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John 'Yawn' Abbott
See also: Gloria Fisher  Gina Roma

Old Geezer Has New Gizmo!

December 16, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

Old man John 'Yawn' Abbott must be feeling very empowered right now. His company hanging by its feet over the brink of bankruptcy and what does the old fart do? He goes out and has one of those newfangled gadgets installed in his old car!

Abbott has OnStar!

Essentially a wireless phone, the benefits OnStar provide, like telling Abbott how far away the next $2 per gallon filling station is, like calling AAA when the new car breaks down or telling him where he is when he's lost, are just what an old man who drives less than two miles round trip to the office once each month or to the doctor to have his prostate checked needs.

Hard as it may be, try to imagine the geezer walking to his car completely naked and keyless and laughing as he waves his hand over a tiny scanner and the doors open and the engine starts and the stereo begins to pump out Glenn Miller at skull-thumping volume.

Because if the trying to stay young Abbott has gone this far can a microchip under his skin be next?

Imagine the old timer strolling up to the ATM without his wallet or ATM card and wave his hand over the screen and immediately withdraws five hundred dollars and then turns around to the big vending machine and waves his hand again and gets himself a bag of toxic-orange Doritos and a Diet Coke so he can poison his body in the Jabot Cosmetics tradition without inserting a single dime.

The day is coming when that will be possible. All Abbott must do is give a big warm howdy-do to the new, FDA-approved implantable microchip coming soon to the God Have Mercy Medical Center and maybe a Newman Jitter Joint franchise.

In a city of incredible possibility, in a city where the people get lost for years and nobody really cares, Abbott needs OnStar?

Apparently.

Apparently Abbott wants more than directions to and reservations at the finest restaurants. In the event he and his new bride decide to take another love boat cruise the newlyweds will want the security of knowing that in the event the old fart has another heart attack all his bride will have to do is press the OnStar emergency button.

"We had a cell phone, but we didn't know where we were. But OnStar did," a happy Gloria Abbott can say later, adding that as soon as she figured out which button to press OnStar told her what to do and even called ahead to alert the ER staff at GHMMC.

So what's next for the golden ponders? What if his new wife needs another Botox injection so that her granddaughter will stop asking why she wears so much makeup? Will Mrs. Abbott be able to just wave her face over a scanner? What about access to the Athletic Supporter Club? Will the old woman wave her breasts over the screen to get into the exclusive club? Sorry, your chip says you're trailer park trash making less than 22K a year and you seem to enjoy bilking old men out of their life savings. Please go away.

Yes, OnStar. It's just what Abbott needs to make going to the grocery store easier and his alzheimered mind less cluttered and his few remaining days on this earth more convenient.

Not bad for a old crank who still uses a film-loaded camera.

Jabot Founder Says, "We Will Survive!"

December 8, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

Like you even need to read more about the incredible and deeply colon-clenchingly humiliating hate shot forth from the mouth of the Abbotts, a truly jaw-dropping assortment of falsehoods and fabrications about business, and hate, and hate.

So out of the mainstream, so busy being given enemas by his new wife, so keeping a watchful eye on his swelling prostate, old man John 'Yawn' Abbott admitted this week that he, the founder of Jabot Cosmetics, the family company he so depends on for the future of his children and to counter those $800 Social Security checks, he had no knowledge of the warehouse fire that in one flicker sent Jabot's entire Christmas sales projections up in smoke.

"I can hardly believe that," Abbott replied when told of the tragic news by the woman he to this day thinks is his daughter, the loving beauty, Ashley Abbott Carlton.

With nothing from the fire to be salvaged the destruction seemed to spell certain doom for the teetering of the brink of bankruptcy for years, Jabot.

"This could destroy us," the old man agreed, before launching into a tirade of how he'd worked so hard and spent a lifetime building Jabot from the ground up with the sole goal of passing it onto the Abbott kids provided some gold-digging wife didn't get it first.

Listening to Abbott cry it appeared certain that the fire had been the final nail in Jabot's coffin. But instead of accepting his daughter's willingness to place blame for the fire on herself or chastising her for scaling back the insurance in a bid to save a few dollars she could have recouped by maybe firing Damon Porter, Abbott's smug little smirky emptiness kicked in.

