On the Radio
September 17, 2004
by Rockin Robin
KKGC DJ

We were coming up on the midnight hour here at KKGC 0.1 on the FM dial when a call came in to our beautiful studios requesting a song. This guy sounded like he was calling from the dark side of the moon, but when I asked him where he was, he said he was in a phone booth near the south end of the Lakeside Bridge, which most of y'all know is about two miles from KKGC. The other thing about this guy was he sounded like he was sailing three sheets to the wind. He wanted me to play "Dedicated to the One I Love", and I tried to tell him the dedication show started at midnight, but he kept saying he couldn't wait that long.

"Lauren has got to know how much I love her right now," he repeated over and over, so I asked him what the rush was. Well, he told me, he knew Lauren was on the other side of the time warp listening to her transistor. See, Kevin (that was his name) just asked her out on a date, and she'd put him off, y'all know how that goes.

What could I say? The song I was playing had finished, and I ran some commercials while he was talking, but I had to get back on the air, so I agreed, hung up, got onto the mike, and said, 'Here's a little love song going out to Lauren from Kevin.'

It wasn't more than ten seconds before I got another call. This time it was Lauren. She was upset. Wanted to know what the hell I was doing playing songs for her. When she finally got through a-cussing and a-hollering at me, I asked her if what Kevin said wasn't true. I had an awful feeling I was getting caught up in some long-standing lover's quarrel, and I wanted to know exactly what was going on.

The line was quiet for a while, though I could hear folks talking in the background, and what sounded like gym weights clanging, and a man shouted, "Gina! We got customers." Gina shouted back, I won't repeat exactly what, but Lauren came back to me and said, "Mister, at first I thought this was some kind of sick joke, but you know, somehow I don't think so anymore. You asked me if what Kevin told you was true. It almost was. I think deep down I really love Kevin but he's so crazy."

I heard the man's voice louder now: "Gina, you going to talk all night, or are you going to wait on some tables? And stop giving away my booze. We don't do that here."

I told Lauren I had to get off the line soon, I was running the same commercials again. She told me to hold my horses, and I could hear her heave a sigh before she spoke again.

"There's this thing about Kevin I'm attracted to. I know I should tell him there can never be anything between us but I just love stringing him along so, you know, he'll start stalking me and when that happens I can tell that bitch Christine she ain't the only woman in this town men are fighting over."

Then she hung up. Neither of them ever called me back.

I've Got a Secret
April 2, 2004

by Vicki Johns

Whoa, isn't that Lauren Fenmore something, now? What a keen, sagacious operator this over 40 belly-shirt wearing chick is.

She only had to be knocked over with a steam engine, hit over the head with jackhammer, and blasted with an Uzi to figure it out. All the time Lauren was adding up 2+2 about Kevin Fisher and coming up with 4,689, it finally took Fisher himself to confirm to her that, indeed, he really was the crazy, perverted nutso that everyone in town was claiming he was.

Wherever Scott Grainger, Jr. is, he should be grateful he's not around a woman who's equipped with the judgment skills of a four-year-old and purposely sacrifices $100,000, not to building community centers or to the local food bank, but for the sole purpose of allowing a self-admitted arsonist, attempted murderer, and sexual predator back onto the streets.

Having obviously just come from a screening of "The Passion of The Christ" Lauren feels absolution should be granted to the young man. Why, of course, Kevin, we all do things we're not proud of or happy about, but we just try to do better later, for this is what makes our lives worthwhile.

That type of thinking may be all fine and dandy for crimes such as letting your dog take a crap on your next-door neighbor's yard. But for Lauren to blindly spew such pabulum to someone she is well aware has a good chance of being an arsonist, attempted murderer and sexual predator goes farther into the realm of even somewhat believable fiction than H.G. Wells or Gene Rodderick could ever have cooked up.

And here's another thing: if you are ever wealthy enough to risk $100,000 on a guy that's got a damned good potential of being a total loser, and he finds you and asks if you can keep a secret, run. It's not good news. It's nothing you want to hear. In fact, move out of state and be glad the only thing you've lost is $100,000. Because there's good money riding on the fact the next words out of his mouth will not be: I've decided to join a seminary. No, the words more than likely are: I'm guilty as sin.

