyes. She was gonna do what she does.

In the end Hodges came full circle. Soon she'll be back at the neighborhood strip tease still allowed to operate at a time when there is so much anguish over a one-second exposure of a woman's breast on TV. Hodges will be in all her glory as rotten-teeth, sexless, unshaven men fondle themselves and shout out, "take it all off" and the government screams that a giant condom be placed over the porn industry because God doesn't like AIDS-infected porn.

But Marsino says Marilyn won't be taking her clothes off. Her return engagement will be that of an innocent singer and the mostly male customers patronizing his club expecting to see skin will pay big money to hear the chirping of a C-grade songbird.

Talk about delusional. Who does Marsino think he's fooling? Who are these customers he claims are concerned about some transparent piece of human meat? Who goes to a strip club for the music?

Is anything good coming from Hodges return to the strip club? Are we to believe that once the crotch-stained balding old men find out Marilyn only sings they'll be, um, coming back for more?

"Hey Butch, have you heard? Marilyn is back at Marsino's! Yeah, she don't grease poles anymore or cause me to get all hot and bothered and remember when I used to be able to have sex, but boy can she sing."

My Fair Lady
April 1, 2004

by Vicki Johns

Word is the latter-day tale of "My Fair Lady" will soon be over in Genoa City. Turns out Professor Higgins ain't so smart after all and Eliza Doolittle ain't so "loverly" in the end.

The sexual innuendoes and overtones in the relationship between Bobby Marsino and Brittany Hodges have always been reminiscent of the "Pygmalion" couple. Of course, in some sick, abnormal style that was beyond the grasp of thinking people everywhere. Normally, one would think that would exclude all of the inhabitants of Genoa City, Wisconsin, but even some of those depraved souls thought it an unholy alliance.

Bobby was indeed the typical Professor Higgins. He was full of pride and haughtily convinced that he could turn this rich, snotty, pampered society girl into a skanky stripper with never-realized promises of a singing and recording career. (That's how George Bernard Shaw would have written it in 2004.)

And Bobby did. He robbed a young woman of precious time which should have been spent in pursuit of things that really matter in life: a second-rate education at a second-rate local college, the love of a very decent gay guy, and unlimited access to her parent's bank accounts.

Why? No doubt Marsino had a hankering for the mouthy little snot since that fateful meeting at The Boutique.

And the only other thing Bobby was doing in that backroom of his besides drawing coke lines, talking to "The Boss" and making pay-offs and bribes to city officials, was throwing darts at a board covered with photos of his strippers. Aim for Luscious Lucinda, land on Delicious Darla, and damn, Darla was it for that night's lay. It's amazing that, with the perilously non-existent lack of morals between the two of them, Bobby's little dart didn't end up in Britt.

But in the end, it didn't happen and that's maybe because even the most debased of pimps don't touch their highest-priced girls. Brittany was skin-for-hire and a tool to bring big profits to the club, yet still just another young woman whose life was permanently marred by someone out to make as much money as possible by prostituting the bodies of women possessing sad and unfortunate life circumstances leaving them no other choices.

Except for Brittany, of course. She was just a stupid, selfish bitch that was out to annoy and hurt everyone who cared about her. That's why she ended up at Marsino's.

And Bobby Marsino? Bobby Marsino cares about Bobby Marsino only. Unlike Professor Higgins, he professes no reachable heart, despite what he tells his bartender. Bobby and his club and his "stereotypical" hoard of friends with New Jersey accents have all served their purpose, now let's all bid them a gracious adieu and, to borrow a phrase, "move on."

By doing so, Brittany can be the fictional Eliza Doolittle. With Marsino out of her life, and a face only a pizza shop owner could love, she can stay out of the gutter. Fact is, she may now just have a real opportunity to speak, look - and behave - like a "real lady."

Town Freak Has New Attitude!
March 29, 2004

by Vicki Johns

Calling all gimps, crips, stutterers, anorexics, perverts, deaf-mutes, Siamese twins, and mental degenerates: there's a Freak Show at Genoa City's Washington Square Park and you're already late. Cerebral Palsy Rosie and Scarface Brittany Hodges have started the show. Bring in P.T. Barnum and there might just be some money to be made out of this little farce.

Yes, strange and in the park, Brittany found her muse in the form of one "Rose" who suffers from the serious condition known as cerebral palsy. Other than the fact that small children are likely to scream in horror for their mothers upon the sight of either of them, the similarities end right there.