The fire, the poor sales, the corruption, the loan after loan until no one will loan them another dime is all Victor Newman's fault. Damn but what the old geezer doesn't hate the man who, had it not been for the goodness of his heart, Jabot would still be part of Newman Enterprises.

Joining in the pity party Ashley started bawling too. Her life is falling apart. Breast cancer, dead babies, stolen sperm, failed marriages, you name it, it's happened to the poor dear.

Declaring that blame is "a waste of time" the old-timer turned right around and again blamed Newman.

"I have never hated him as I do now. Never!" Abbott asserted.

Then, despite that he'd said Jabot as they've known it could be over, the drooling in a cup fluster bob said, "I don't know exactly what we're gong to do, but we will figure this out and we'll survive."

It is enough to make a grown man cry. It is enough to drive the common working woman operating her first at home business, struggling with poor sales and ever increasing taxes into savage depression and shirt-rending angst and Dolly Parton on infinite repeat without knowing why. And so they ask, how do the Abbotts do it? How do they max out their lenders and hang onto the edge of bankruptcy for years and have their product line go up in a fiery ball of hell when if it happened to me I'd be foreclosed on so fast my head would spin?

And, indeed, it can seem relentless, the onslaught, the toxic stew, reducing the Abbotts to bitterness and hopelessness every 30-days only to have them bounce back time and again so long as there is a Victor Newman to hate.

Dawn of the Living Old Person

November 23, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

Most Genoa City residents long ago saw the fiery tragic demise of the clunky rotary-dial telephone and the instant tsunami-like skull-smashing advent of the beeping cell-phone culture like some sort of must-have disease.

They saw the rise and fall of the Betamax and the VCR and DVD and instant on-demand streaming video. They endured the explosion of the monster SUVs, those gas-guzzling destructive hellbeasts that hog parking spaces and pollute the air and endanger the planet and induce their drivers into raging frenzies of macho thuggish driving habits.

They were there for the dawn of the Internet age, of email, when AOL stock was $2 a pop and Amazon only sold books and Quicken fit on a single floppy disk with room to spare and oh, my, what the hell is a floppy disk, their kids will surely ask.

Big freaking deal, right? Point to any of these events and most generation X and Y and Z will say, yeah, well, times are a changing, Pops, and technology is flying faster than a pregnant Ashley Carlton down the road to doom and it's pretty much all they can do to grab onto one gizmo and cling to its cute bleeping for dear life before a month passes and the thing is absolute radioactive landfill. Same old, same old.

But there's always a kick in the head. There's always one invention or shocking world-changing must have that seems to rise above it all, to encapsulate the entire population, one thing that speaks to the whole dizzying Genoa City and makes its residents go, well, this thing is a miracle.

Because now they - yes, young and old alike - can say they were there for the advent of the digital camera! First the cheapy 640 pixel then onto the 1meg babies until they've reached the 4meg range. The red-hot must have gizmo of now. The thing that changed photography to the point where people were asking, damn, does it get any better then this?

That is, all but one artsy-fartsy rich and crusty family, the Abbotts!

That members of the Abbott clan do not own a digital camera first came into F22 sharpness when Jack and Phyllis Abbott returned a year or so ago from their honeymoon or weekend trip to Paris or Timbuktu with pictures taken with one of those throw-away cameras which also does nothing but add to the city's landfill and with such image quality as to make Leanna Love's channel without rabbit ears look good by comparison.

On that day Jack Rabbit, um, Abbott rushed down to the one-hour photo shop to get the film developed and later he and his bride oozed over the blurry and chopped off likenesses of themselves. Little was said then because, well, the digital camera was priced was too high. With the family business of the brink of financial disaster new fangled gadgets were out whereas expensive trips abroad were in.

But all that has changed now. Business at Jabot is booming under the fine leadership of Ashley and Brad Carlton. The firm's founder, John 'Yawn' Abbott no longer goes to work and has so much time on his liver-spotted hands he recently set sail on the Love Boat with his bride to be and married her right on the poop deck.

Back in town, the old geezer took time out on Tuesday to take his photos to the one-hour photo where the lone employee must have had a conniption fit.

