Brittany Marsino - Top News 2005
See Also: J.T. Hellstrom

A Discouraging Word

November 2, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Warning: I may use some very bad language in this report, two words that I've never come right out and put in writing before, words that might get me and the GCN branded as "crude" and "vulgar" but after what Brittany Marsino did this week, the vulgar way in which she left Genoa City, I am pissed!

Let's recap. Bobby Marsino is dead and thus the Mob has no further reason to kidnap Brittany's baby or do harm to Brittany herself. Now that the danger has passed, now that the FBI has no interest in having Brittany testify before a Grand Jury in its case against the Mob, all concern for Brittany's safety is passé. The Mob got away without so much as a slap on the wrist. That army of rent-a-cops at the Chancellor Mausoleum where Brittany's been squatting has been discharged.

Are we clear on that? Do we understand too that Brittany had no other place to stay? That the condom she and Bobby were living in and having remodeled was sold to the highest bidder and not an iota of furniture or personal belongings, save for a toothbrush and some vaginal cream, were removed from it? When Brittany and Bobby moved to the Newman Ponderosa as guests all they had were the clothes on their back? For weeks while he was in protective custody, Bobby wore the same shirt, the same underwear? All this time Brittany has been living out of a knapsack at the mausoleum much like Mac Browning did when the runaway first arrived in Genoa City? Brittany's baby is so low maintenance she doesn't require a king-size pack of Huggies or formula or fuzzy toys?

Can we just accept this, please?

We're supposed to sit back and snicker and say to ourselves how funny it was of Brittany not to once mention making funeral arrangements for her dead husband, and then, after she's tried screwing the resident hunkmonkey, laugh again as Brittany barks at Jill Abbott for daring to suggest she change her attitude and stop pretending to be the poor widow woman.

"Excuse me? My husband just died!" the hypocritical Brittany snarls, as she takes Jill's suggestion to "move on" with her life and to always remember "a lot of people around here care about you and your baby" and later announces she's joining her parents in New York - today!

Brittany didn't give a rat's ass that Bobby was dead when she was begging J.T. Hellstrom to put the pork to her. She could have cared less that Bobby is dead when she was trying to convince J.T. that Bobby's baby could be J.T.'s baby and together they could become a family because that's what J.T. wanted all along.

The bullshit was really stinking up the place by the time Katherine Sterling chimed in to say Brittany should take Jill's advice because coming from Jill such advice is priceless. This from a woman who moves in and out of a bottle when her shady past catches up with her.

Jill didn't help the situation by asking Katherine, "What are you doing here?" when a fool should know Katherine lives there too. In the overall scheme of things that would have been a minor detail were it not for the fact that Katherine said she'd been out of town, but because she was so worried about poor little Brittany, cut her trip short and flew back on a private jet. Typical rich bitch, first class on a commercial airlines is beneath Katherine. Even when she could have caught a flight on We Fly You Anywhere, Any Time Air.

So proud of her wealth, Katherine hiked up her dress and took a dump right there atop Brittany's pile. "You listen to me young lady," her sermon began on the topic of taking charge of one's life. Had God been listening this day He would have reached down from the Heavens and struck the old hag dead. Then He would have slapped Jill's ass and told her to just shut the hell up. Jill's spewing about hating to see Brittany fall into the "poor me trap", and Brittany's predictable reply "I don't even know who I am anymore" was such bullshit.

"I was Brittany Hodges. I was never alone and lost. I was Queen Bee in high school. I ran Walnut Grove. I was a star. I had so many hopes and dreams," she blathered.

Fearing that Brittany's bullshit might stink more than hers, Katherine made this alcoholic statement:

"Don't ever lose those [hopes & dreams]. If they don't work, create new ones."

What the F? Jesus! The old bag made Yolanda Hamilton's first day at rehab, which was simply an NA meeting, sound intelligent by comparison.

"A life without hopes and dreams is not worth living," Katherine ragged on, making damn sure Brittany was listening, and listening well.

The smell got worse when Brittany said, "I'm not the same person I used to be" only to be countered by Jill who, not having known Brittany from a freaking hole in the ground, said, "Yes you are!" and added that Brittany once had a "zest" for living and "fire" in her belly.

Brittany may have a fire, but it ain't in her belly. She proved this week the fire is in her crotch; a fire she wanted J.T. to put out. As if all this ranting and raving bullshit wasn't enough, Katherine used her own pathetic life as an example for why Brittany needs to get her shit together.

Brittany may not know who she is, but she knows damn well where to turn to when the gravy train conductor is about to kick her off. Straight to money bags Mommy and Daddy Hodges who told her to come join them in New York and not to worry about getting her hands dirty changing diapers. Mommy will care for the baby so Brittany will be free to have sex down at the local strip club should she so desire.

Jill was shocked. What on earth had Katherine said to snap Brittany out of her funk?

"I just reminded her how important family is."

Oh Christ, there they go again. The dysfunctional, married and divorced a million times with angry, illegitimate kids spread far and wide, preaching family values.

Just when you thought the bullshit couldn't get any higher, Brittany took another dump, and another.

"I'm leaving today!"

