September 22, 2005

When the 20-something J.T. Hellstrom first surfaced in Genoa City he said he was a third-year college student. He was expected, along with his teenage pals, to graduate in 2002 at the earliest. But as time went by J.T. never graduated. He recently said he'd dropped out of college to learn the fine art of private detecting, to pretend he was the father of another man's baby and help take down members of the mob. Just last week J.T. was given the opportunity of a lifetime when Victor Newman hired him to perform employee background checks.

For all intents and purposes it seemed to make perfect sense. Why go to school? Why waste time getting a college degree when, in Genoa City, the rich and well connected are given fancy jobs with large office windows and sexy secretaries? Why get experience for said jobs by flipping burgers at the local fast-food joint when no experience is needed? Why go to work at all when employers don't really expect employees to work and give them as much time off as needed to perform personal tasks like, getting out of jail or, going in search of on the run from the law children?

Why work when working means having to be like Sharon Newman, who for all the rocks in her head, said this week she couldn't understand why Brad Carlton was searching for Victoria Newman and had to be told Victoria is CEO of the company her husband ran at one time? Why work when a CEO like Jill Abbott - without putting out any bait to which to snag them - thinks she can lure back former employees who quit specifically because she got the CEO job and not them?

As we've seen, working and going to school in this city is a misnomer especially when there are more fun things to do like, plotting revenge, planning weddings, homecomings and being on trial. And so it was this week the question of J.T.'s education came up again when, faced with having to live in a tent next to Phillip Chancellor's grave, J.T. said, "I'm sure some guy in my class will take me in."

Some guy? In his class? What guy? What class? Did he mean class, as in social class? If so, what class does J.T. fall into? What fool, besides Katherine Sterling who doesn't see J.T. as deserving of a relationship with her highfalutin granddaughter, would take in a hunkmonkey?

There's no end to this story. It is on going. Just like J.T.'s college education.

Terrorist Hits Athletic Club, Goes Free!

July 18, 2005

"It was like something right out Beirut," a Genoa City Athletic Club customer who asked not to be identified told reporters following what amounted to an act of terror by a 20-something-year-old unlicensed assistant private detective here this week.

Identified as a sometimes five year college student and thought to be the father of another man's baby, J.T. Hellstrom pulled a gun in the crowded restaurant and pointing it at bartender Bobby Marsino threatened to snuff out Marsino's life in retaliation for a beating Marsino allegedly had given him earlier.

The beating was confirmed later by Marsino who said it was of such severe nature Hellstrom would be "wearing diapers" and "eating strained peas" for "two years". Hellstrom was, however, up and about within minutes of the smack down albeit on crutches. A check with the God Have Mercy Medical Center and other local hospitals failed to turn up any proof that Hellstrom had been treated for his injuries, however.

Scared half out of their wits customers were nevertheless able to give excellent eye-witness accounts of what went down. Hellstrom is said to have warned Marsino "you're a dead man" and that his death would be payback for the thumping Hellstrom had received.

Marsino, once with ties to the local mob, confessed to committing the beating and justified his criminal action because Hellstrom had spermed his wife and impregnated Brittany Marsino. When Hellstrom refused to put the weapon down Marsino took it away like one takes candy from a baby.

A whimpering Hellstrom was subsequently led away by his so-called employer, PI Paul 'Clueless' Williams, without further incident and without arrest as patrons of the club were too scared to dial a phone. Usually up in the faces of her customers prying into their personal lives club manager Gina Roma was nowhere to be seen. There was, however, among the clientele one Vinny Trabuco. Told repeatedly to stay away from the club so as not to be seen with Marsino the small-fry hood was impressed with newly reinstated into the Mob Marsino's show of good faith. Marsino had earlier, as an initiation test, promised to show Trabuco how he'd taken care of Hellstrom whom Trabuco had preferred be fitted with cement shoes. Why, exactly, Trabuco would want to expose himself and Marsino's plan to skim club receipts was not immediately clear.

It was amazing nevertheless that in these frightful times when people can be locked up for carrying nail clippers on an airplane, when the nation is told to be very scared and to report any and all suspicious activity, Hellstrom was allowed to endanger the lives of innocent people without any repercussion.

#1 With a Bullet

July 11, 2005

Maybe it's just me, but when somebody I know, somebody I don't know, tells me he works for the Mob I have a moral obligation to report it. I get on the phone with the local police and tell them what so and so said. Then again, I don't actually live in Genoa City where if you want to commit a crime you call police detective Hank Weber first so you won't get caught.

Now that Bobby Marsino has confessed to PI Paul 'Clueless' Williams that he's working with gangster Vinny Trabuco I've become quite concerned about Williams' cavalier attitude. I realize Clueless needs desperately to solve a case and has a pent up desire to become a hero in the eyes of the citizenry, but Jesus. What's he thinking? What makes Clueless think he and Marsino can take down what Clueless calls "small time" hoods? For that matter, what makes Bobby think he can? Wasn't Bobby so scared at one point he wanted to flee Genoa City? Or was that just a front for the benefit of his pregnant wife?

Anyone who has followed the Sopranos or the Al Capones knows it's hard enough for the FBI to take down even one syndicate member. Elliot Ness required a SWAT team to do what little he did and even then they best they could get on Capone was a charge of income tax evasion.

Funny too is Nikki Newman's involvement. The old cow is worried Bobby may have gone back to his criminal ways. What does she know about Bobby's past? When did he ever tell her anything specific about his connection with crime boss Bertolli Lewis or Lewis' lieutenant Sal Staley? Did Bobby mention the bootleg booze once sold at the female meat market he operated? If so, what's the big deal? When Hank found out he cared less.