Interesting that Rose, upon hearing Brittany's tale of woe, didn't hobble up, grab the nearest tree branch and make the left side of Britt's face match the right side. Here is a woman who, through no fault of her own, incurred brain damage at birth which ultimately led to muscular dystrophy and a speech impediment. Yeah, it's highly likely that someone who wakes up every day of their life with that baggage in hand is going to feel one molecule of sympathy for Britt, former Beautiful Rich Society Girl who made her own bed and got burned in it.

And credit must be given to Rose, who admitted to being personally responsible for screwing up her own life. Admitting that she passed up earlier opportunities because of self-pity and pandering to other's opinions, she informed Brittany she'd finally now made a life for herself.

Wow, since that little vignette describes about 99% of the population's life experience, it appears you don't have to suffer from cerebral palsy to mess up your life. People will just cut you a little more slack for it later, though, when you tell your sob story.

Yes, and Brittany ate it up like Sierra at a pig roast. Experiencing an epiphany that said "Go directly to Marsino's" Britt ran out of the park, leaving Rose behind to chuckle to herself over her duplicitous plot to plant seeds of hope in Britt's psyche. For how could Brittany be anything other to Rose than the personification of the cheerleader who mercilessly made jokes about her handicap in high school and has finally received her comeuppance? You can almost hear Rose saying out loud: "Go ahead, my pretty, dream your silly dreams! Ah ha ha ha ha ha!”

But the Washington Square Freak Show was worth it, since it lead Britt straight back to Marsino's, where she fondly remembered removing whorishly repulsive costumes while singing sexually titillating songs. Ah, the good old days. Could it be possible, Britt fantasized? That she might actually again be able to reveal the most physically intimate parts of her anatomy in front of toothless, chew-addicted, balding, pot-bellied, masturbating perverts? Did she dare to dream that, indeed, life could once more be so grand?

Boy oh boy, it's amazing what some chance meeting in the park with a cripple will do for you. Someone needs to alert the American Psychiatric Association to invest in a little Halloween make-up and set up desks in the town's parks (ala Peanuts' Lucy), because that's where psychological and emotional healing, even hope for the future, are dispensed these days. No need for appointments, either, doctors. The freaks will come to you.

The Hunt for Kevin Fisher
March 15, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Recovering from the terrible ordeal of having been electrocuted, former stripper Brittany Hodges has only now gotten around to ask who might have done it to her. Instead of finding out from the police if there are any suspects, Hodges has asked one of her many boyfriends, Raul Guittierez, who he thinks did it.

To embellish the idiocy that this scenario reeks of the GCN wondered how the conversation might have gone had Hodges discovered a zit on her face instead of the barely noticeable blemish she's currently bemoaning.

"Raul honey, can you see this zit on my face? I know it's hard, but look closely. See it?"

"Just a second babe, let me get a magnifying glass. Okay. Where'd you say the zit is? Oh yeah, I see it. Wow! Why does it look like your nose?"

"Silly boy! That is my nose! Look, right here. Where my finger is. See it?"

"Yup, that's a zit alright. Have you tried using Clearasil?"

"What a fool you are, Raul. If I wanted to get rid of it I'd have my rich parents spend a few bucks on some cosmetic surgery. Haven't you noticed? I enjoy my zit. I wish I had more. It gives me a reason to wallow around in self-pity. It enables me to be angry and look for someone to blame. By the way, do you know who I can blame?"

"Gosh, Brittany, I don't. Wait! Have you ever heard of Kevin Fisher?"

"The bookkeeper nerd at the strip club where I used to take off my clothes in front of sexless, toothless, unshaven men while they fondled themselves? I thought you were the bookkeeper there. What ever happened to that job? Never mind, forget I asked. Is that the Kevin Fisher You're talking about?"

"That's the one, Brit. I think he made you get a zit. In fact, I'm certain of it."

"That's a serious charge, Raul. Can you give me any proof he did it before I go into a tizzy and blame him for making me ugly?"

"Sorry, no. I don't have any proof, but you can take my word for it."

"Isn't that the same Kevin who did all those terrible things to Colleen Carlton and Lily Winters and I already knew this but want you to tell me again so I can get all worked up?

"I didn't really want to tell you, but yes, that's the guy. Now that I've told you what I didn't want to tell you, are you okay with it Brit?"