And what about saying good-bye to those people who helped her and put their lives at risk pretending to be the father of her baby? Screw 'em. Better for Brittany to "make a clean break" and oh, Jill. Could you watch the kid while I pack? Do bears crap in the woods? Of course Jill would watch the kid. She'd kiss Brittany's ass if Brittany let her and, knowing Brittany, would probably have been able to kiss more than that given the opportunity.

So, what does Brittany have to pack? Not a goddamn thing beyond a few douche bags and diapers. What she can't carry in her purse she'll send for later. And who will pack that stuff when the time comes? Probably the Chancellor slave, or Robert the limo driver who was instructed to drive Brittany to the airport now that the fear for her life has dissolved into thin air.

Just like that Brittany was gone. But not before telling Jill that anytime Jill wants to see the baby, "Just call." Just fly all the freaking way to New York to see some other woman's kid, Jill, you dumb, useless, poor excuse for a woman, you wanna play mother? Go see your own son. Remember Billy?

As Brittany piled into the limo she took one final, and the biggest, dump of her bullshit life when she failed to make any mention of a funeral for Bobby, an inquiry as to where his grave might be so she can maybe visit it sometime, or so that her son will know where his daddy is buried, not a goddamn word was heard but for the discouraging one that Brittany and J.T. may meet again.

OCTOBER 18, 2005

It's tempting to want to block it all out, to take only small doses of the horrors Genoa City has to offer and shun the rest like a K-Mart baby, but there's one more stop we must make. The Chancellor Mausoleum.

Look! There's house guests Brittany Marsino and J.T. Hellstrom. She's bent and pouting like most days; doesn't like that her husband came out of the Witness Protection Program for all of ten minutes and didn't express any interest in having sex. Brittany's grumpy that Bobby Marsino isn't there to hold his own baby and having a hunkmonkey hold the kid is not the same. She's worried that baby Je..., um, Joshua won't even know who his daddy is and, had she known Bobby was just gonna take off, had she cleaned out her yellow-caked ears and heard Bobby say a number of times he couldn't stay long, she would have followed the car he left in!

There. Is that better? Does that give any solace? Can you see Brittany following the FBI all the way to the underground bunker they've got Bobby stashed in? Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and think hard. Will this never-ending parade of human tragedy ever end? Don't look so sad. Don't bitch that it makes no sense. It's Genoa City: It's not supposed to make sense.

Marsino Baby Kidnapped!

October 7, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

It was no surprise that two men posing as FBI agents could walk through Genoa City's sprawling, so secure U.S. congressmen get red faced and enraged when security pats them down as they search through carry-on luggage and assorted envelopes of cash from Tom DeLay, and hobbled, 86-year-old women are forced to put down their canes to pass through the metal detector, International airport on Friday and kidnap a baby in plain sight.

That the "agents" may have flashed their fake ID and walked around like they owned the place is no surprise either in that anyone can obtain fake ID. Just this week it was reported that illegal aliens had been working on the government payroll at a military installation. For more than four years a Marine gunnery sergeant arranged for illegals to join the military. Top secret documents have been stolen, sold to the Chinese and the perpetrators never caught.

That the "agents" took Brittany Marsino's baby may be heart-wrenching and scary and all for Mrs. Marsino and those who witnessed the kidnapping, but who really gives a rip? Who is right now saying to themselves "the bitch deserves it"?

Brittany is a former stripper, a shoplifting trust fund baby who, knowing the danger, told point blank that there are those who would snatch her baby and slit her throat, left the mausoleum anyway earlier in the day leaving her baby behind so that she could take one last look around Genoa City.

Blame that idiot, J.T. Hellstrom too. When agents showed up at the God Have Mercy Medical Center to fetch Bobby Marsino into the Witness Protection Program, Hellstrom pointed him out to the agents without asking to see their ID. For all anyone knows, Bobby never went into the WPP at all. Maybe the Mob had him all the time. After all, there was something fishy about the WPP all along as in that the Federal WPP folded long ago. Only States with money, few as they are, have their own versions of the WPP.

There was something screwy about Bobby's testifying before a Grand Jury too. Why didn't Brittany think to call around to find out what was going on? Why did she just presume that those calling her were Feds? Why wasn't this story in the local papers? Reporters were everywhere when Daniel Romalotti was arrested, reporters are everywhere when toxic cosmetic products are rolled out, so why hasn't there been any coverage of a potential disruption within the local Mob? Why have the police been so quiet? Why do cops like Hank Weber sweat so hard to put away small-time punks like Kevin Fisher, waste countless hours making a case against Phyllis Summers and searching for missing persons, yet seemingly have no knowledge that the Feds are taking down members of the Mob?

See? This is the problem. Lack of continuity. The constant focus on things that do not matter. The screw-ups so pitiful that when a baby is kidnapped nobody cares because they've been numbed to the bone. If anything, the bad guys are cheered on and urged to kill someone, anyone, if it'll put the victim out of their constant whining and misery. Just think. If the gangsters were to kill Bobby and Brittany and the baby survives, Jill Abbott could adopt little Joshua Marsino. Wouldn't that be the appropriate and righteously happy ending?

Baby Goes Missing!