It's not like Nikki learned of Bobby's shady background when he testified at Lewis' trial because there never was a trial. Lewis went directly to jail. He did not pass GO. He was not represented by Christine 'Bug' Blair because trials in this city can take so long. Some people have been detained for years and have yet to have a trial. Tricia Dennison McNeil for one. Dizzy Izzy Brana for another. And who knows what happened to Keith Dennison last reported in a coma at the God Have Mercy Medial Center?

Speaking of butchers where in the hell is Dr. Olivia Winters? Hasn't she heard her niece is in deep crap? Shouldn't Malfunction Winters have mentioned it at least once given he lives with the home wrecker?

It's a bitter duality: Nikki's decision to explore something radical and new and independent is funny and right on at the same time. She's the only person so far to notice there's something strange going on with Brittany Marsino and the beast in her belly thought to have been spermed by hunkmonkey J.T. Hellstrom. If anyone knows how to make men think babies aren't theirs it's Nikki who also knows Vinny's hanging around the prestigious Athletic Supporter screams out for some big time snooping.

Watching Brittany and J.T. smoozing like pigs in slop stood out like a sore thumb too. Their explanation of trying to make the best of a bad situation hasn't been able to get off the ground from day one if for no other reason than the emotionally abused Mac Browning hasn't thought to ask why there's no paternity test. She just took it for granted that when a married woman learns her baby was sired by another man her husband kicks her out and the hunkmonkey picks her up.

It's easy to see why Nikki is onto them, however. How she managed to tie them in with bad guy Vinny isn't. Brittany and J.T. are trying to play the expectant parents and Nikki sees this as putting on a show for Vinny? If there's any logic to Nikki's madness it couldn't be ascertained following her confrontation Monday with the happy couple because Gloria Fisher-Abbott interrupted to ask how best to throw a wedding. Of all the heifers in Genoa City why is Gloria asking this one? Aren't the Newmans and the Abbotts at war? Don't they hate each other or has all been forgiven now that Cassie Newman is dead?

The powers that be absolutely rely on our lethargy and rampant ignorance to keep us asking hard questions and dissing the status quo. They absolutely cannot have that. They don't want us to question why Vinny, who apparently wants Bobby to skim bar receipts, wants Bobby to smack the hell out of J.T. for knocking Brittany up. Not that J.T. doesn't deserve a good whacking or worse, Bobby says he'll pop J.T. in a way that won't land him in jail. Vinny will see. Vinny will be happy and they'll all "make money."

What the hell is wrong with these people? Don't ask. They don't want you thinking too much. They want you to believe Bobby will make a deal with J.T. whereas J.T. lets Bobby beat on him so long as he doesn't mess up J.T.'s face. Vinny wants to see this "with my own eyes" and it "better happen soon" and oh my, it'll probably happen right there at the AC and what a scene it'll be. Why, everyone can already see Bobby's boss patting him on the back and saying something stupid like, "That's okay Bobby. Beat the snot out of any of our customers you don't like. It's good for business."

And just who is AC manager Gina Roma's boss? Will we ever know?

So please, if Bobby must ultimately leave Genoa City, why can't he just go quietly without dragging all these people down with him? It serves no purpose other than to dredge up painful inconsistencies like J.T. running to Marsino's pod, a pod Marsino told him to stay away from just like he told Vinny to stay away from the AC, only to have Vinny hang around there like a hungry cockroach. Isn't the Mob watching the pod? Wouldn't it think it odd J.T. came calling? Wouldn't it be nice if Bobby was to beat on J.T. so bad that quite by accident J.T. dies?

Why, yes. It would. It'd be the only way J.T. will ever make it at #1 with a bullet on Billboard's Top-100 list.

Friend in Need Some Friend Indeed

June 27, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

With the undeniable proof that Bobby and Brittany Marsino are up to no good the question now is why they're playing a sick joke on J.T. Hellstrom and Mac Browning. The presumption so far is they wanted to remove the dire threat placed upon them by a two-bit thug named Vinny. Making Hellstrom think he sired Brittany's unborn baby was the morose gift of leverage Bobby needed to turn the situation into his own personal Jesus.

And to be sure the outcry as to how J.T.'s having sex just once with the married Brittany resulted in a baby caught more than a few Genoa City observers off guard. Back on our feet it didn't take long to figure out that, dumb as it is, the mob would never fall for such a ruse. So then, what's the real method to the Marsino madness? It was hoped that as the new week got underway Bobby would provide more details. God knows Brittany is too stupid to have come up with this on her own.

While they certainly have become noted liars and distorters of fact and torqued not only Hellstrom into taking Brittany's word as gospel and not demand a paternity test, but Mac into not questioning how Brittany only learned this late in her pregnancy the papa of her baby is not who she thought, it remains truly amazing the Marsinos would deviously, and more violently than any sperm Ashley Carlton could steal, use two innocent people for their evil purpose.

It's almost too late to care about the lies. It is almost pointless to rant and point fingers of blame. We all know nothing justifies what the Marsinos have done. Moreover, they've driven themselves deep into a credibility hellhole. Who can ever forgive them? If they should say "we were afraid of the mob" or "we were afraid for our baby" who would understand? Who would have empathy and maybe say, "Oh, don't worry about what you've done to Mac and J.T."

But forgive them J.T. and Mac will. Like Ashley forgave her husband for having sex with Dr. Olivia Winters and her best and only friend for having sex with Brad Carlton and Dru Winters for urging the butcher to give Brad the best "F" he'd ever had, the victims of Marsino's hideous joke will eventually bond with their tormentors.

Why is this?

Because J.T. was in on it from the start!

J.T. is such "an amazing friend" of Brittany's he would stick a knife directly into Mac's cold, black heart. No wonder Mac can't trust any of the so-called men in her life so far. In one form or another they've all screwed her. For as much as he's always hated J.T. Bobby now sings his praises. What a guy! They're going to owe J.T. big time when this is all over. Sure, it's too bad the Marsino's had to wallow in slop and wipe the stink on J.T. by getting him involved with their little problems, but if anyone understands it's J.T. Thanks to him Bobby can rest assured the little mother to be will be safe. J.T. will protect another man's baby like it was is own all because Brittany bore it.