Which is exactly how Lauren found out that Kevin did all those nasty things to Gina Roma and Colleen Carlton and Lily Winters. Of course, he didn't do that nasty thing to Brittany Hodges. Oh no, huh-uh, not him. Something made him change his ways after he destroyed a restaurant worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, committed statutory rape and infected a 15-year-old with an STD. His pent-up, inbred, and unresolved angst/psychosis was somehow distinguished with those heinous few acts, leaving him with no desire whatsoever to burn up the face of a beautiful young woman who'd pretty much spit in his face and told him to go in a corner and do something anatomically impossible.

But the chemicals in all of the perm and dye jobs Lauren Fenmore has undergone have radically diminished the very small amount of brain power she had to begin with. Once learning that Kevin Fisher was guilty of these crimes, the next thing any responsible human being would do, let alone any well-known and highly-successful business person, is to get on the phone straight-away to the cops. No, Kevin may not be responsible for the chunk of cheese that's permanently sitting on Brittany's right cheek. But what he is responsible for is just as bad.

And why is it exactly that Lauren has such sympathy for the guy? What horrendous sob-story has he told her? Did his mother rape him as a child? Was he beaten mercilessly night after night until blood trickled down the side of his mouth? Was he forced to go out and sell his teenage body in order to pay for food? Have any of these reasons been given for Kevin's villainous behavior? No, he just had bad parents. Well, Kevin, get in line.

Shockingly - and this may be the first time ever - Paul "Clueless" Williams is giving advice that should be heeded. He wants the authorities involved. Sadly, he's screwed up so much in the past that his advice is now worthless. And most likely, Lauren will pay far more than a hundred grand for not taking it. Not that anyone should feel bad about that.

Mother Fenmore's Confessional
February 18, 2004

Kneel down. Put your hands together. Offer thanks right this very moment to whatever deity you desire that you are not a crazed, unemployed bookkeeper and living in Genoa City right now. This gratitude, is a given. This 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 unemployed isn't difficult enough. As if having a pack of angry teenagers with pitchforks and many many people who want you dead just 'cuz they think you did something they didn't like, add in an adulterous private detective who abandoned his son when the new baby smell wore off, and this city's oldest living slut who hasn't seen her son for so long she's forgotten she has one, and you've got major problems.

This is Wisconsin law. And these are the hatreds and fears and astounding atrocities of Genoa City culture. And this is why you are so goddamn grateful you aren't Kevin Fisher.

Conversely. Let's say Fisher had consensual sex with a minor of the opposite sex - say, a 15-year-old girl after she begged him for it. And let's say that when the girl's creepy friend began poking around he locked her in a restaurant freezer and set the place on fire. The police were never able to prove it and as far as anyone knows the case has been closed. But those hell-bent on fingering Fisher wouldn't let it go. They treated Fisher like a case of the plaque and caused him to lose his job.

Down on his luck, Fisher was strolling by the Little Shop of Horrors one day when he noticed an aging, rabid woman having sex practically right in the window. Thinking she was an easy lay, Fisher later caught the lady alone and something about her voice made him think of his mother. A neon sign flashing "Bate's Motel" in his head, Fisher couldn't believe his good fortune when the woman agreed to go to the Valentine's Day dance with him.

Like all dreams, Fisher's came to a screeching halt when he discovered the woman was part of a diabolical plot to make him to confess to his crimes. Angry, Fisher looked around the dance floor. Besides Lauren Fenmore there was not a single pitchfork-holding teen in sight. Those who had come to watch him go down had either left early or had forgotten he was even there.

With the coast clear Fisher took Fenmore back to his apartment on the premise that he had a secret to tell her. And although she had been told a million times what a "dangerous person" Fisher is, Fenmore went along.

Maybe it was the knowledge that PI Paul Williams would come to her rescue just in the nick of time that made her do something so stupid. Maybe that Williams knew she'd be at the dance with a crazed man - but never bothered to show up to nab the bad guy - had something to do with the fact that he had no evidence to prove Fisher did anything.