"What the hell? The owner said he was gonna close this place down if at least one person didn't come in this week with some relic film and thank god, here you are!" the employee might have said, being careful to distinguish between the film and old man Abbott.

Botox injections? Check. New Range Rover? Check. Memberships at exclusive athletic clubs? Check. Microchip embedded under your skin? Check. Digital camera?

No digital cameras for the Abbotts.

After all, Abbott's generation has to keep the film camera around to point to when the grandkids ask, via their infrared video-conferencing device, so, Gramps, what was it like to live at the dawn of the 19th century?

Sex Gives Old Man New Lease On Life & It's Good For You Too!

October 22, 2004
by Brent Kellogg

Old people in Genoa City are stunned. Preteen gum-snapping girls are frozen in mid-bubble. The culture is baffled and paralyzed and all atwitter now that John 'Yawn' Abbott, Genoa City's longest living male to have gone without sex, is no longer sexless, apparently. Old people have sex? Gasp, oh dear, sigh.

It's true! The old geezer said so himself late this week at the Abbott Hotel he shares with his 40-something year-old-son, assorted house squatters and live-in guests.

Abbott's newest guest, not really a guest anymore but a bonafied lover now that he's put the pork to the woman and very firmly it might be added, Gloria Fisher found out on Friday that she's good for what ails old men.

Not exactly a spring chicken, Fisher was pleased to learn her moist urges can do wonders for heart attack victims and for awhile a false rumor festered that the Surgeon General would issue a medical bulletin encouraging all old timers to have more sex.

Unfortunately, the celebration of Fisher's image as a sparkly hypersexed flesh-curdling Lolita wanna-be was tainted somewhat when Abbott told her a lie. Or rather, a white lie. How about an omission of the truth?

Taking notice that Abbott's house-squatting former maid still prepares meals for the family and flicks her tongue out at the old coot when she thinks nobody is looking, Fisher asked if PainMe Johnson doesn't still have a special place in Yawn's heart.

"I'd be lost without her," Abbott confessed, noting that when he had his second heart attack Johnson "treated me like a baby" and has ever since. Said to be on a strict diet, Abbott added that when he gets caught cheating Johnson gives him a tongue lashing but left out the spanking with the Vaseline-stained ruby slippers part. Abbott avoided saying too that he and Johnson were once hot for each other and are thought to have had sex at least once which would explain why he turned over his American Express card to her.

Having heard enough about the past - and hasn't just about every one in this godforsaken city - Gloria didn't want to stir up Yawn's repressive sexual desire in a woman she could plainly see is dying from abstinence and had to have been damn lousy in bed. Now that he knows what a vixen she is Gloria asked if Yawn might grant her wish to take care of him now. Not for the sex, but as repayment for his feeble-minded kindness.

That's when Yawn let it all hang out - in a manner of speaking. Since Gloria, um, came into his life she's taken years off his age! Now, instead of looking like 90, he looks like 80. Instead of eating massive quantities of heavily processed chemically blasted chicken-like meat substances coupled with big fat greasy cheese fries that can microwaved in five minutes and eaten in four, Yawn actually said, "My health has improved."

Gloria didn't know if a doctor would agree with that statement but she does know Yawn isn't acting his age in bed.

"You tiger, you!" Gloria cooed as Yawn felt a stirring in his pants he hadn't had since 1909.

"You've brought back feelings I thought I'd forgotten," Yawn verified just before going off to draw Gloria's bath during which he hoped he'd be able to scrub the zits off her back and maybe pop some soap bubbles with his rejuvenated pole.

Which is exactly as it should be. Deep earthly sex and fertile lust. Let these old people soak it in while they can just like the pagan lust-monkeys they used to be and before Yawn finds out that Kevin Fisher spent the last two nights sleeping in the still burnt toast-smelling Abbott pool house which surely will cause him to go limp again unless Gloria can cover her lie up with yet another lie because nothing in Genoa City would be complete without a lie or two.

Senile Old Man Likes Boys
August 17, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Last week Genoa City's newest gold digger agreed to have dinner with the extremely senile and semi-wealthy John 'Yawn' Abbott at the Abbott home so that the drooling in a cup geezer could at long last meet her sons, Frick and Frack Fisher. Those could have been the names of Michael Baldwin and Kevin Fisher for all Abbott knew as to this day he has yet to ask Gloria her last name and she hasn't volunteered it perhaps for fear that Abbott will connect the name Fisher to the city's most notorious arsonist and all-around crazie, Kevin.