The Marsino's could not let Mac in on their charade, of course. She might run her mouth. She might ruin Bobby's master plan to take Vinny and his gangster pals down. Once the mob learns the beast in Brittany's belly is not Bobby's they'll roll over so Bobby can put them in jail and get back to his tedious life with Brittany and the baby. In the meantime Brittany must pretend she's been kicked to the curb and to that end it's time for Act 2.

As the curtain rises a next door neighbor in the Marsino's apartment building just happens to open her door at the same time Bobby is throwing his wife's bag in the hallway and screaming for her to get out and stay out. For good measure, and in the event the gangsters are lurking near the ice machine, Bobby snarls at the neighbor to shut her door before slamming shut his own.

So, you might wail, shouldn't J.T. be held accountable? Once this is over shouldn't he be made to answer for these lies, these obvious abuses of mob rule? Answer: You're damn right he should. He should also be strapped to a chair made of nails and forced to look at the broken pieces of Mac's shattered heart. But that's just me.

The question is not merely when will the stack of lies become so high, so unstable, so inexcusable that the entire city finally takes notice and the whole house of cards comes crashing to the ground and smothers the whole lot of them, but rather, can it be soon enough? To that question we all know the answer.

As Bobby predicts if all goes well Mac and J.T. will "patch things up" and that will be that. And as the GCN has predicted J.T. and Mac will do just that.

Sick Bastards Play Joke on Big Mac, Hunkmonkey

June 24, 2005

Oh God, my stomach is twisted in knots. I feel like I'm going to be violently ill. Why? Because Bobby and Brittany Marsino are playing a sick joke on J.T. Hellstrom and Mac Browning. Not that J.T. and Mac don't deserve some turmoil in their pathetic lives, but this? Of course it's J.T.'s fault for not demanding a paternity test when Brittany told him he sired her baby. It's Mac's fault too for carefully avoiding to ask Brittany exactly how it is she only learned this week who knocked her up.

As sick as the joke is it could have a dual purpose. Peeled back it might be the missing chemistry so lacking in every relationship J.T. has had since Colleen Carlton got smart and dumped his sorry ass. When the cat is let out of the bag who won't few sorry for J.T and Mac? Who won't say how much they now have in common and isn't it reason enough to cut these opposites some slack?

Father of the baby notwithstanding J.T. maintains Mac means more to him than those pictures of Billy Abbott and Raul Guittierez he keeps under the bed. J.T. told Katherine Sterling as much late this week he felt the urge to come clean with the old woman about his sexual misgivings. After all, he only porked Brittany once.

Sterling had a better solution. Why not put the baby up for adoption? Hell, it's the Genoa City way. Got an unborn baby in your belly you don't want? No problem. Just ask Sharon Newman. Got a baby already born you've grown tired of? No problem. Drop it off in Los Angeles. Just ask Paul Williams. But don't you dare mention the 'A' word. It's much easier disposing of a live baby than a dead one.

Since abortion is not on the table J.T. said he's certain Brittany will have the kid and keep it. Now the question is what do to with Brittany given that her husband has kicked her to the curb. Send her home to Fred and Anita Hodges who haven't given a rat's ass about their daughter since her marriage to Bobby Marsino? And what about Mac? How unfair is it that Mac should put her life "on hold" while J.T. sorts out the sticky mess he's gotten himself into?

As a matter of fact Mac was so pissed off she stormed right over to the Marsino apartment where - wonder of wonders - Mac was waiting for the deadline Bobby had given her to get out to expire. Is it true? Is J.T. responsible for that thing in her belly? Brittany said it was.

And as people like Mac so often do when they don't like the answers given in response to their questions Mac said, "It can't be. I don't believe you." Rather than say, "Then why did you bother asking if you aren't going to believe me?" Brittany played along. She only had sex with J.T. once. Who knew a single dip in his sperm pool would produce a baby?

Brittany had a question of her own. Why did Mac have sex with J.T. when she refused to have sex with Billy until after their wedding and then couldn't get down and dirty because Billy's mother arrived in time to say that Billy and Mac are cousins?

Ignoring the question Mac asked again where she fits into the grand scheme as if to say she wouldn't mind sharing breast feeding chores or wiping the baby's butt or ironing J.T.'s underwear. Brittany's best answer was that it's too bad Mac got in so, um, "deep" with J.T. but what's done is done and like it or not J.T. has a baby to support.

Aghast, Mac could only whimper how she knew all along Brittany wanted J.T. and would find a way to make him her man. That is, of course, why Brittany married Bobby because she's just that way. Brittany doesn't care who gets hurt because she's the "same selfish little bitch" she's always been.

Her peace spoken, Mac zoomed away. She did not see Bobby on her way out, in the hall, in the elevator or in the lobby. She did not therefore see when Bobby grabbed Brittany in his arms and gave her a load of spit.

So then, what does this mean? It means these sick creeps are using two innocent people in a diabolical plot to keep themselves out of harm's way. Bobby and Brittany must think the mob is so stupid it won't notice. It won't see Bobby and Brittany engaged in their little rendezvous'. The gangsters won't think it strange a man would just walk out on the mother of his baby. Why, in about three months when Brittany should be giving birth, they'll just be able to pack up one night and slip out of town for parts unknown to start a new life and the mob will forget all about them. The bastards.