September 23, 2005
by Brent Kellogg 

Would whomever took Brittany Marsino's baby please give it back? That's the word today as the Chancellor Mausoleum squatter hasn't, apparently, been keeping track of her newborn. No surprise, really. This is a woman who took the child named Joshua to Newman Enterprises for it's first public outing. And now, Joshua has reportedly gone missing.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Last seen at the mausoleum in the loving hands of Jill Abbott does Jill have the kid up in her room? Did Jill take it out for a real walk around the sprawling estate grounds? While strolling, did Jill bump into J.T. Hellstrom and ask if he'd like to hold the baby he pretended to have sired?

What about all the security said to be guarding Brittany? Where are the rent-a-cops? Has anyone seen them? Did Bobby Marsino come out of the Witness Protection Plan without telling anyone? There's a rumor he'll be seen soon for one day. Are persons in the WPP really allowed to take a leave of absence to collect their brood? Bobby said he was coming back for his wife and baby so maybe Bobby's got Joshua.

Why's it taking so long to get this family back together? Is the Mob trial Bobby was supposed to testify at taking longer than expected? Weren't Brittany and J.T. witnesses to Mob activity? Why weren't they called to testify? It's been asked before, but whatever happened to gangster Vinny Trabuco and his goon? Sure, they were arrested and tossed into the Genoa City Jail. They were never allowed to post bond like others in this city charged with crimes are. They weren't represented by the likes of attorney Christine 'Bug' Blair. Were they ever given a trial? Did they cut a deal with the Feds? Did they testify at the Mob trial and if there was a trial who, exactly, was on trial? What are their names? Shouldn't the good citizens of Genoa City know?

Let's hope whoever took Joshua turns him over. The longer he's missing the longer it'll take to get the Marsino's out of town. We hear they're leaving. All of them. Will anyone miss Brittany? Will anyone miss a former stripper who never once called her parents to see if they'd like to meet their grandson?

Grandparents Mr. and Mrs. Brana got to see theirs. Hell, the Brana's got more than that. They've got the boy Paul Williams dumped on them like a load of dirty laundry. The Brana's have Ricky Carl Williams and don't have to worry Williams will show up one day demanding the child back. Williams won't do that. He will crow how much he wants a son he can watch grow up and take fishing, but if the woman who makes his wish come true attempts to kill the woman Williams raped, he'll reject the kid like a transplanted heart rejects a new body. That's two Williams' kids growing up not knowing who their father is.

Should Joshua turn up dead that would be two kids killed off this year. Isn't that enough? Hasn't Genoa City had it's share of baby killing and child neglect? Whoever has Joshua, please have some decency. Turn him in unharmed and I'm sure the Marsinos can arrange it so no questions will be asked. If you don't want to be bothered with having to be charged with a crime and having someone get you off, just put Joshua in a paper bag and leave him outside the Chancellor Mausoleum front door. Don't worry about the security. Somebody will arrange to have a supply of donuts on hand to keep the guards busy.

THIS JUST IN: As an Amber Alert was about to be broadcast word arrived from the mausoleum that baby Joshua is safe and sound and had been all along as the GCN projected, in the loving arms of Jill Abbott. But that's not the story here.

The story is about that snot, Brittany. "I thought you said we'd be safe here," she screamed.

"Listen, bitch. If you don't like that I'm spending hundreds of dollars each day to keep a team of security guards around to protect the sorry ass of someone not remotely related to me, there's the goddamn door," mausoleum owner Katherine Sterling did not say, but you know, should have because this is just how freaking ungrateful those who consider themselves above the common people act, and how the elite let themselves be used by common sluts and former strippers.

Different Worlds, the Sequel

March 28, 2005

What's that they say about putting the cart before the horse? What's that tired cliché the freaks in Genoa City haul out when they can't think of anything to justify their pointless lives?

Why was the morbid and insipid Brittany Marsino speaking Monday in terms of maintaining her vegetative brain-dead state when it was she who said she wanted to live alone in the brand spanking new apartment unemployed hubby Bobby Marsino signed a lease for despite the fact Marsino has a still under construction condominium to maintain and pay property taxes on? Or did he sell the concrete condom and not even have to show up for the escrow closing which probably concluded in less than the required 30-days?

Does Brittany worry that with a baby coming she'll be able to raise it alone and pay the rent when other than stripping she's never worked a day in her meaningless life? Is this why she told Bobby it's true that they love each other but that she can't live with him because "We come from different worlds" and that suddenly she's figured out the age difference between them will forever cause Bobby to seek out older, more experienced women?

Shouldn't she have thought about that before jumping into marriage? Shouldn't she have maybe looked up the expert alien Hope Adams Newman and asked what it's like being in a different world since Hope is the one who started this we come from different worlds nonsense?

And it all seems to line up with one of those weird phrases when everyone is, as Bobby said, pointing at him and his new bride, snickering that they shouldn't be together when the few people who have said this aren't really human in the general sense and like J.T. Hellstrom don't count? How convenient that Brittany didn't remind Bobby, as stranger in the park Rose convinced her last year, it doesn't matter what people think.

It matters because now, after he's gone and knocked Brittany up, Bobby sees his wife as this scared little girl having sex for the first time. But not to worry. Like the Newmans and the Abbotts and the Winters they'll get through this horror story. There's nothing they can't overcome so long as they stick together. They are, after all, a team.