"I'm okay. Thanks for telling me, Raul. Are you sure you don't have any proof?"

"Not an iota, Brit."
"Iota?"
"Iota. A four-letter word meaning mite. You know. Like the things living in my combed with a wash rag hair."
"I knew that, Raul. Why do you think Kevin gave me a zit?"

"Because my friends say so. And not just any friends, either. J.T. told me. You know J.T. Right? The guy you had sex with and I used to hate, but who now shares this dump we live in and has become my best bud? Have you seen J.T.'s, um, thing? I know you've felt it, but have you seen it? I thought Billy Abbott was endowed. And that chest. Wow! If there's one thing that can turn me on it's a baby-faced boy with a hairless chest."

"Raul, you little queer. Just shut up about J.T. It's me you're supposed to be madly in love with. It's me who has men flocking around her and it's me who could be lonely like that piglet no last name Oreo-eating teeny bopper you hang around with and it's me we're supposed to be feeling sorry for. Not you and your repressed homosexuality. Me! Me! Me! I'm disturbed and ugly! Don't you get it?"

"Yeah, Brit. I get it. Unless I get sidetracked, and stop by the Jitter Joint to spend more money I'm always whining I don't have on over-priced coffee, I'm going to class now for the first time this month. You won't be going anywhere to do something stupid while I'm gone - will you?"

"Why, Raul! Whatever gave you that idea?

"Because, babe. You're so much like me and J.T. and Lily and Colleen and, well, just about everyone who has taken their frustration out on Kevin Fisher. C'mon, you can tell me. Are you going to inflict your rage on Kevin too?"

"No, Raul. I'm so much more mature than that. I don't go around accusing people."

"So, are you saying you'll be here when I get back? Yeah? Want to fool around later?"

"Haven't you been listening, Raul? I'm ugly! My face has been scarred for life! I can't have sex or do anything like before my life was ruined. Besides, you'd only be thinking of naked boys."

LATER THAT DAY...

"Hello, Kevin. Recognize me? No, I'm not Vanessa Prentiss. I'm just trying to look like her because the idiots who wrote my script ran out of original ideas. See this? Oh, wait! Let me get the veil off my face. There. See that? Where I'm pointing?"

"Oh no! Please, miss. What did you say your name was? Marline? Marilyn?

"You can call me Brittany."

"That's right, Brittany. Please! Cover your face! It's too hideous. Where did you get that zit?"

"Creep! You know damn well. You gave it to me. It's your handiwork!"

"I'm sorry, but you must have me confused with somebody else. What makes you think I'd give you a zit?"

"Because, creep. A lot of people think you did. Are you proud of yourself? You've tuned me into a freak!"

"Look, Marilyn, I mean, Brittany. Just because somebody thinks something doesn't make it so. Haven't you heard? This is still America. People are innocent until proven guilty."

"You fool! Get your head out of your ass. Times have changed. This is Genoa City. All I have to do is snap my fingers and my daddy could have you thrown in jail without a trial. The slightest whimpering on my part to the police that you are a very, very bad man and they'd get another warrant to search your place without probable cause. Look now, here they are!"

"But Mary, er, Brittany. I'd never do anything to hurt anyone."

"Creep! I've heard those teenage girls say what a slime you are. I don't know you personally, but I know you're a pathological liar. You ruined my life and I want you to pay. Officer, arrest that man!"

No Jobs for The Young and the Ugly
March 11, 2004

by Vicki Johns

You know all of those bankers who sit in their corner offices and that, for some reason, somehow, deep down, you suspect of doing absolutely nothing except feeding off of the poor, underpaid, overworked single mothers standing behind the teller's windows handling the customers who've been angrily waiting and standing in line because the bank decided to cut back on corporate expenses and increase profits regardless of the effect it had on those very same customers?

Remember when you felt a little bit guilty for feeling that way because maybe you couldn't be sure that those guys actually DIDN'T contribute anything to the success of the bank and weren't actually worthless, lazy, ignorant, gutless scum that did more harm than good? Well, put aside those guilty feelings forever, you were right all along. Frederick Hodges' bank stooge Josh McCarthy has permanently validated your presumption for all time.

Brittany Hodges, her shallow and as-steady-as-the-shifting-sands based self-esteem totally destroyed when she was struck by lightning and physically mutilated for committing the unspeakable sin of baring her breasts and backside in public, was further emotionally devastated recently upon learning that her scarred, melted, and structurally revolting visage would sicken bank customers to the point of projectile vomiting, causing her own father's establishment to role up carpets and forever lock the doors.