Baby What a Big Surprise

June 23, 2005

These are the questions right now gushing forth like a Victor Newman sperm eruption. Did J.T. Hellstrom and Brittany Marsino really have sex and is that really J.T.'s hellbeast spawning deep inside Brittany's belly? Was Brittany's slap in the face and being called a "lying bitch" by her husband merely a ploy to get small-time hood Vinny Trabuco off Bobby Marsino's back and therefore take any chance Brittany might get hurt out of the equation?

The answer to this deep frustration is yes and no.

In his June 17th article GCN reporter Michael Kelly wrote, "While Brittany and J.T. were never shown having sex, they supposedly conceived the child in January when Mrs. Marsino spent the night at the loft she once cohabitated with the junior PI."

J.T. confirmed this Thursday when he told Mac Browning he put the pork to Brittany that January night at the Newman Ponderosa. Regardless of the fact J.T. says he knows where babies come from he was shocked that just one dip of his tiny wick was enough to create a hellbeast.

"What are the odds of this happening?" J.T. mulled, as Mac suggested he get some proof. But J.T. said none is needed. Since Brittany loves her husband she'd never lie about getting it on with a hunkmonkey. She wouldn't lie about breaking her wedding vows in less than a year or tell tales out of school of having committed adultery.

It didn't take Mac long to figure out she's been had in more ways than one. Not only has J.T. poked her he poked Brittany too and didn't have the good sense God gave a squirrel to wear a rubber. How many others have there been and who's next?

And because these kids are just so stupid and boring and J.T. had all but written on the wall with his favorite crayon "I'm a sleazeoid" 100 times, Mac said, "I hope you haven't been lying to me." Then, as if to cover his pimply ass, J.T. swore up and down he's never felt with any other girl what he feels with Mac.

So smitten by J.T.'s ooze, so swayed by his poor attempt to rig the truth and fix the facts and screw a married woman and the potential for lost lives, Mac could only ask how she'll fit into the hunkmonkey's life?

"We'll work something out," J.T. actually said, without providing any specifics that might include Mac and Brittany taking turns breast feeding the baby. J.T. knew one thing though. Now that Brittany's husband has kicked her out of her apartment she'll need a place to live and J.T. is considering letting her move back into the shack. That'll be the best solution for all concerned as not only will he have the milk, he'll have two cows under one roof.

Mac pretty much agreed with one aspect of J.T's valiant act of responsibility. Nothing is more important than that "innocent" baby. Unfortunately, for J.T., Mac said she can't be a third wheel and thus will be moving out of the shack.

It goes without saying then that unless combined they don't make up the biggest pile of lying crap since Ashley Carlton swiped Victor's sperm, this baby on board development is no ruse designed to trick the mob into laying off Brittany. Besides, what gangster worth his salt would fall for such new dimension of stink? Sure, Bobby is a wife beater, but unless he's sub-human a real man wouldn't abandon the mother of his child for any reason.

The point was driven home when Bobby said Brittany's revelation took him by complete surprise. Nobody has yet asked Brittany how she came to know her baby's paternity, but unless they're putting on a good act the Marsinos would not have continued the ruse without the benefit of Vinny being on hand for the performance in which Bobby told Brittany not to let the door hit her on the ass on the way out.

Hunkmonkey's Bun in Marsino Oven?

June 17, 2005
by Michael Kelly

Those Genoa City observers who believe there aren't enough thrills and chills in the marriage of Bobby and Brittany Marsino despite the fact the mob has sent - in addition to far more benign packages - a coffin with a note attached in which the life of Mrs. Marsino's unborn child is threatened and it's a foregone conclusion Mr. Marsino's days in town are numbered, may soon discover Brittany's bambino was sired not by hubby Bobby but defective detective's apprentice J.T. Hellstrom!

At least, this is what GCN readers, who allegedly read the shocking news in a leading soap publication, are buzzing about on online message boards.

Bobby is expected to "explode" when he learns the awful truth and the devastating discovery will precipitate his Genoa City departure in August.

While Brittany and J.T. were never shown having sex, they supposedly conceived the child in January when Mrs. Marsino spent the night at the loft she once cohabitated with the junior PI.

After considerable research, this reporter can confirm that on the night of January 12, 2005, Brittany welcomed her spouse home (or in this case the Newman Ranch, which is where the couple was freeloading at the time) from the mystery trip he embarked upon after being informed by Victor Newman that his wife Nikki had accidentally shot and killed Bobby's 5 year old brother Joshua when Mrs. Newman was a child.

Only moments after Bobby spilled his guts to his wife about Nikki being a child killer, he asked Brittany to let him talk to the Newman diva alone. His bride didn't have the slightest problem with making herself scarce since she suddenly announced the need to go into town but left without saying exactly what she'd be doing and whom she'd be doing it with and Bobby was too dense, distracted by the thought of chatting with his little brother's killer or too apathetic to inquire.

To no one's surprise, Brittany turned up at the loft, bent her former roomie's ear about the Joshua situation and whined about her husband unloading his feelings on Nikki rather than her. J.T. uncharacteristically defended the former porn purveyor by claiming the big lug merely wanted to protect his wife from the unpleasantness of the dead Joshua saga and before going off to his room to study Hellstrom said Britt could hang out there as long as she wished.

Britt later tried to call Bobby but his cellphone was turned off and by the time J.T. came out of his room he found Mrs. Marsino asleep on the couch and then covered her with a blanket. She wasn't seen again until the next morning when Brittany returned to the ranch.

If it is ultimately revealed J.T. and not Bobby is the father of Brittany's unborn bundle of joy, there would be numerous unanswered questions such as how in the hell Britt could be such a hypocritical slut as to chastise both Bobby and Nikki following their smooch and grope session at the ranch when she's guilty of spreading her legs and getting knocked up by another man (if that is indeed an accurate description of pencil neck geek Hellstrom).

Also, if J.T. is perceptive enough to be a private investigator's sidekick and if he cares so damn much about Mrs. Marsino, it's inconceivable the howling when he sings guitar playing dork wouldn't think something's rotten in Genoa City when he learned of Brittany's pregnancy.