And even when Williams found out that like a gazillion other people Fisher was once an electricians assistant, he didn't go to the dance or check to see if maybe Fenmore was making out with a dangerous man. Instead, he went to the God Have Mercy Medical Center to tell one of the local strippers that Fisher is the one who fried her that fateful night as she slid her skanky ass up and down a metal pole.

The saga of Kevin Fisher just about over it could have ended with Williams coming to the rescue before things got any more incredulous. But no, Fenmore had to go and act like some priest in drag.

In her best mama loves little boys voice, Fenmore told Fisher not to be shy. She, Mother Lauren was there. Baby could tell mama anything. Like, the "juicy" secret she had come so far to hear.

"C'mon Kevin, you can tell mama," Fenmore did not actually say, but was so close to what she really said as to make a can of maggots squirm.

"Maybe you have a secret you'd like to confess to me," she actually said, as if Fisher, low-life that he is, could not see that Fenmore was - again - acknowledging that she is phenomenally, unspeakably repressed and sad in about a thousand different ways.

The only good thing that could have come out of what has turned into another case Williams has bumbled, would be for Fisher to shoot Fenmore dead. But more than likely there will be much shrilling of how thankful everyone is that Williams saved the city from another "dangerous" person and if there's time, maybe the Mayor will throw a ticker-tape parade for the hero.

We caught the freakin' bad dude. We massacred Genoa City-based spirituality and replaced it all with a sneering angry PI who hates Fisher-types and whose highest followers have sex with Internet predators, go alone at night to closed restaurants, abandon their children, have adulterous sex and whip themselves with belts. Yay Paul Williams!

Destined to repeat the past, town slut's bumbling was merely plot development
by Brent Kellogg
January 15, 2004

As the baffled owner of the Little Shop of Horrors allowed a total stranger to pour his heart out about how her giggle sounded much like that of his mother, and how it was so nice that a kind woman would lend a shoulder for him to cry on, it was thought earlier this week that Lauren Fenmore was off her rocker.

Had she really forgotten to put a sign in the window that the store was closed? Had she really forgotten to lock the door?

With all the crazy things that have happened recently to women in Genoa City and what of her own ordeal of having been buried alive when a crazed fan kidnapped her, why in God's name had this city's most experienced whore not shown Kevin Fisher the door?

When Fenmore later had sex with a married man practically in the window and afterwards was told by a private investigator that Fisher is a "dangerous" man wouldn't she have thought it might be a good idea to put out the closed sign and lock the door while she continued taking inventory in the store alone? Was she secretly hoping Fisher might come back again and have his way with her?

It was painfully obvious that Fenmore was concentrating more on counting the skimpy latex thongs and the small travel dildos she sells to the local rift-raft than her safety as evidenced when washed up rock star Danny Romalotti wandered into the store just as Fisher had.

"I'm closed for inventory. Isn't there a sign out there?" Fenmore asked, causing just about everyone within earshot to stop and say, "What in freaking hell is wrong with this woman?"

What's wrong may not be so much with Fenmore as it is with a series of events that have gotten out of sequence as the Genoa City News, based on the poorly established plot, is now surmising that Fisher's little chat should have come after Fenmore had sex in the window.

The writing on the wall tells a tale. Fisher is about to be fired from his job as a bookkeeper at the local strip joint thanks to a smear job waged against him by detective Paul Williams.

What should have happened first was for Fisher to get his pink slip.

While walking home wondering how long the unemployment line is and how to get even with Williams, he happens to pass the Little Shop of Horrors, sees Williams and Fenmore having sex and thinking Fenmore is Williams' main squeeze, and because maybe he missed the first time Williams saved her from a fate worse than death and wanting to swap places with Shaun Garrett, Fisher could have seen his opportunity, gone back later to get to know Fenmore better and slowly plot his revenge.

But because very little in Genoa City is allowed to make any sense, Fenmore had to be made out to look like a bumbling fool. Which, when you think about it, is better than looking like a cheap whore.