The trying-to-appear-well-meaning but as usual out-of-touch Hodges parents are the culprits for the depth of their own daughter's increased emotional abyss. Suggesting that Brittany "try out" for the position of "wealth management" advisor at the bank, Fred set Brittany up for a tutoring session with Josh, a guy who clearly has forgotten that the way you really get to the top of Corporate America is to A) sleep your way there or B) kiss ass up the ladder until your lips are swollen and brown with excrement.

After giving the none-too-thrilled Brittany a six-minute introductory speech on how to handle "important client's mega millions" and degrading the sacrifice and efforts of students everywhere struggling through advanced fiscal management classes, Josh returned to the boss' office and announced the trial unsuccessful because the boss' daughter's scarred face would frighten customers off faster than cockroaches hit with a 150-watt bulb.

One doesn't know who to feel sorrier for: Josh, who's obviously forgotten the time-honored tradition of "it doesn't matter how stupid, fat, or ugly the boss' daughter is, she's a genius in his eyes and your livelihood depends on you saying so," or, Brittany, who's finally getting a real dose of the fact that the majority of the people in this world are cold, selfish, heartless bastards who will primarily judge you for the rest of your life on three things: 1. Your looks; 2. Your looks; and 3. Your looks.

It's very possible that sympathy can be felt for neither character. Josh will be demoted back to the janitorial staff and mailroom where his true talents can be exploited to their fullest advantage until he learns to say "Yes, Boss" with a conviction that would make even Lynne Bassett proud.

As for Brittany, it's obvious that fate doesn't feel she's adequately learned "the pain . . . of those whose names were never called when choosing sides for basketball" and other life lessons she so desperately needs to, such as: it's hard-knock life, not to spit in the face of real opportunity, and be glad for what you do have, like people who care about you and want to help you.

But maybe, in the time being, it'll dawn on her that she was exactly the kind of unfeelingly, insensitive, uncaring, and stupid person that Josh is before she got hit with 800V of electricity. If not, maybe she can just go get a graveyard shift job at the morgue where it's irrelevant if she continues to display the same personality and concern for the welfare of others that's gotten her exactly where she is today.

Make It Stop!
March 1, 2004

The story about local banker Fred Hodges and how he not only cut off the credit line at his bank to one of Genoa City's notoriously sleazy strip clubs - but had the power and influence to make other banks in Genoa City do the same and thereby caused the local mobsters running the club to sweat and worry that they were doomed unless Hodges was stopped - was broadcast far and wide.

Hodges was determined to close the Gentlemen's Club down and at the same time get his not of legal drinking age daughter to stop working there as a stripper/singer. As much as he hated what Brittany was doing he couldn't keep himself away from the club and was - coincidentally - watching her strip the night someone plugged the metal pole she was greasing into an electrical outlet.

Given the all but nonexistent resulting scar left on Brittany Hodges' face, the complete lack of interest in the trying desperately to convince themselves that they are men, J.T. Hellstrom and Raul Guittierez picking on Kevin Fisher so thick you need a jackhammer to see some light, there was little concern as to why Mr. Hodges instantly forgot about his pledge to put Bobby Marsino and his thugs out of business. All sneering and smirking one day, his little girl received an electrical shock and Fred Hodges ran like a scared rat.

As any child knows, continuity has always been a wildly corrupt and slimy ideal in Genoa City. Business is booming again at the strip club. Lines of credit were reopened with out of town banks more concerned with profits from high interest rates than the social values of some pissant town. All is well now so long as that pole-greasing skank steers clear.

It's not so easy, however, for Marsino to dismiss his budding star and go along with his mobster pals. To do so reeks of something far beyond organized crime and sleaze. It's called love and Marsino has got it so bad for Ms Hot Pants he keeps a photograph of her in his desk drawer. Just a little reminder that when the urge becomes overwhelming and he recalls that he hasn't had sex for something like twenty years, Bobby's girl is just an open drawer away.

This, then, is the gist of the Brittany Hodges/Bobby Marsino, et al, attack on the city. An intentional, ferocious cheap piece of pornography to be exploited, a younger girl to be suckled by an older man, a hunk of toilet paper for Raul Guittierez and J.T. Hellstrom to - well, forget that part.