Certainly, Hellstrom being the father of Britt's baby would cause considerable conflict. Not only would this turn of events signal the end of the Marsino marriage (that is, if GC's own Sopranos don't accomplish the same goal first by offing Bobby) but it would ground to a halt the boring bliss of J.T's relationship with the freshly had her cherry picked Mac Browning.

Still, this reporter is rather cynical and tends to believe that if this paternity bombshell is actually dropped it will be due to another instance of revisionist history on the part of the scribes as opposed to a story line shocker being carefully planned far in advance.

Despite the fact Brad Carlton and other men in this city's history have had no problem playing Papa to another man's child, it seems to yours truly Y&R is suddenly shifting gears so that its most recent budget cut casualty (Bobby Marsino and his portrayer John Enos) can become nothing but a distant story line memory in order to make a J.T, Brittany and baby makes three scenario all the more convenient.

Hunkmonkey, Virgin, Compete in Unknown 1-day Triathlon!

June 2, 20005

Who believes for a moment that hunkmonkey J.T. Hellstrom and virgin Mac Browning spent an entire day bungee jumping, rock climbing, riding go carts and still had enough energy to stop by the gym for a workout at the end of the day?

It's true Hellstorm and Browning aren't normal young adults. It's true they are pretending to be college-attending teenagers and haven't have sex since before Hellstrom met the also virginal Colleen Carlton, but who in their freaking right mind manages to participate in the Iron Man Triathlon without months of preparation on a school day?

Yes, despite that the day had been proclaimed honor Cassie Newman Day, school was in session. Yet Browning and Hellstrom had time to perform tasks that normal people wouldn't ever consider doing all on the same day?

At the Athletic Supporter this week, her bones not aching likes Hellstrom's, Browning said, "I'm not most girls" as she contorted and twisted her body in what was said to be some yoga technique she'd obviously picked up from Georgia horse farmer Damon Porter. Then, much like the voices being heard by Gloria Fisher at the Abbott Hotel, Browning began speaking in a foreign tongue.

The gobbledygook term "upward dog" spooked Hellstrom. Had he been investigating the "voices" under the auspices of his duties as an assistant PI, Hellstrom might have concluded the voices aren't coming from the trees but rather the babe he hopes to put the pork to. Hey, Gitta Hendrickson. Are you listening?

To top off their workout Hellstrom suggested Browning hit what he so cleverly called the "steam room." Since the saunas had only recently been installed at the gym Hellstrom was eager to take advantage of the new amenity and went so far as to suggest Browning join him in the Men's sauna. It wasn't like other, naked, men would be using the sauna or that Neil and Malfunction Winters might want to use the sauna too.

"Everyone wears towels," Hellstrom squealed which convinced Browning to join him and subsequently share spit.

Do you see? Do you need me to tell you what is wrong with this scenario? It's not likely, but let's assume that at gay only gyms, men wear towels in the sauna. Let's assume that the lesbians and the homosexuals would not object to finding one of the other in the sauna towel or not.

I know it's, um, hard. But let's get real. At real gyms where real men have real memberships and cannot just walk in and use the facilities most men go naked. Only sissy boys ashamed of their small manhood wear a towel in the sauna. Only the ignorant do not know the medical fact that the smaller the flaccid penis the larger it is upon erection and it's not size that counts but how it's used.

Sure, it's, ahem, hard sitting across from or next to a man with a large flaccid penis, but small boys like Hellstrom should not be ashamed. He should, however, be embarrassed for passing himself off as multi-talented athlete and womanizer when clearly he's a 90LB weakling. Besides, who but some freak would expend all those calories only to gobble up twice the amount exceeding the daily carb intake only moments later?

So, what's the point you might ask?

The point is the Athletic Supporter Club is supposed to be this be all end all heath club/restaurant/bar/motel where everybody and his brother go to eat, to study for exams, to prepare law cases, to bitch, to whine, to workout and after exercising tank up on liquor before driving home. Yet for gym facilities open 24/7 it's rare to find more than three persons in the locker rooms at any given time and fewer in the saunas. This is why it was possible for Mac Browning to wind her way through the Men's locker room and into the sauna without being seen.

It's true, for a female Mac looks like a man and probably wouldn't have been noticed by the other men who should have been in the locker room and sauna, but as the GCN's Chris Hoffner would say, could we have some credibility please?

See Also: Jill Abbott  Sean Bridges

Gay Fairy Boys for Truth

April 27, 2005

Because apparently what Genoa City really needs now is a still in college pip squeak closet homosexual with a weird grinning caricature, cartoon lifestyle and babes coming out his ears, J.T. Hellstrom is out there.

The twenty-something Hellstrom who likes to hang with teenagers, has a very strange attraction to crazies like Kevin Fisher, smooth chested boys like Billy Abbott and Raul Guittierez, is now in his fifth year of college with no graduation date for the foreseeable future.

To pay the rent on the pod he shared with three other teens Hellstrom's only source of income came from Lauren Fenmore's Little Shop of Horrors where he worked part-time. Over the years two of Hellstrom's roomies moved out leaving him with the unemployed Mac Browning to help pay rent. Yet while his rent effectively doubled Hellstrom has no problem paying it and even quit his part-time job fondling women's underwear and selling trinkets to the natives.

Thanks to a quasi-private dick (PD) named Paul 'Clueless' Williams - with his massive alarm company on the side - Hellstrom was recently hired on as an unlicensed junior dick performing all of three meaningless assignments. His first job was more of a pleasure in that he was ordered to follow Fisher and report each time the suspected firebug was seen entering his apartment. Hellstrom's second task involved going on the Internet and his third required traveling to Detroit. For this he was, apparently, paid a large sum of money.