Shop of horrors closed for sex!
January 12, 2004

The first question that must be asked is whether or not Little Shop of Horrors owner Lauren Fenmore watched the news on TV or read about the recent torching of the RoadKill Cafe. It was in all the papers. The local media covered the fire "live" and in the aftermath the entire city buzzed that strip club employee Kevin Fisher was the culprit. Fenmore's geeky teenaged employees were abuzz about the blaze too since the girlfriend of one of their cult was apparently the arson's target when she entered the unlocked pig sty after hours then got herself locked in the freezer while searching for her grandfather.

Maybe Fenmore didn't hear the news, or if she had didn't learn the lesson. Store owners should not leave doors to their shops unlocked after hours. But that's exactly what Fenmore did this week. The door to the glotique was unlocked when Fisher stopped by early Monday afternoon. Considering the time of day, and that it was lunch hour across town at the Athletic Supporter Club, there was no reason not to think the shop of horrors wouldn't be open.

Fisher found the store devoid of customers when he walked in, but this too didn't raise any red flags because Fenmore's store caters to teens most of whom should have been in school. Fisher did find Fenmore taking inventory.

"We're closed," Fenmore burped, as Fisher ignored her and began beaming how he had heard so much about the trinket store.

Most shop owners - especially females - who find themselves alone with a total stranger when the place is supposed to be closed would have politely asked that the wayward customer come back when the store was open for business.

Not Fenmore! She invited Fisher to look around and should he find some nice silky underwear to his liking she'd gladly hold it until the following day. Fenmore even introduced herself as the owner which impressed Fisher to no end.

"I don't run into many considerate people these days," he said, eliciting a giggle and a word of concern from Fenmore when she noticed there was something strange about him.

"Are you okay?" Fenmore asked, and did not, incredibly, ask, "Are you an escapee from the insane asylum?"

Fisher said he was fine, but something about Fenmore's laugh reminded him of his mother.

If ever there was a warning sign that should have been flashing GET OUT OF HERE - NOW! and that there was something weird about a total stranger comparing her to his mother, Fenmore didn't see it. Instead of running as fast as her two man-gripping legs could carry her, Fenmore began asking Fisher about his mother. What was she like? Were mother and son close? Kinky close?

"She wasn't a good parent," Fisher said of his mother, which was another clue Fenmore should have gotten that she was in the midst of one sick puppy.

Aware that the conversation had turned bizarre, Fisher said he shouldn't have told a stranger some of the most intimate details of his life and again Fenmore took this as flattery.

"I have one of those faces," she blabbered, not adding that it stop trains.

As Fenmore struggled to keep her skirt on and from all appearances could not see that Fisher was looking like he had recently eaten old oatmeal and had wandered away from a harsh fluorescent-lit concrete room, Fisher told her how nice it was speaking with someone not out to judge or make fun of him.

By now Fenmore must have seen Raul Guittierez's image reflecting off Fisher which may have explained why she told him to call her Lauren.

"Now that they we're on a first name basis could we please have sex?" Fenmore did not say, but should have because this is just how freaking stupid it all was.

"You treat me like an equal. A friend. That means a lot," Fisher spewed, knowing damn well that Fenmore couldn't tell who might be a terrorist these days, and isn't too careful, because he could indeed be anyone at all from anywhere at all, including but not limited to the Shady Pines Mental Institution.

Thanking Fenmore for her hospitality, Fisher noticed on his way out the nice frilly ladies underwear and maybe knew right then why Fenmore's male employees are so limp-wristed.

It must have been the hope that another whacko would enter her establishment that caused Fenmore not to lock the door when Fisher left. As sure as there is much creepiness in Genoa City it didn't take long for private-eye Paul Williams to walk in carrying a plate of cold spare ribs from the Lodge Restaurant & Brothel.

As they snacked, Fenmore told Williams of the nice boy who had been there earlier and that now her belly was bloated she wanted to have sex with a married man. Always eager to please, Williams nailed her in plain view of anyone who may have walked in or looked in the window as Kevin Fisher did. This would be the same Williams who this same day had said that battered children become gay evil child molesting arsonists. But it's perfectly normal and acceptable for an old stud to have sex in a store window with the city's oldest living slut.