Over and over again there have been endless droning shots of a gyrating sweating booty-pumping faux-sexy Brittany pretending to writhe in orgasmic bliss, day after day where we watched and watched and went slowly numb and said, damn, how long can this go on? Where will it end and what does it mean? How much more naked and sexist and overblown and abusive can they get? When will Bobby and Brittany just say screw it, strip down and have sex?

And when Bobby has gotten what he wants will Brittany too, say, oh my, somebody does love me. I guess all those days I worried that the scar on my face nobody could really see or really give a rip about were a total waste of time.

Should Brittany go back to her life as a stripper and maybe get rich daddy and mommy to pay for laser surgery to make her good as new will the saturation level of living in Genoa City among the elite have been reached?

Will Marsino and his pitchfork-wielding bookkeeper Guittierez, who hasn't been on the job since the night Hodges was electrified, have a total meltdown, some sort of massive freak-out whereby they challenge each other to a dual to see who gets Brittany and thus put an end to what has become quite possibly the most self-serving, egomaniacal cluster of boredom ever to grip Genoa City?

The people in Genoa City reflect the planet. The planet reflects back. And everyone agree: This yarn has been spinning for exactly one year and spun out nothing but cruel blackness and the abuse needs to come to an end, right now. We can, after all, take only so much abuse, can be only so ideologically hammered, before we become so utterly exhausted that we just stop caring.

Brittany Hodges - Temple of Doom
February 5, 2004

Just last week, well before Brittany Hodges reignited her limp career in the most jolting stunt in months, perturbed friends and family members from all corners squeezed their narrow ideologies into little fiery balls and decided to berate, as they so often do, strippers and those that hire them for being vile, crude, disgusting, and awful.

With semi-catatonic frat boys and hapless parents disgusted by what she does in her face all the time whining that God doesn't like women who shake their bodies for money and trying desperately to get her into a more sanctimonious pseudo-Christian way of life, Hodges told them to just cover their eyes. She was gonna do what she does and become the next J Lo - or somebody.

And thus did the cry go out, powerful and time tested by bankers worldwide, guaranteed to induce fear and ignorance and allow them to paint themselves as all self-righteous and ethical and pretend they're not corporate shills raping the economy from the back pocket of a credit card lobbyist. Fred Hodges cut off the strip club's line of credit. Who, pray, who - would protect his child?

So Freddie, his little girl's girlie-boyfriend Raul Guittierez and his girlfriend J.T. Hellstrom hissed. They derided, they wrapped themselves in cloaks of hypocrisy. Guittierez, who had said over and over what a slimy place the Gentlemen's Club is and what a slime ball its owners were and how he hated watching unshaven, missing-teeth hard up for sex men watching his girl strip, with no experience in accounting, took a job at the club as a bookkeeper.

As if these aren't the true demons of society, the true leeches sucking the souls of the virtuous and the young, the mobsters behind the club came out of their holes and struck back. Soon, Ms Hodges was flat on her back - this time in a so-called hospital where butchers roam the halls looking for their next victim.

Which leads us, naturally, straight to Hodge's scar. To the instantly infamous fully intentional scar-exposing stunt wherein she'll remove the towels around her head to reveal not a hairless head, but a hideous scar destined to make life unbearable.

There will be much hand-wringing and chants of who can I blame as Hodges whimpers, "Am I going to look different?"

Once again, Genoa City will be shocked and appalled. Families horrified. Civilizations will tremble. Churches will crumble. People will gasp and make the sign of the cross. Brittany Hodges, the city's first elephant woman, deeply scarred. Forever and ever. So very sad.

This is the message: A small scar barely visible will be the death of Hodges. She won't be able to continue her career, her education, her life. Going back to shoplifting is out of the question too. The moment she walks out through those hospital doors the world will point and snicker. How ugly, they'll say shifting their eyes in disgust.

Before she's had time to dust off the Bible and before Mommy and Daddy can pop some Zoloft, the once good for a crotch scratching Hodges will tell her parents that she really didn't mean it when she insinuated so many times before becoming a hideous, repulsive thing they go straight to Hell and leave her alone.

Yes, with a tiny scar dragging her down, Hodges will moan how wrong she was and how much she wishes they can all sit around the breakfast table and be a family again. And by the way Mommy, could you reactivate the credit cards?