"It helps pay the bills," Hellstrom actually said this week of his dick duties without explaining how he keeps up with monthly expenses with any consistency or when he might again attend college given his declaration "my job keeps me pretty busy."

The "job" Hellstrom spoke of are those rare times he works for Williams which at best have totaled 72 hours.

Where Hellstrom gets his money is open to speculation. From pretending he's a rugged urban soldier on a badass recon mission, to selling his heart-thumping male body, the mind reels at the thought of Hellstrom as just the coolest khaki-wearing knave boy camped out at the Newman Jitter Joint.

It's so funny whenever Hellstrom tries passing himself off as an all power and muscle military-inspired thug stomping all over the city looking to take out those pesky little Fisher types when he's really a girlie boy.

Since becoming a guitar-strumming frog-crooning overnight rock star failure Hellstrom had persistently embarrassed himself with his rather childish and typically all-American delusion of seeing himself as something he isn't. What really keeps him busy is his tiny sense of self importance and deep need to be a lady's man when the closest he came to female gender companionship was the underage Colleen Carlton. Still, when Carlton was willing to put out Hellstrom wasn't up for it. When Carlton left town the best he could do was a chick named "Robin" and then only, probably, because Hellstrom thinks her first name is Cock.

It's the illusion that by being with a girl Hellstrom is somehow protecting those in search of their manhood and why he sees being a PD as having to deal with a lot of "depressing stuff". He got "bummed" last week when Gloria Abbott accused him of ruining her marriage and generally being a slug who does the dirty work of others when Hellstrom dug up the widely known truth that Abbott's maiden name is Fisher.

"I was helping people find the truth," Hellstrom said of one of the purest and most casually obnoxious women in all of Genoa City, Ashley Carlton, the ultimate running joke who in the course of accusing her new step-mother - who really isn't related to her because Carlton isn't biologically related to the Abbott family - of being a devious liar who stole a man's sperm and lied about it.

But somebody's got to do it, says Hellstrom on finding the truth.

Hellstrom's flag-waving righteousness is a joke. He avoids the real truth in favor of safe, predigested tripe widely eaten by media whores. What are you, scared? JT? Repressed? Gay? If you want some truth, if you want to do some good, why not look into Carlton's past? Why not go straight to Mrs. Abbott, profusely apologize for being a wimp and tell her Carlton is not an Abbott. Tell Gloria that Ashley is a fraud and thought to be man and this, more than any truth, turns you on.

Does this make you laugh? It is, after all, incredibly easy for desperately lonely high-pitched singing fatalistic geeks to do. Every PD knows that buried just beneath the slippery surface of any good lie is a gem of real truth, a question that begs to be solved and, yet, most likely never will, because it has been cast into the madhouse of impossibility and would therefore render J.T. impotent.

Clearly J.T. doesn't want the truth. People in Genoa City can't handle the truth. Truth in this city is despised and spat on like gay fairy boys pretending to be men.

In Search of a Brain

April 11, 2005

Following remarks in Todd Brown's latest Viewpoint concerning unlicensed junior PI J.T. Hellstrom the GCN received a few inquires. Is it so? Did Hellstrom really not know that Gloria Abbott is Kevin Fisher's mother until Kevin told him? If so why didn't the GCN report this?

The GCN didn't splash the news last week when Hellstrom got all snippy with his boss for not telling him because we pretty much wrote Hellstrom off on March 17 and 18 when he was first assigned the case. We may have been remiss given the GCN is the only source of Genoa City news for many who stopped watching these crazy people and events long ago.

You may recall the GCN reported it was strange that Hellstrom would go to Detroit on a mission for his boss at a time when high school students, and supposedly college students like Hellstrom says he still is, were studying for mid-term exams. We further questioned what Hellstrom could hope to accomplish in less than a day in Detroit and at the risk of causing our collective head to explode explored the time factor.

Thanks to Paul 'Clueless' Williams having pulled some strings to get his boarding pass in advance Hellstrom presumably caught an 11AM flight out of Genoa City and an hour later arrived in Michigan where he met one of Williams' many field operatives. Pointed to various "resources" - where he was to dig up dirt on a woman known only to them as Gloria Abbott - Hellstrom incredibly found what he was looking for at the Detroit Police Department and the information which broke the case was sent via FAX to Williams.

The police report had something to do with a shooting incident at the Fisher apartment which led Williams to conclude that Mrs. Tom Fisher is in fact Gloria Fisher.

So, you may be asking, how was this connection possible? It wasn't. That's what was so bizarre about the whole thing. Even if it made sense the question remained: wouldn't Hellstrom had read the information given his long-term infatuation with, and hate for, Kevin?

The bigger question was why Hellstrom had to go to Detroit at all since Williams' operative could have obtained the same information faster and cheaper assuming Williams paid Hellstrom for his time and plane ticket.

As the GCN wrote last month and maintains to this day. Hellstrom is a boil on Williams' delusional whoredom. That Williams operates an alarm company out of his broom closet is a joke. That Williams is a PI is a joke. That Hellstrom is a junior PI is a laugh. Williams' inability to solve more than one case in ten years killed his credibility long ago. Assigning Hellstrom to get the dirt on Gloria Fisher nailed the coffin shut.

Hellstrom is nothing more than a male whore trying to fill the big shoes left behind by Williams' former office manager and super-sleuth in-training herself, Lynne 'Yes-Boss' Bassett. Hell, Hellstrom has even begun emulating Bassett by calling Williams "boss" and generally licking his boots for any opportunity to be something he isn't.

With so much sadness and hammer blows of grief, with more than enough oh-no-I-can't-believe-its to go around, you have to pick and choose your ignorance selectively. That's why, when Hellstrom returned from Detroit, played dumb and said he had no clue who Gloria was, the GCN flicked it off as just another embarrassing black mark on the Williams and Hellstrom dismal record.

