June 16,
2005
by Brent Kellogg
You gotta give the Genoa City Mob credit. They know Bobby Marsino's every
move. Think Gina Roma is ratting the former Gentlemen's Club owner out?
Given her criminal past I wouldn't put it past the overloaded tub of lard.
Who else besides Roma knew the 24/7 athletic club she manages would be
closing Thursday for inventory and the first annual cleaning it's
ever had since opening? Whoever heard of taking inventory in the middle of
the month for that matter? Never mind. Remember, you're not supposed to
think.
And what a great boss Gina must be to work for? How nice of her to make
special arrangements for new employee Marsino and his wife? From the looks
of things Gina has a solid connection with one of the city's finer florists
too. Either that or Paul Williams and Nikki Newman have gone back to selling
flowers on the street and stole a few flower arrangements for her from the back of some '54 Ford
pickup. Not many employers would turn their being cleaned and inventoried
club into a recreational rest stop picnic area.
That's what Roma did for the Marsinos. She even provided blankets and
baskets for the event. Modest as ever, Bobby said it was mostly his doing.
Since he works at night, is said to be so poor he doesn't have a pot to pee
in, needs to scratch and save to pay those pesky medical bills only he and
his wife receive from the God Have Mercy Medical Center for expenses related
to the delivery of their as yet unborn baby, Bobby said he planned to have a
special evening out on the town with his wife elsewhere. But when a rare
Genoa City storm whipped up he decided to have the shindig right there at the
Athletic Supporter thanks to his kindly boss.
Always eager to please, and well aware of her customer's specific tastes
right down to how they like their roadkill prepared, Gina had the
forethought to order Mrs. Marsino's favorite delicacy too. Fresh berry
tarts!
"The kind you like," Gina beamed at Brittany then waddled off to the kitchen
to await further orders from her non-paying guests and maybe fantasize what
being with a man of her own might be like since she hasn't had one in years.
For a bad as the storm outside was it had prevented Marsino from leaving it
didn't prevent Brittany from arriving or others in this town from conducting
their monkey business as usual. Nor did it prevent the delivery of a package
so heavy Gina had to use a dolly to roll it in.
As they spoke of moving to Iowa or Kansas, as they chatted of purchasing a
home of their own with a big backyard and a dog and a white picket fence
with money they don't have, the Marsinos were in awe. What could be in the
box? Only one thing to do, really. Open it!
As the thunder was cranked up for maximum effect and the only thing missing
were those tolling Big Ben bells, Bobby snipped away at the tape until the
box popped open. It was then Bobby's face turned a whiter shade of pale.
Why, it was almost as if he'd seen a ghost. What to do?
Tune in again tomorrow when Bobby says, "Joshua! What are you doing here?
What are you doing in that box?"
Just kidding. But wouldn't it be a nice change of pace?
NOTE: At the time
this report was written the author had no idea just how close to the truth
he was.
An
Open Letter to Gina Roma
April 25,
2005
by Michael Kelly
Gina Roma
Athletic Supporter Club
Genoa City, WI
Dear Gina,
Since the closest thing you have to a real home is a lonely, cramped room
with an always cold, unshared bed (let's hope your mattress is equipped with
springs mighty enough to support your mammoth weight) above the combination
exclusive gym you've obviously never set a webbed foot in and swanky
restaurant where you are employed, I was forced to send this letter to the
Athletic Supporter Club.
Come to think of it, if I were aware of the name of whomever owns the
Supporter, I would have gladly sent a copy of this note to your employer to
inform him or her of how blatantly bitchy and unprofessionally you behaved
at the home of local attorney Michael Baldwin when you catered a dinner
party at his home Monday night.
Certainly your boss deserves to know you went out of your way to be nasty,
presumptuous and to pry into the personal life of Mr. Baldwin's mother
Gloria Abbott by oinking in her direction that she had no right to attend
and enjoy a dinner party while her elderly husband was flat on his back in
the local quack factory.
It isn't bad enough to treat Mrs. Abbott like the bony, discarded remains of
an entire genetically modified chicken you routinely consume at dinner when
you encounter her at the Supporter. Since you were obviously raised inside
of a barn, it's within your idea of perfectly acceptable parameters to bray
and belch at customers you dislike while on Supporter property.
However, that doesn't give you the right to waddle into someone's home with
trays of food you no doubt sampled liberally prior to your arrival and treat
a man's mother so appallingly simply because she married a man you've been
sweet on for eons but were never able to sink your claws into due to the
fact you're a singularly unpleasantly plump frump.
Actually, Michael Baldwin doesn't deserve to be referred to as a man since
he failed to defend his mother after you flung verbal diarrhea in the
woman's face and lacked the balls to say something like, "See here you
corpulent sow. You're here to cater a dinner party not to fart abuse on a
member of my family. You have 30 seconds to utter a sincere sounding apology
before I kick your ample ass outside the door."
It's not Gloria Abbott's fault you're a walking fire hazard because of the
serious sparks that result when those two unsightly, varicose vein and
cellulite covered blobs you call legs rub together when you attempt to amble
around. It's not Gloria Abbott's fault that despite the fact she's a liar
and a gold-digger who applies her lip gloss with a trowel she's immeasurably
more feminine, attractive, charming and sexually desirable than you could
ever dream of being. Last but far from least, it's not Gloria Abbott's fault
you've been without a sex partner for 15 years (Clint Radisson was your last
romantic victim) because you're an oozing, pus filled hemorrhoid on the ass
of life whose only claim to fame is the unflinching ability to meddle, spew
venom, repel man or beast and inhale anything edible that hasn't been nailed
down.
I wish I didn't have to stoop to your odious level to make a point that
might lead you to take a long, hard look at your bloated self and reflect
upon how self defeating it is to have such an atrocious, off putting
personality and foul mouth. I wish you had been taught as a child to mind
your own business and perhaps keep your fat lip zipped if you have nothing
kind, insightful or constructive to say to your fellow man. I wish I could
say that the cure for all of your ills could be found at Weight Watchers or
Overeater's Anonymous because you could either shed some disgusting flab or
find a man as rotund as yourself with whom to share your lonely nights.
Unfortunately, until you start behaving like a woman other people enjoy
spending time with because you display a shred of some life-affirming
quality it won't matter one whit how much weight you lose. While I realize
that living in Genoa City - which is the world renowned Land of Hate - makes
it difficult for you to change your wicked ways, there are some noteworthy
examples of individuals displaying loyalty and love to those nearest and
dearest right in your neck of the woods.
Look at Michael Baldwin. Right after you waddled out of his apartment, he
not only vowed to invest and manage a large chunk of his recent lottery
winnings to benefit his loony brother but also made a contribution to the
Tsunami Relief Fund in Kevin's name.
Or look at Katherine Chancellor. When the old woman realized her daughter
was about to have the CEO position at Jabot she's yearned for years snatched
away by that indecisive, two-faced, lowlife cad Jack Abbott, she swooped in
to the Jabot lab, put Abbott on notice that if Jill loses her position he
loses his at Chancellor Industries and saved the day.
It's up to you Gina. If you wish to remain a soulless, loveless, gluttonous,
obese and vile creature that small children run away from in terror that is
your choice. However, if you want a happy, fulfilling existence filled with
love that doesn't come from an extra large vibrator, laughter and clothes
you don't have to get custom made at Tents R Us, it's up to you to make the
necessary spiritual and appearance changes to achieve these seemingly
impossible yet ultimately attainable goals.
A Friend Who Cares,
Michael Kelly