Shocking accident ruled deliberate!
February 4, 2004

New information on the "accident" that literally shocked Gentlemen's Club stripper Brittany Hodges right into the hospital last week has operator Bobby Marsino saying that police have ruled the event as a deliberate attempt to cook someone's goose.

Marsino gave his best explanation as to what happened on Wednesday during a conversation with newly-hired club bookie, Raul Guittierez.

"The pole was set up by someone who knew what he was doing. He pulled a switch to turn on the power from under the stage," Marsino said of the electrifying jolt Hodges received while simulating the act of sex with a metal pole.

Eager to tell anyone who will listen that his organization is under the thumb of the local mob, Marsino added it is his belief that mobster Sal Staley arranged to have Hodges fried.

Unable to conjure up in his feeble mind that Staley put out a hit on Ms Hodges as a means to get even with local banker Fred Hodges for pulling the club's line of credit, the creepily aghast-looking Guittierez asked, "What do you mean?"

The mindless question paved the way for Marsino to explain what everyone has known for months. Gangsters helped him get into the sleazy sex business and he still owes money to the mob.

In a related development, there was another outburst in the corridors at the God Have Mercy Medical Center when Mrs. Anita Hodges physically attacked Marsino, called him a son-of-a-bitch and ordered him to leave the hospital. Like her husband, Mrs. Hodges blames Marsino for twisting their daughter's arm, holding a gun to her head and forcing her to work at the club.

Stripper survives, mangled hands
January 27, 2004

God Have Mercy Medical Center doctors caring for Gentlemen's Club stripper Brittany Hodges reported Tuesday that the patient underwent plastic surgery following burns sustained when she was zapped last week by an electrified pole while emulating a sex act.

Hospital spokesquack Dr. Olivia Winters said that while Hodges escaped any serious injury to her heart and brain, the burns on her legs and under one arm will heal in time and should not impact her stripping career.

"He found dead tissue," Winters said, of a minor burn on Hodge's cheek and praised the surgeon's fast-thinking in that an incision along the bone shouldn't leave much scaring. However, Winters expressed concern that the patient has little range of motion in her hands and will need much therapy if she is to have any hope of performing manual manipulation of phallic poles in the future.

Strip club shocker probe promised
January 26, 2004

After the humorous events which unfolded during a phallic pole stroking demonstration at the Gentlemen's Club late Friday night, 19-year-old stripper Brittany Hodges was rushed to the God Have Mercy Medical Center where her condition remains in limbo.

"Wake up" pleas by the patients' father Fred Hodges, and boyfriend Raul Guittierez were of absolutely no help since the victim was not sleeping. A witness to the shocking display of eroticism gone bad, Mr. Hodges promised a full police investigation when Guittierez said he suspects foul play.

Adding to Ms Hodges poor chance at survival was the unfortunate luck to have had such an electrifying experience happen on the one night Dr. Olivia Winters was on duty at GHM. Patients with less serious injuries have been known to croak unexpectedly under Winters' care.

Alarmed that Winters was unable to provide any information about his daughter except to say that Ms Hodges has suffered an electrical burn on her cheek, Mr. Hodges sought refuge in the hospital's chapel where adulterers and sexual deviants often seek God's help. When the chips are down God is routinely asked to perform miracles in exchange for promises to become born again Christians which are promptly forgotten once the miracle has been delivered.

Also in need of spiritual guidance, Guittierez joined Hodges in prayer. Sadly, lightning did not smite them down on the spot as at the time of the tragedy they, like the victim, were partaking in a pagan ritual.

Most sinners, seeing the truth in their double-edged glory, would have sat back and sighed and accepted their fate.

Except in Genoa City. Here, the glorifiers of smut and bad sex are smiled upon with patronizing glee. Cheating on their wives and husbands and screwing in storefront windows and emulating the sex act with a pole while impotent men throw money at them is the norm.

Stripper's phallic pole stroking reaches shocking climax!

January 23, 2004

When Gentlemen's Club stripper Brittany Hodges said Friday night that she was going to put on a show sure to knock everyone's socks off she had no idea.

With her father, Fred Hodges, in the audience watching toothless, unshaven men rubbing themselves and hollering for the skank to take it all off, Hodges was in the process of shimming up a pole represented as an erect penis when the seductive friction grew so intense a surge of what was thought to be static electricity spurt through it causing Hodges to go into erotic shock when her foot touched the ground.

Strip club personnel rushed to Hodges' aid and while apparently rendered unconscious, her exact condition could not be determined.