When Hellstrom disturbed the still studying for something Mac Browning at the noisy Newman Jitter Joint on Monday, to cry that he didn't want to talk about what had him walking around all pissy. But since Mac really rated Hellstrom whined again how her "buddy" Kevin is always at the root of his pathetic little life so that Mac could say she likes it when a "player" tells her "how pretty I am" only to have Hellstrom say he ain't no player yet. Like Popeye, he yam what he yam take it or leave it. And then, when Mac made him "beg" her to keeping listening to his crap, only one conclusion could be reached.

Hellstrom is a total slut. Letting Browning drag him around by the nose when it isn't stuck up Williams' butt being browned, throwing girlish hissy fits and looking forward to his next assignment when maybe they'll all go off in search of a brain.

Clueless PI Nails Coffin Shut

March 18, 2005

You gotta wonder what J.T. Hellstrom can hope to accomplish in less than a day in Detroit. If thinking about it won't cause your brain to explode ponder the time factor.

Hellstrom presumably caught an 11AM flight out of Genoa City. In this town you never can tell for sure the time of day, but it had to be morning as office phones were buzzing and the coffee shop where Hellstrom met with his "boss" was brewing when Hellstrom expressed concern he might have to stay overnight lest there be no nightlight in the motel room to keep him warm and safe from the bogeyman.

Paul Williams said at the time that an overnight stay would depend on what information Hellstrom could get in such a short period of time.

Further assuming Hellstrom could get to the airport in about an hour and it took at least another hour to fly to Michigan his arrival time would be around 1PM. At the Detroit airport Hellstrom was to meet with one of Williams' operatives who it was said would point Hellstrom to various "resources" where he'd be able to dig up dirt on Gloria Abbott. Considering the meeting with the operative took another hour and Hellstrom had to rent a car unless he planned on getting around Detroit by bus, the time elapsed would have pushed the clock to 2PM.

Depending on where and how many dirt piles there are by the time Hellstrom made his first stop the time might have been 3PM. Even if he was to make all the stops that afternoon and early evening the overall question must be asked: what the hell?

Why in hell did Hellstrom go to Detroit? If Williams has an operative in Detroit who knows where the dirt piles are why didn't that operative get the information and FAX it to Williams? Wouldn't that have been the prudent thing to do? Wouldn't it have saved time and money? What's with all the Sherlock Holmes cloak and dagger shtick?

What PI worth his salt could dig up dirt on a prospective target in less than 24-hours? Does Hellstrom get off on embarrassing himself, looking like the hemorrhoid on the ass of life he is? Because make no mistake, there is no longer even the remotest argument that says Hellstrom is in any way a PI. He remains but a separate and distinct boob in Williams' delusional whoredom. That farce Williams keeps shoving down our throats that he's a PI who operates an alarm company on the side.

And you maybe think: Have they gone too far? Is this a sign of the apocalypse? What's next? How long until the Hellstrom and Williams delusion that they are PIs fuses them together like Siamese twins? How long before they are so joined at the hip Williams offers Hellstrom a three year employment contract if he agrees to quit college?

We're all for as real PI operating out of Genoa City. But shouldn't he or she have some training? Maybe been kicked off the police force and unable to find work as a security guard gone out and got a license and then applied for an internship?

Williams' inability to solve more than one case in ten years may have killed his credibility, but assigning Hellstrom to the Abbott case nailed the coffin shut.

Boy Sent to do a Man's Job

March 17, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Are you confused? I'm confused. Isn't Daniel Romalotti studying for midterms? Let's go to the videotape just to be sure. Yep. There the long-hair was on Tuesday telling someone, "I'm studying for midterms."

Isn't Mac Browning studying for something too? Wasn't she at the Newman Jitter Joint engrossed in the sex habits of worms or something? Indeed she was, although since Mac is in college and Daniel is in high school it's easy to understand that high schoolers have midterms at different times than college students despite that nobody in the GCN newsroom can recall ever having midterms in high school.

So what does this matter you ask?

It doesn't. Not really. Unless like we do, you wonder about these things. You wonder why, if it's midterms, in his 5th year of college J.T. Hellstrom was able to push aside all school concerns this week when he told his "boss" Paul 'Clueless' Williams he'd be more than happy to take an assignment in Detroit.

Packing his aluminum briefcase the private detective showed up at his new office on the patio of the Newman Jitter Joint for a meeting Wednesday with the hunk monkey/junior PI. If J.T. weren't too busy peeking in windows and poking his nose into the marital problems of married women would he be up for some real detecting work?

Profusely apologizing for being all of thirty seconds late and having picked up the annoyingly bad habit left behind by former Williams Detective & Alarm Company office manager Lynne 'Yes-Boss' Bassett of calling Clueless "boss", Hellstrom said no school work was of such importance it couldn't be missed.

Somewhat relieved that he won't have to get off his ass and at least try solving another case adding to his dismal 1 in ten year record Williams said he'd already booked J.T. an 11 o'clock flight to Michigan and even had the freaking boarding pass. All J.T. would have to do is get himself to the airport, bypass security and hop on the plane.

Without even knowing what he was going to investigate, with no hint that he ever obtained a PI's license, J.T. was pissing his pants. Boy, oh, boy. "This is huge," he said, which must have been in reference to the erection in his pants as digging up dirt on Gloria Fisher Abbott is not exactly like solving the Jimmy Hoffa case.

Still, Williams wasn't completely sold on J.T's expertise. Could he handle going out of town overnight? Could he handle such an insignificant case? Unlike the others this one wouldn't be as simple as searching the Internet although it probably should be.

"I'm on it," a giggly J.T. said at least twice.