It is presumed that were Abbott to figure out that Kevin torched the RoadKill Cafe nearly killing his granddaughter in the process, the old man might also associate Kevin with the evil attorney, Michael who the Abbott's associate with the evil Victor Newman who drove the family business to the brink of bankruptcy.

It is also presumed that Abbott won't take Gloria to bed until he meets her boys, and because she hasn't had sex in something like thirty years Gloria is anxious to get that little roadblock to sexual bliss with a man who may be too old to have sex out of the way.

To that end, Gloria hired two gigolos this week to play the role or her sons and following payment of $100 each for two hours of service instructed them to meet her at the Lodge Restaurant as, apparently, the dinner location was changed at the last moment.

At the eatery on Tuesday Gloria named the gigolos "Ben" and "Steven" and instructed them to be cool because it was important to her goal of locking in Abbott's "considerable assets."

Dumbest of the two studs for hire, Ben let it be known from the start that he's a sensually aware and libidinously curious sexually active person always interested in what others are doing in the bedroom and what endowments men like Abbott might have.

"So how is he in bed?" Ben asked of Gloria's aged catch, noting that any man would be lucky in more ways than one to have snagged at hot-looking babe like Gloria and that he surely hoped she was getting everything she needs from the geezer, as in a good stiff one.

The disgusting remarks were enough to make any normal, sexually active, open-minded, even slightly perverted woman in Genoa City right now feel dirty and naughty and outlandish. But not Gloria. The slightest salacious twinge in her groinal region makes her feel like some sort of delicious deviant, a whore, a loveslut, a wet-hot dreamboat to be feared and loathed and dreaded by much of the anti-sex born-again crowd while simultaneously deeply, secretly desired by most of them.

Gloria sucked the wantonly sexual inquiry up and almost waved her vibrator in the air like a revolutionary before going off to find Yawn waiting in the wings. And what was the old man's first concern when he saw Gloria? That if he played his cards right tonight might be the night he'd know what it's like to have an erection again?

No, Yawn wanted to know where the boys were!

The disconcerting infatuation with Gloria's sons was overshadowed when Ben, without mentioning his last name, greeted Abbott as, "Mr. Ashcroft." No! Really. It could have been "Ascroft" or "Ashcott" but there was no mistaking that Ben was associating Abbott with those who align themselves with Janet Jackson's nipple and cover up terrifying breasts of awful statues.

Introduced to Steven, Yawn began asking questions. Was Ben the lawyer he'd heard so much about? Was this the same Ben who had just won a big settlement for Shineman and Wexler and why hadn't he ever heard of Shineman and Wexler? Wouldn't the story of local boy makes good be in all the papers? What's that? It was a California case? Well, hell. That explains it then.

And what of Steven? Is he the unemployed accountant Gloria has spoken of so often? And what's that you say Steven? You've just been called back to work and got promoted at a time when unemployed persons lucky enough to find work are working for nearly $10,000 less per year? That's nice.

And lo, Ben. It's just so nice of you to have the gall to suggest that a man who has only recently met your mother and doesn't know her last name find a place for Gloria to live. Is that one of the benefits of being a heathen? Thought so. You know, Ben. I may just do that. So tell me more, Steven. Why haven't I ever seen you or your brother around these parts before? You know what we Abbotts are always saying. Genoa City is a small world, but gosh, I've been a major business man in the town for a decade and I've never heard of either one of you.

Oh, leaving so soon, boys? Gosh, Steven and Ben. Was it something I said? I've only asked a couple of questions and we haven't even seen the menu. Aren't you staying for dinner? Wasn't that the purpose of this meeting? Oh, well. Could you pass my cup, please?

As the gigolos departed Gloria chased after them. What's the deal? Didn't I pay for two hours? Didn't you say it was $50 per hour per stud?

The studs explained to Gloria that the clock started when they left her home. The deal was one hour for two studs. Another $100 and they'd stick around.

But what about the free meal they hadn't eaten? Didn't that count for something?