Oh yes! A team. That's what marriage in Genoa City is. Like a football team. A game wherein the little wife gets kicked around the playing field. Never mind that the quarterback can't keep his hands and big lips off the linebacker. Bobby only "crossed the line" when he turned to Nikki Newman for comfort. It weren't no big deal because it only happened once.

If Brittany wants a promise it won't happen again, that he won't soon be sniffing around Nikki, why shucks, he'll make that promise so long as Brittany agrees to the caveats.

"Life has some twists and turns that no one can predict," Bobby foretold, as he again buttered Brittany up with dreams of contributing to the overpopulation and unwanted kids problem by having lots of "rug rats" and the pitter patter of little feet keeping them awake nights.

So how, at a time when getting out of a marriage in Genoa City is easier than getting out of a Chicago lease agreement; when the relentless 50 percent divorce rate remains steady, when wedding vows are ignored and trampled on like a 200 year old Constitution, can Brittany be sure her marriage will survive?

"We both said 'I do'. We can never take that back," Bobby hacked, as if more proof was needed that indeed he comes from a different world. As if he hasn't noticed the long list of last names Nikki has or the number of Genoa City's elite who have been married more times then Mars has M&Ms. As if he hasn't seen the glorious God-given sanctity of traditional, missionary-position marriage under savage attack.

Bobby hasn't seen the children weeping in the streets, neglected and confused and reading Harry Potter backward, wondering why Granny surfs the Internet looking for love, why Mommy is acting strange and Daddy is always visiting his "sisters" at the office.

This is Bobby's mobster way. Inject fear into his wife that the marriage is bogus then state that something church approved and family friendly can never be undone so long as they work as a "team" to protect it which apparently means lots of counseling and guilt-thick sex coupled with an agreement to endure yet another year of unhappy marriage with someone they might not really love.

See also: We come from different worlds

I Wanna Hold Your Hand

March 14, 2005

It's so funny when low members on the Newman family totem pole try acting as if they were part of the Mob or Texas royalty and that peasants are supposed to be scared at their mere presence. It's such a joke whenever Nick Newman bellows "do you know who I am?" when he comes up against people unwilling to leave Genoa City just because he ordered them to.

Likewise, it was a hoot watching Nikki Newman trying to throw her weight around Monday at the God Have Mercy Medical Center. Just because her verbal combatant, Brittany Marsino, was experiencing what was described as "cramps" Newman ordered a nurse to immediately fetch a doctor.

Asked what was so urgent the prospective patient muttered, "I'm pregnant". As about half the women in a city such that Genoa City is are at any given time, the nurse was not impressed. Marsino would have to wait her turn. GHM is not some fast-food joint. Doctors are busy giving tests and padding medical bills of which most patients never see.

Upset, Newman mooed. "She needs to see someone right away," and again was told to cool her jets. Turning to face what was her greatest enemy not less than an hour ago Nikki asked if there was anything she might get Brittany. A coat hanger? Vacuum pump? Infuriated that she had to wait all of ten minutes Nikki grumped how "outrageous" it was being treated like a commoner. Voicing her concern to a passing nurse Nikki was again flicked off like some pesky uninsured gold-bricker. What part of the doctors are busy with other patients did Nikki not understand?

"You'll be interested to know I'm Mrs. Victor Newman," Nikki spat, and again was given the middle finger without sadly, a comment from the nurse like, "Would you be the same Mrs. Victor Newman who used to be a stripper? Who swaps spit with married women's husbands? J.T. told me about you. Sit your ass down, Honey."

But the absurdity didn't end there. Remember? This is the God Have Mercy Medical Center where just the damndest things can happen. When Brittany was finally taken to a birthing room she begged Nikki not to leave her side. She couldn't stand the sight of Nikki a few minutes ago yet here Brittany was putting on some daughter needs mommy act, confessing all. She never wanted to get pregnant. Not ready to be a mother. Not sure the baby's father loves her. Not sure... what's that you say Nikki? Bobby does love me? Really?

Then why all the stress? Why did Brittany go to all the trouble of accusing Nikki of being a home wrecker? God, but what these people are so unstable. Now Brittany can focus on the really important things. What if she loses the baby she just got done implying she didn't want? Why was the nurse sticking things in her arm? Was she, gasp, in a hospital? And who, pray tell, would be the lucky doctor?

Dr. Nora Thompson - of course! So tell me, Brittany. When did the pain start? What were you doing at the time? Arguing? You know better than that, Brittany. From now on you avoid all stress. Hear me? No! I don't want to hear it's difficult. We'll have you out of here in a jiffy but first we've got tests to run. Hospital policy, don't you know. Why, here's a nice technician now to run an ultrasound. Want Mrs. Newman to stay and hold your hand? No? Why is that, Brittany? Didn't I hear you screaming you didn't want Nikki to leave your side? Oh, that's right. It's just you and your baby now. Makes perfect sense.

Lookie there! See that? No, silly. It's not your Volvo. It's your baby! Looks like a strong one. More than I can say for you. Want a picture of it? Carry it in your purse? Show it to strangers? No problem. They'll be a slight fee.

