by Brent Kellogg
Originally published September 28, 2004
Following John Abbott and Gloria Fisher's day at the Newman Jitter Joint the GCN
embellished their actual conversation. What follows may be too graphic for the faint of
heart.
Thank you so much John for bringing me here to the Newman Jitter Joint. I was wondering
when you'd get around to introducing me to all the local hunkmonkey's and their skanks.
So that's J.T. Hellstrom. I've heard good things about that boy. I hear he's going to
college part-time and has been since first showing his face in this town, what was it,
five years ago? Seems that long. He's what? You're shucking me, John. He's a part-time
private investigator too? Wow! I wish my youngest son was that talented. And what?
Hellstrom once dated your granddaughter when she was fifteen and he was eighteen but he
forgot all about little Colleen Carlton when she went back to New York? I bet they were
having sex. No? I don't believe it. Kids these days don't wait until they're
married. But you say she wasn't that kind of girl? Are you really that naive?
Who's that girl? Mac Browning? Is she the one who ran away from home and lived in a
homeless shelter until she met her rich grandmother who was living at the shelter too?
Didn't she almost marry your son, Billy? I bet they were having sex. No? Billy
is gay?
No? Billy and Mac got married but couldn't have sex because they found out on their
wedding night that they're cousins? How sad.
So what's Mac doing now? Going to college? Why aren't these kids in class? Oh, I
understand. School is only in session for a half-day each semester and that day is called
a teacher's workshop so the kids get off anyway. My, but what those two look chummy. You
say J.T. and Mac aren't an item? Could have fooled me.
And that one over there. The one with the blemish on her face. Would that be the infamous
stripper Brittany Hodges I've heard so much about? Got her ass fried while emulating sex
with a metal pole at the strip joint did she?
This all has been quite interesting, John. I hope you'll bring me back here again. It's so
romantic. The expensive lattes are out of this world. So smooth. Just like you, John. Say,
speaking of class, I know you're from the old school and I've been slinking around in your
home for two weeks dressed like a bitch in heat, but have you considered having sex with
me?
What? You can't get it up? Hell, John. That's no reason not to have sex. They've got a
pill for that too, you know. Let's blow this pop stand, pops. Better yet, take me home and
I'll blow you - away. Once my nimble fingers go to work you won't need Viagra or that
other crap that keeps you hard for three days. You ready? No? C'mon you old coot. How much
longer do you think I can hang around here playing Patty Cake? You've got to get in on
with me so your adult children can giggle and point afterwards as you walk around like a
silly boy who's had sex for the first time and then fall in love with me after which I can
drain your stinking bank account and leave you penniless. Get with it dude. Time's a
wasting. Each time we're seen out in public teenage hangouts like this we only add to the
pointlessness.
August 24, 2004 - Ain't
it great living in Genoa City? The land of opportunity. Give us your humble masses and old
women in need. Just ask Gloria Fisher. A woman of no means, who owns one dress and
probably shoplifts cheap perfume to spray in her crotch, Fisher was told last week to get
out of the apartment she's been squatting at with her two sons when she was caught
entertaining a local gigolo in the spare bedroom.
Packed Tuesday and ready for the return to Detroit, Fisher caught a taxi to the airport
and along the way stopped by the home of semi-wealthy John 'Yawn' Abbott for a final
farewell and to tell the marked man that life had given her a sack of lemons and that
while she had made lemonade from them it surely sucked.
"Life is funny. When you think you have it all figured out you get thrown a curved
ball," she said, her usual bubbly persona simmering like road tar in the hot August
sun.
"Why so glum, chum?" the unsuspecting old man asked in so many words, at a loss
as to why Gloria wasn't as happy as he was the day he met her.
Never one to let a glob of patronization pass her by, and since the taxi meter was
running, the old woman told Abbott what a "very special man" he is and was about
to say that she had been run out of town on a rail when Abbott cut her off to say that he
had been thinking about her since their last date.
But the geezer's thoughts weren't so much about the nice meal they never ate, not how
being in the same room with a woman sent electrical currents to his groin for the first
time years, but of how living with two disrespectful arrogant sons must be causing so
much stress in her life! Subsequently, Abbott said he had decided it was time to place a
woman he knows nothing about right smack dab in the center of the Abbott fortune.
"I want you to come live here as my guest," he said, adding that it all made
perfect sense given how Fisher herself had said the Abbott Hotel is too big for a man's
adult son - who has never owned his own home - and another squatter, PainMe Johnson, the
black millionaire former maid with nothing better to do but live with a pack of white
trash, even though Fisher had never before set foot in the place.
Presuming she'd have a room of her home and assured that Abbott wouldn't try to sneak in
late at night for some hanky panky like Johnson used to do, Fisher was aghast.
"What? You mean little 'ole me? Live here among the stars?" Fisher did not
exactly say, but quickly asserted that it just so happened she could move in right away as
her bags were outside in the taxi.
Then, looking the wrong way, Fisher cranked her head upward and while throwing a kiss,
thanked Satan for coming through for her again.
Prior
to that, on July 30, was the revelation that Gloria
Fisher is turned on by used swimsuits! Considering
that the gold-digging Genoa City newbie thought
nothing of flashing her beaver at young boys, it
explained why old man John Abbott had no
qualms when his son suggested that he, and
the hot in more ways than one Fisher, go for a swim
in the Abbott pool. What? Gloria didn't come prepared? The old geezer didn't
plan ahead like Newman employee Miguel Rodriguez did
Friday when the slave purchased a brand new swim
suit for Abby Carlton's visit to the Ponderosa? It
wasn't a problem. Jack Abbott said they keep lots of
swimsuits in the pool house.
Perhaps amongst the
suits left behind by the oily Jabot Glow Kids from
summers of yesteryear Gloria could find one not
crawling with crabs or smelling like a rank
synthetic mixture of pine cones and road tar and
Raid Ant & Roach Killer, the scent of which will
likely remind John of something Jill Abbott might've
worn that night when Jack did the horizontal hoochie
with his former wife.
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