The studs said it was considered a tip.

Unwilling to shell out more dough Gloria let them go and told Yawn she was sorry her boys had just taken off like that.

It wasn't a problem for Yawn. Hadn't Gloria told him that she wasn't on good terms with the boys? The way they just took off, he could see why. Surely, it fully explained why he had wanted to meet them and further dredge up the bad vibes between mother and sons. Know what Gloria? We really must do this again.

How utterly boring would it be if Yawn were a calm, intelligent, sexually attuned, articulate old man who wasn't the slightest bit interested in Gloria's boys? How sad it was that Gloria had to, apparently, take the bus home again after her date and have Ben show up at her apartment to say that the old rubber-skinned woman really turned him on and would she like to explode into a million tiny moans and a thousand long hot orgasms with him?

And Gloria, all a titter, saw this as a divinely inspired act, healthy and resplendent and innate and so obviously a fiery, inseparable part of her persona that to deny it would be silly.

Imagine if much of Yawn's current need for bogus female companionship was drained away like pus from a wound and he was not being led to the slaughter by another Jessica Blair who so obviously would be happier with a tub of butter and a new Hitachi Magic Wand? Why, it might give meaning to an otherwise meaningless mini-saga which is supposed to cause humble deviants of the world to get down on their knees and pray.

Thank you, Satan. Thank you for gigolos, for old sexless people, for soft porn, hellfire, leeches and the apocalypse soon to hit John Abbott like a ton of bricks so that he can kick himself and go in denial and wonder why women take advantage of him and maybe there's more than meets the eye to his desire to meet new boys.

No Sex Before Kids
August 10, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Is your inner love god really, really worked up right now? Is it telling you that before you can have another date with a woman you know very little about you must first meet her kids?

Is your inner love god telling you, like it tells John 'Yawn' Abbott every night, that it is justified and righteous to let women like Gloria Fisher who refuse to introduce their kids catch the bus home from your date?

Is this really Yawn's greatest wish? That until such time as Gloria brings forth her adult children for his personal approval she will never know what he's got in his pants or that he takes Viagra?

What in hell is wrong with these people?

Except for Jill Abbott, Katherine Sterling had no interest in knowing Arthur Hendrick's kid. Of course, that could be because Harrison Bartlett is only a step-son and the judge didn't know he had a daughter when he first met the old woman. Sterling also didn't care who Rex Sterling's kids were before she took up with the dearly departed Rex. Nikki Reed could have cared less that Victor Newman had any kids. Paul Williams knew nothing about Izzy Williams before he porked her and the list goes on.

Yet for some crazy reason drooling in a cup John Abbott has this fetish for knowing Kevin Fisher and Michael Baldwin. Does he expect the brothers to put on a show for him when and if a scheduled dinner engagement at the Abbott Hotel goes off as scheduled? Will Michael twirl a baton and do cartwheels? Will Kevin demonstrate his arson skills? Will Western civilization go down the toilet?

What possesses a man like Abbott? Sorry, Gloria. No sex for you until I meet and approve of your sons.

And what if the old fart doesn't approve? What if he suspects that because both Kevin and Michael have never been married they're gay? Worse, what if the boys have male lovers? Will Abbott wave his manly flag and stomp around howling that only 100-percent heterosexual love is allowed in Genoa City?

Clearly it's some sort of flaming pagan sorcery Abbott's needing to meet the kids. But more likely it's nothing more than a poor excuse for Kevin to keep beating himself up for being the black sheep and for the beer-sucking Gloria to keep telling Kevin it's not his fault that he's a loser and just about everyone in Genoa City hates him.

If God doesn't know that Genoa City is full of scab-eating creepy men, Gloria does.

"A good man is hard to find," she lamented on Tuesday, as Kevin told her not to worry. Soon, he'll do something so spectacular as to impress Abbott maybe right after he draws mommy's bath.

What boy in his 20s draws his mother's tub unless he's whipped? And what kids would meet the man their gold-digging mother is trying to sink her hooks into without being asked first? This question was posed following Gloria's phone call to Abbott that she'd be happy to present her sons for his inspection at a dinner date the following evening without asking the sons if they'd like to go out with her.