Now don't you worry, Brittany. The baby is going to be okay. That is, um, unless something goes wrong. You know this hospital's reputation. Then again, Dr. Winters isn't on duty so there's a good chance you'll get out of here unscathed. Hmm, who's the gorilla in the hall speaking with Nikki? Your husband? I'll go get him. What? You don't want him to see you? Brittany, Brittany. This is your baby we're talking about. Are you relapsing? Is this about that silly scar on your face? You didn't want Bobby to see that either - but he did. Nearly lost his lunch, but... okay, I'll tell him to stay away.

And now, the void. The abyss. The waiting. A gyrating blank-faced former stripper rejecting the father of her baby and Bobby wringing his hands wondering what will become of them. Will they move? Not likely. Will they be able to get out of the lease they signed for that apartment in Chicago? Probably. Will they stay at the Ponderosa? Good chance.

See, Brit is perfect. She's the innocent girl-next-door trying so hard to make the marriage work so therefore she must be pitied. There she was, just a year ago, emulating sex with a metal pole, "singing" sex-filled tunes, smiling hugely through the pain of her fame and her wild $100 tips and her thong underwear and her unused dildo. She embodied the ideal prefabricated Genoa City icon of falsely pious chastity masquerading as sweaty hip-grinding sexuality.

Now look at Brittany, poor thing. What happened to the promise? The Draconian pro-choice anti-sex ideal that nothing is more cherished than marriage? What does Brittany's marriage say to the Bible thumpers who are absolutely horrified at the thought of another holy union on the slippery slope of divorce and another precious child at risk of growing up without a full-time father?

Is more proof needed this is Sodom-and-Gomorrahville Central? It says so in the Bible. There's a special verse just for Genoa City.

"Marriage shall not impede a man's right to take multiple concubines in addition to his wife or wives."

Isn't that cute? Doesn't it sum Genoa City up? Doesn't it say that the Marsino's "traditional" marriage is such a joke and provides absolutely no inspiration at all for those contemplating marriage and family?

Just One of Those Things

March 11, 2005

When will the pregnant women of Genoa City learn? When their bellies are bloating like a bullfrog on a lily pad why do they walk in the freezing snow and slip on the icy sidewalk? Why do they wear high heels that get caught in the carpet? Why do they drive speeding SUVs that crash into innocent drivers? Why do they argue at the top of the stairs with former lovers or husbands angry that they went out and got themselves pregnant? Why do they get all bent over some kiss knowing it will only aggravate them and cause their 6-week fetuses to writhe in agony and send them directly to the hospital?

The question had to be asked following the sad account of one very pregnant Brittany Marsino as she argued with a woman thought to be after her husband.

The event took place Friday at the Newman Ponderosa scene of just about every tragic event imaginable. If it's not Sharon Newman falling down pregnant twice, it's Sarah the maid falling face first onto a pitchfork. If it's not Dr. Joshua Landers being shot to death and his wife leaving the body for someone else to handle the funeral arrangements it's Victor Newman and Larry Warton taking down the Frito banditos or the bloody-faced Cameron Kirsten peeking in windows.

On the one day she should have been leaving town Mrs. Marsino learned after yet another visit with the hunkmonkey she once lived with that her husband had been seen "making out" with the Ponderosa's prize heifer, Nikki Newman. Marsino didn't have any real proof, but she'd heard from Mr. Morality, J.T. Hellstrom, that indeed Bobby Marsino and Newman had been doing "something they shouldn't have been doing."

Nikki denied having any sexual interest in Bobby or that she was hot for him until Brittany said she'd heard that the two were "practically ripping each others clothes off." Asked where she heard such nonsense Brittany said it didn't matter. It did matter that Brittany couldn't have left well enough alone since, within the hour perhaps, she and Bobby would have blown the pop stand known as Genoa City and it wouldn't have mattered.

But since she'd heard something kinky went down Brittany wanted to know how it was. Did Bobby maybe ride the old cow like a bucking bronco? Did she shoot the moon? Does Victor Newman know his wife has flings on the side?

Instead of taking the easy way out, instead of shutting down the inexperienced Brittany by giving her a crash course on the finer art of Genoa City Sexcapades, although Brittany should know from her own mother's love for sex with young studs, Nikki didn't say that whomever told Brittany was mistaken and that she'd merely given Bobby an innocent kiss good-bye and can I get a thank you very much for letting you and Bobby live among the riches rent free for a month, Nikki said that whatever they did was a "momentary lapse in judgment."

Moreover, Nikki said that while the kiss "crossed the line" into the land of sticky and lustful, it was okay. Why?

Because, like when these slugs get caught screwing those they shouldn't be, "it happened one time."

"Now don't you go worrying your pretty little head miss Brittany. Yes, we had sex. Bobby poked me good and deep and erupted like no man I can remember, and there have been plenty believe you me, but it's okay because I'm so old I can't get pregnant. So you see? No harm, no foul" Nikki should have said, because you know, that's how idiotic this conversation was.

Brittany couldn't just leave it at that. She couldn't just cut her losses and say Jesus with a riding crop I'm glad we're getting the hell away from you degenerates. No, she had to drag it out. Brittany had to let Nikki go on and on about what an "attractive" man Bobby is - if you like Tony Soprano types - and that no woman could resist kissing and carrying on with another woman's husband. Brittany had to know "who put on the brakes" like it mattered.

Oddly, it mattered.

If Bobby called it off it meant he'd rejected the old cow which meant Nikki had felt the sting of cattle prod rejection. If Nikki would only admit it Brittany might have run off to the bathroom for some self-gratification that's how turned on she was by it all. Alas, all Nikki would say is that since her own bull had grown tired of sniffing the wilted hay Bobby had been nice enough to listen to her lustful moans of guilt. One thing led to another and, well, how many times did she have to say it? It was just one of those things morally bankruptcy people do.

Having worked herself into a feeding frenzy Brittany was ratcheting the raving up a notch when it hit her in the belly like a Mack truck. The pain! The anguish like that of a devil seed spawning multiple heads or an alien ripping its way out of Ripley's gut.

As much as Brittany would have liked it to have gone on, her anger and hated had to be called on account of love for the unborn as Nikki, dumb bitch that she is, happily offered to take Brittany to the hospital when she should have let the little bitch miscarry right there on the Ponderosa carpet. If asked later how she could have done such a thing Nikki could say it was just one of those momentary lapses in judgment.

The Apartment

March 3, 2005

So I'm sitting in the GCN newsroom at the keyboard mulling over the news I've just heard about socialites Bobby and Brittany Marsino. Not only were they able to find a Chicago newspaper here in Genoa City wherein they searched the Apartments for Rent section of the classifieds for a pad in the Windy City, but they also made the deal completely by phone.

Is this possible? The first part, maybe. Lord knows each time I've ever tried finding an out of town paper at the local newsstands the best I've found is the New York Times and the Wisconsin State Journal. The Journal is always available since Madison - where the paper is published - is just a two hour drive from here, but the Chicago Tribune? Is that the paper where Mrs. Marsino found an apartment in just one try? Maybe she got to the newsstand early. Then again, she could have searched the Internet although I've never seen this girl near a computer much less use one.

The second part is a bit of a stretch, however. Think about it. The pregnant woman said earlier this week one bedrooms were running in the $1500 range and that two bedrooms in the $2200 range. After checking with her husband it was agreed that the most they could afford is a one bedroom. The next day Marsino implied she'd checked out one of the ads and the landlord had called back to say she has a two bedroom ready to move in.

Considering he'd just received money from the sale of his female meat market, Mr. Marsino said go for it. Call the landlord back and make the deal. They'd be packed and ready to go the next day!

This got me to thinking back to when I last rented an apartment. It took a good two weeks of persistent checking, going to see what the apartment actually looked like, whether it was furnished, what kind of neighborhood it was in, how close to the street it was, what the house rules were, the caliber of neighbors, etc.

Once I'd made a selection it wasn't like I could just write a check and move in. I had to wait another 2 or 3 days while the landlord did a complete background check on me and my wife. Once we'd been accepted there was the move which involved more than packing up my favorite frying pan and jumping in the SUV. We didn't have much during the early years so packing up was relatively easy taking a week at most provided we'd given a 30-days vacate notice to our existing landlord. As we accumulated stuff over the years the moves got more involved the last requiring the services of a moving company.

So how do these people in Genoa City do it? How can they just look at a few ads and presto - they've got landlords calling them sight unseen? I guess it's true what they say: If it's hard to believe it must be Genoa City.

Screwed with Remorse

February 22, 2005

This is the dream. It involves a shiny new SUV with a big happy dog sticking his head out the window, a newly renovated condom with more than enough room for two newlyweds and - a screaming baby boy named Joshua!

Yes, for the most part, this was the dream unveiled this week by Bobby and Brittany Marsino. Should the papoose his new bride is hauling around in her belly be of the male persuasion Mr. Marsino wants to name it after a dead kid! Not just any dead kid, but his brother, Joshua Casein!

Is that not the sweetest damn thing you ever did hear in a creepy Tales From Crypt sort of way?

Mrs. Marsino thought so. She's the one who suggested it. Bobby liked it too. For one thing it would save them all the time of sitting around looking through the Encyclopedia of Baby Names. Josh would be a much better name for the baby they hope is a boy than any of those female names like, Adrian, they were pondering.

Just think, Princess. You and me and baby makes three, Bobby mused until Brittany sneered that being a family man didn't exactly fit the image of a gangster-like female meat market purveyor.

Bobby was taken aback. What bug had crawled up her butt? Wasn't the little woman happy being barefoot and pregnant? Isn't it what all women in Genoa City aspire to? Don't most women want babies so bad they'll resort to stealing sperm and drugging men? What was Brittany's friggin' problem? Doesn't she like having to share him with Nikki Newman in a home that isn't theirs?

As a matter of fact she doesn't. Brittany doesn't like how Mrs. Newman is always after her man. Doesn't like how she's always catching them in each others arms and knows damn well that old cow will soon have Bobby eating out of her feed bag.

So how 'bout it, Bobby. Let's blow this pop stand. You can see the Newmans have issues so why don't we get out of their hair, move into a motel. Didn't you tell me two weeks ago you'd think about it? What's the hold up? Don't you want to see me cooking pasta in the kitchenette after a hard day at the meat market?