This, then, is the plan: present the boys as ordered so that Abbott can maybe say, "Aren't you the Michael Baldwin who was hired by Victor Newman to destroy my company? Aren't you the freaky Kevin Fisher that tried to fry my granddaughter to a crispy crisp?"

What is the ulterior motive here?

Is it to turn Abbott into a forgiving old timer who wants to help people learn to love more deeply and stay together and deal with their personal issues? A man who wants to educate folks about the value of honest communication and of raising healthy happy kids? Wonderful. Everyone's all for it.

Except that this is Genoa. The city that hate can't forget. What would Gina Roma say if she found out Yawn has taken up with the likes of Baldwin and the crazed one who burned down the RoadKill Cafe? What would Jack Abbott say were he to learn that his Pa is dating the mother of the man who is partially responsible for his ouster as CEO of the family business?

Inquiring minds want to know: Why does it matter who Gloria Fisher's kids are?

Roma Takes a Back Seat as Abbott Drives Down the Road to Hell
July 26, 2004

by Brent Kellogg

Don't you feel sorry for Gina Roma? Sure, she's an ex-con, looks to some as though she eats way too many Snickers and did her best to prevent Phyllis Abbott from knowing where her brother stashed Daniel Romalotti, sticks her nose into everyone's business and once claimed to be part of Katherine Sterling's family by the mere fact that her father, Rex was once married to the old hag, but after what happened this week Roma deserves a bit of empathy.

Once owner of the RoadKill Cafe, Roma's life was forever changed when the place burned to the ground. Not only was Roma without a job, but her home went up in flames as well. Old friend John 'Yawn' Abbott moved her into the Abbott Hotel for a spell, then Roma found a new job including, apparently, room and board at the newly established Athletic Supporter Club where membership is required but anyone can use the facilities.

Before and during those tragic events it appeared as if old man Abbott was getting some from Roma. The happy couple sang together and seemed on the brink of marriage when suddenly Abbott lost all interest. There was never any mention of what, if anything, had come between them. Maybe that was the problem. Older than the hills, the drooling in a cup geezer is beyond the years when he can get it on at the drop of a hat. Viagra doesn't help.

Unless Roma and Abbott have reached an amicable agreement whereas they agreed the chemistry isn't right, it must have been, um, hard for Roma when Abbott showed up at the AC on Monday for dinner with another woman.

"I see you have reservations for two," Roma grumped."
"Yes, I'm meeting a lady friend," Abbott burped.

Hinting that she had seen the woman in question with him previously, Abbott confirmed, yes, that was the one he was waiting for.

Having missed the first hint she'd fired at him point blank, Roma tried again. Does the old fart know anything about that Gloria woman?

Yawn confessed he doesn't, but that's okay since he and Gloria Fisher are in the "getting-to-know-you phase."

It was obvious to Roma that further hints would be pointless since the old man hadn't said, "Look babe. I know there were sparks between us after the fire but let's face it, our being together would not be compelling. Hell, we'd be the second most boring couple in Genoa City since Arthur Hendricks met Katherine Sterling."

Gina did try one more time, however. She cautioned Yawn not to fall in love overnight like so many others in this town have done and lived to regret it. She urged him to take it slow and felt it was her duty as a friend to be protective of him.

"I would hate to see anyone take advantage of you. You're too good a man," Gina said, only to have it tossed back in her face when Yawn sputtered that she was being too overprotective. But, to appease Gina, Yawn said he'd try to stay awake whenever he's with Gloria. Then, like a slap across Gina's face that said you're a boring old bag of snot, Yawn said that he has feelings for Gloria!

Something deep down in Yawn's colon was telling him that Gloria has had a "troubled life" and that because he can tell Gloria doesn't have "an insincere bone in her body" Gina could just shut the hell up about Gloria turning out to be another Charlotte Ramsey.

Why Gina didn't give the old man a piece of her mind must have had something to do with good taste. Hard to imagine a woman who feeds sugar to kids like heroin to a junkie having taste, but Gina maintained her cool as if she knew she'd have to be there to pick up the pieces when Gloria sinks her hooks into Yawn deeper than a whale on the wrong end of a harpoon.

And in case there was ever any doubt that Gloria wants Yawn for his money, Gina said in passing that he'd be a "great catch" any woman would appreciate, albeit women that like death warmed over.

"Thanks for words of warning but I think it was unwarranted," Yawn snapped back.

Again, Gina played it cool. She apologized for having "overstepped" when she should have said, "You bastard!"

Gina's suspicions were later confirmed when Gloria hurled a chunk of bile at her too.

"You know my name?" Gloria hacked, when Gina called her by name.

Gina explained she had just spoken with Mr. Abbott and that he had told her who he was waiting to have dinner with.

"Or were you telling him about me?" Gloria spat, pushing her way past Gina and sitting her fat ass at Yawn's table.

"They don't make them like you anymore, John Abbott. I'm a lucky lady, sitting here with the handsomest man in the room," Gloria said in an instant tsunami-like skull-crushing tub of patronizing butter.

When Gloria said again that she uses Jabot products on her skin and that's partly to blame for her rubberized look, it should have set off alarms inside Yawn's head. But he was too busy feeding on his ego like an SUV owner sucks up the belief that he/she is somehow piloting a Porsche when they're really driving a two-ton brick, right up until all the oil ran dry and the air became clogged.

As if to convince Yawn that she's the It Girl of this generation, a consumer who buys only the best, Gloria asked if Yawn could smell her body odor.

Oh, yummy. Smells like Ashley, Yawn noted.

Ashley it was, Gloria confirmed as she pumped Yawn for more information. Had he named the toxic goop after an equally bad smelling woman he'd porked one night in some seedy motel room?

No, the gunk was named after Ashley Abbott Carlton. Yawn's daughter who really isn't his daughter but he's so dumb everybody knows except him. And now, of course, Gloria has a round of ammunition to fire at Yawn should he in any way block her using him to climb higher up on the social register.

Besides Gina, one might want to feel sorry for Yawn. Watching him fall into the love trap after all Jill Abbott put him through. What a shame he's so desperate for female companionship he can't see.

So then, let this not be a simple gee-whiz holy-crap Yawn is going to get sucked dry by Gloria Fisher story, or a gul-dang whippersnappers today don't understand the world around them. Yawn just goes blindly on his way because he can make the world a better place for Gloria blah blah blah. For that, Gina should be slapped to the side of the road?

No, this is about noting the changes, seeing love from the senior citizen point of view for they have wants and needs and don't have sex at the office - or at all - so some say. Indeed, life is nearing an end for Yawn. Why settle down with a woman he knows and will be there to change the bed pan when he can have the gold-digging Gloria? Every generation has its one particular development they can point to when the grandkids ask, so, Gramps, how you'd end up in this stinking nursing home? Did that Gloria woman embezzle all your money? Leave you high and dry? Sucker.

And Yawn will probably stare at those urine stained bed sheets and go, well Abby, it was chaotic and fretful, and sad. I threw away a perfectly good trustworthy woman for a hell-beast I knew didn't have an insincere bone in her body.

But, you know, at least I had sex with her once. I think. And somehow, and I don't really know how, that made it all worthwhile.

July 27, 2004
Old Geezer Says Daughter Works Hard, Got Lucky Too?
Though the toxic cosmetics firm he founded continues teetering on the brink of failure, John 'Yawn' Abbott said again this week that Jabot needs to be saved and everyone at the company is "putting out every ounce of energy" to save it. Especially the woman he still thinks is his daughter, Ashley Carlton.

The deeply, colon-clenchingly humiliating wrongness shot forth from his mouth was more proof that Yawn is so far out of the loop. Ashley? Working hard? Is that why the skunk-oil sniffer is out of town and when she's in town spends most of her time fighting with her husband over the baby she bore with stolen sperm?

Besides himself, just who is Yawn trying to kid? And who believes for a moment that, as his son said Tuesday, Yawn got "lucky" with Gloria Fisher?

He didn't say it in so many words. But the look on Yawn's face told Jack Abbott that he'd had sex again for the first time in roughly ten years and that's assuming he stuck it to Mamie Johnson when the old maid began sneaking into his bedroom late at night back in 1995.

While he thinks the term "lucky" to describe having sex is "crude", for Yawn to have sex at his age requires lots of it.