Sad to say, Bobby doesn't want that because he's got a itch and only one woman knows how to scratch it. Doesn't want his pregnant wife living in a motel. Think of the money they'll save by sponging off the Newmans for a few more weeks. Think what a son-of-a-bitch he is. Sitting there all high and mighty talking about family values while at the same time lusting for Mrs. Newman.

Oh my Bible-thumping God but it's a damn fine time to be a rabid fundamentalist in Genoa City. Can't you smell it dripping off Bobby as he rushes around pretending to be all excited about becoming a daddy? Yes, it's the rank scent of raw pro choice wailings, of all those illegal dildos Bobby probably sells from the backroom of his sex shop turned Cabaret. The one gone belly up because the star of the show, his wife, got knocked up.

And lo, to be such a heathen is a great thing indeed. Just look at the benefits. Bobby gets to align himself with all that is holy and the dreamy meaning of life while he bobs and weaves around his wife's desire to live a truly Christian life. While Brittany wants to live alone with the man she married, have his babies, cook his meals and wash his feet, Bobby secretly masturbates in the bathroom late at night thinking about another woman.

Much has been written in these pages about what a skank Brittany is; that she's too young; that she should never have married this amoral bastard is child's play compared to the sinful unnatural heathenistic act, the one full of worms and disease and perversions Bobby is going to play out with Nikki Newman.

And when it does it will prove again what a desperately horny bunch of hypocrites the righteous men and women in Genoa City are. So ironic, really. If Middle America only knew how this group is so full of perverts and horndogs, they'd have a fit.

Need more proof? Look only as far as Brittany's parents to see. Fred and Anita Hodges gave creep new meaning this week when they told their daughter she must be out of her mind. It surely wasn't a good time to be having a baby. Not because it's almost Spring, but because Brittany didn't sit down and plan the pregnancy. This from a bastard who doesn't mind watching other men's daughters strip so long as the girl stripping isn't his. This from an aging bitch who sleeps with young boys then had the nerve to tell her own daughter that she, Brittany, was the result of an unwanted pregnancy.

Like pious lizards it doesn't get lower than this. Telling their daughter to back the hell away from her reproductive rights because they screwed with remorse.

The Perfect Parents

February 9, 2005

It's always amazing, watching the deeply flawed and dysfunctional in Genoa City going about their daily lives pretending to be all righteous and good and holy, despite the dead bodies and hatred. When Nikki Newman began "working" at Jabot Cosmetics didn't she say this was something she needed to do in order to become an "independent" woman? Didn't she flick off any concern that being at the office all day would take her away from sitting alone at home pecking on the piano keys?

Wasn't the reason Sharon Newman considered going to work at Newman Enterprises so that she could be closer to her husband? Didn't she look forward to having sex with Nick Newman behind the locked office door?

So why then would Nikki say this week she needs Victor Newman at home? Wouldn't she want to spend more than an hour each week on the job and have sex at the office with her husband? Why is she now seemingly going along with Jack Abbott's plan to get the great man out of Jabot? Even Abbott was surprised. Didn't Nikki say that joining the business world changed her life? Well, yes. She did. But now all that has changed. Nikki's focus is on getting out of the corporate rat race. Her marriage is far too important. And since her focus has changed Victor is expected to change his too.

Jabot is a violent mess with no end in sight. Nikki has millions at stake. Yet she just stops by the office occasionally to ask why Abbott is throwing chairs out the window, spews her nonsense then goes home to say she's considering a trip to Cleveland to visit Joshua Casein's grave. Furthermore she wants to start a scholarship in Joshua's name while she never did any such thing for her own, and Abbott's, dead child. She nor Abbott have bothered to remember the boy who lives today because of their dead child's heart like they did once when it was convenient to do so only because it justified an end to Abbott's brokenhearted melody over not being able to have a child with Phyllis Summers.

Strange as all this is Nikki was pleased this week when house squatter Bobby Marsino handed over the ruby earrings found at the Newman Wreck Center; one with Casein's bones and the other in a locked filing cabinet. Marsino said Nikki should have the earrings now that he and his wife have "forgiven" her for what happened to Joshua. Now, according to Marsino, Nikki must forgive herself.

Say what? "We've forgiven you." Did Marsino really say this? Did he really mean to say we - as in Joshua - or, as it was perceived, Brittany Marsino would have any standing in this matter? What did he mean by "we've come full circle" so Nikki should put Joshua's death behind her and move on? And for God's sake why, when Nikki started bawling, would Marsino think the croc tears were being shed because of something her husband did? Wouldn't a prudent person surmise that the emotional strain lifted from Nikki's shoulders caused snot to drip out her nose?

What in God's name would make Marsino tell his wife so long after their marriage he thinks he can adjust to married life and not a moment later tell Nikki that the "timing is wrong even though we want the same thing"? What is it they both want? What is it preventing them from being on "the same wave length"?

Could it be that the Newmans haven't told their house guests to get the hell out? Could it be that nobody thinks it odd that as the Marsinos sponge off the Newmans Mrs. Marsino doesn't work? Didn't Brittany beg Lauren Fenmore for a job? Why was she only at the Little Shop of Horrors for an hour? Why has Mr. Marsino only "checked in" at his place of work but not actually gone back to work?

When she's not catching Nikki in her husband's arms Brittany spends time telling J.T. Hellstrom (who keeps her wedding photo in a drawer) of the secret pregnancy and whines she was on birth control but guesses that during all the excitement and stress she must have missed a pill or two or three. When Bobby was poking her the thought "Did I take my pill today" didn't enter her thick head. Now she's scared. She's not ready to be a mother. Hell, she's barely able to be a wife as if being a wife is like being a carpenter - or something - except there's no college classes on the subject.

At 21, Brittany can't compete with the more experienced Nikki who it is to be believed is the same age as her husband which, if true, would explain why marrying someone 30 years their senior rarely works.

Brittany mentioned too that she and her husband have no money. The cabaret where she occasionally works is near bankruptcy and its "star attraction" is pregnant which sort of explains why the cabaret is broke if its star only comes out once a month.

As for doing the smart thing, aborting what will become another unwanted baby, Mrs. Marsino says abortion is out of the question. Well, she didn't actually use the A-word given how in Genoa City abortion has been outlawed.

Although there are many reasons for not bringing another child into an already overcrowded world, Brittany says, "I want to have this baby."

And most of Genoa City would apparently sit there and watch these freaks, and sigh, and go, oh that Brittany, such an adorable little girl. She's going to have a baby with no home in which to raise it. With no money. With a husband lusting for another woman. Isn't that just the sweetest thing you ever did hear? That Bobby, so simple and plainspoken and not all that bright. He's a good man, isn't he? They're sturdy and audacious and on the side of righteousness. They deserve a baby, don't they? They'd be the perfect parents, wouldn't they?

Once a Skank, Always a Skank

January 31, 2005

That Brittany Hodges Marsino is one sick bitch, isn't she? What? Too harsh? How 'bout kinky? She can't be smoking weed of sniffing coke because the most zoned out druggie would dare suggest not once, but twice, that her husband move into the shack she once shared with lover boy Raul Guittierez and thinks he loves her, J.T. Hellstrom.

Too bad Bobby Marsino didn't kick her in the ass a few times when she suggested they do this during what was supposed to be a romantic pasta dinner Monday at the Sugar Shack. Unfortunately, Bobby did agree to have dinner there with her and for that should have his head examined, or at least said something like, "Are you out of your freaking mind? You think I want to eat in the very same room where those college pip squeaks roommates of yours did who knows what on the dining room table? Do you think I'd enjoy sitting just inches away from the bedroom where you and 'Rall' stuck the sheets together? Only feet away from where the always raging angry J.T. celebrates National Masturbation Month on a daily basis and where Billy Abbott fantasized about him in the next room and where the virgin Mac Browning probably wears out Magic Hitachis faster than Hitachi can make them?"

How slimy was it for Brittany to have asked Bobby to do this before their marriage, was told in general terms she did not apparently comprehend that being at the shack makes his stomach turn, and then invite him to dinner there after the wedding and ask again?

When Bobby refused the Looney Tune suggested they move into a cheap motel complete with a hot plate upon which she'll whip up more exciting dinners. She claims that after learning how to cook pasta to be able to cook so much more.

That the Marsino's are even considering a move is strange, or stranger than usual not because this is the very strange Genoa City, but because this mismatched pair of socks allegedly don't have a pot to pee in.

The newlyweds moved onto the Newman ponderosa because money to remodel Bobby's condom ran out. They discussed once moving into a motel and decided against it. They talked about the Sugar Shack and ruled that out too. He's employed, but doesn't go to work. She doesn't work, except for those blue moon months when she "sings" at the former strip club her husband owns. Were they to stop squatting they'd have to move into something very cheesy and sleazy yet he has money to travel back and forth to Cleveland, money to cover the cost of his dead brother's burial, and money to spend at expensive restaurants where he planned to take the little woman had her first attempt at cooking failed.

Sure, his benefactor picked up the burial tab but Bobby didn't know this until just before he was about to leave for Cleveland and even then the little wife said she'd made all the arrangements. Did Bobby wonder where the money came from?

Unless they're willing to live in a real dive where the cockroaches are big as rats the cheapest motel monthly rate would far exceed what they could rent a well furnished one-bedroom or studio apartment for. So which is it? They're broke or they've got money coming out the ying yang? If things are so bad why not move in with her parents? Fred and Anita Hodges surely have a spare bedroom not to mention that Fred told Bobby he'd pay to make sure his princess has a nice place to live. And why hasn't Bobby checked to see if he's the beneficiary of his brother's life insurance policy? Surely, for people who had the forethought to buy burial plots before they died, Mr. and Mrs. Casein took out insurance on themselves and little Josh.

The problem here isn't money or that Mrs. Marsino can't cook. Few females her age know how to cook before age 40 and those 40-ish (wink) women in this city that say the know how have slaves do it for them. Yet all the boyfriends/husbands of the above-mentioned females know how to cook - and very well, at that. Which is, in its microcosmic way, a bit illuminating.

When the men do all the cooking and are fluent in cookware and take all the cooking classes and are into pasta sauces, whereas women like Mrs. Marsino are into having their husbands sleep in the same bedroom where they used to get porked by their boyfriends, it says something else entirely, something we've known about this woman for quite some time. Once a skank, always a skank.