To be sure J.T. didn't get lost Williams arranged to have him met at the Wayne Country Airport in the baggage pickup area by one of his many field operatives. To be on the safe side Williams also e-mailed Hellstrom's photo to the operative to avoid someone showing up claiming to be J.T. Like a Boy Scout Williams is always prepared and keeps a photo of J.T. in his briefcase for just these kind of cases.

Before sending the girlie-boy off Williams warned him to be discrete. Not so much because J.T. is quick to sign recording contracts with companies with names like Beachfront Records without checking to see if such record companies are not fronts for the mob, but because the client Williams is working for is "high profile".

And who might be so high profile her name has to be whispered?

Ashley Carlton!

Don't you just want to die? Don't you just want to look up to the sky and maybe scream, "Oh God! Kill me now." Aren't you right now rolling on the floor laughing your ass off and secretly hoping the FBI will get a tip that these two boobs, Hellstrom for sure, are practicing the fine art of detecting without a license? That the FTC will look into how Williams runs an alarm system from a broom closet?

Is Phillip Marlow rolling in his grave? Is Brinks worried that Williams is giving real alarm companies with their massive monitoring centers a bad name?

If that's not bad enough, if you aren't already out of industrial strength barf-bags given that never before in Genoa City has so much swill been spilled in such a short week, consider J.T.'s kiss-ass remark when he corrected a statement Williams made about the person they're investigating.

"I get that from my boss. He's a stickler for detail," Hellstrom oozed, as Williams handed him a file said to contain information on Gloria Abbott then virtually patted J.T. on the ass as the boy skipped away like a giddy schoolgirl to do a man's job.

What the Hunkmonkey Saw

March 8, 2005

Keeping in mind that it's well documented the trip from Genoa City to the Newman Ponderosa takes at least an hour each way, how good and refreshing and inspiring was it, in these rage-drunk, anti-everything, ravaged times, that while hunkmonkey J.T. Hellstrom made the journey Paul 'Clueless' Williams sat on his ass this week at the Newman Jitter Joint?

What a useless private detective Clueless has become. That he would sit there two hours waiting to continue a conversation with Hellstrom about an alarm system installation so urgent it couldn't be talked about over the phone or at Clueless' broom closet was mind numbing. That the aging Williams would give a whit about which teenage girl the twenty-something hunkmonkey was swinging through the banana trees with this time was laughable.

Nevertheless Clueless was waiting with baited breath when Hellstrom returned to say he was appalled at what he'd see while peeping through a ponderosa window.

That "loser", that "clown" Bobby Marsino doesn't deserve to be married to the girl Hellstrom has fallen in love with again. The same girl that his best friend, Raul Guittierez, had been porking and hoped to marry before Marsino got his hooks into Brittany Hodges. Now Mrs. Marsino is in another fine mess.

Without knowing that Hellstrom had seen Mrs. Victor Newman giving Mr. Marsino an innocent farewell kiss Williams hacked, "it doesn't sound too promising" when the hunkmonkey confirmed he'd found Marsino at the ranch. Judging from the blinking eyes and puffy chest Williams could tell Hellstrom was about to explode. So what happened to cause the PI in-training/alarm installer to get all freaky? Hellstrom didn't say except he had to do something to save Mrs. Marsino from that scum.

"What scum would that be?" Brittany didn't exactly say as she walked over to let Hellstrom know she'd been able to rent an apartment in Chicago completely by phone. In fact, the lease was being sent by FAX as they spoke. Wasn't that just the silliest damn thing they ever did hear? Young Brittany and her much older husband would be leaving Genoa City in less than 24-hours despite that she had "tons of things to do" like, packing Hellstrom's favorite frying pan and all those things she'd stolen from Fenmore's Little Shop of Horrors during her brief stint as a shoplifter.

Promising that this good-bye was not final Brittany said she'd give the hunkmonkey an official good-bye later then scurried off leaving Hellstrom to sneer, "I've got to stop this."

Williams was taken aback. Isn't Brittany a married woman? Isn't she excited about starting a new life? Who did Hellstrom think he was to stop her? What about that alarm installation?

"I yam what I yam," the hunkmonkey should have said, as he bolted off without acknowledging Clueless to tell Brittany what a mistake she's making and leaving Clueless to sputter, "think about what I said" as if Hellstrom thinks about anything except maybe why, as he dutifully chants "I'm strong to the Finich 'cause I eats me spinach", there's no hair on his chest.

Alarm! Alarm!

March 4, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Where but in Genoa City would the owner of a funky private detective agency also operate what has been called a major alarm company? Where is this company? Where are the hundreds of employees required to make it work, like professional installers and control room monitors, and why does its owner operate out of the broom closet at now hole in the wall law office?

That PI in-training J.T. Hellstrom had to be called in to handle the installation of an alarm system was perhaps the funniest damn thing since the hunkmonkey went into a tizzy over the taking back by Brittany Marsino of his favorite frying pan.

With the only aluminum briefcase in the known universe in hand Paul 'Clueless' Williams met with Hellstrom at the Newman Jitter Joint on Friday. Making their way past the scholarly-looking Mac Browning, who was studying the mating habits of worms or something, the two entered the only coffee shop patio to ever resemble an office where Williams laid out the installation details.

Perhaps baffled because he doesn't know the difference between a motion sensor and the hole in his empty head, Hellstrom became distracted when Williams suggested he attend a seminar or get some training that in the slightest way might qualify him to so much as take the alarm out of the box much less supervise or actually install a professional system.

And since Hellstrom was twitching so much Williams forgot what they'd come there for directing his attention instead to the babes exchanging glances. Williams said he couldn't help but notice on his way in that Brittany Marsino didn't seem like herself. She looked upset. Could it have anything to do with Browning and Hellstrom? What had the threesome got into this time? It didn't matter that Williams had an alarm install so important he'd gone out of his way to discuss it. Hellstrom's babe life was much more interesting.

As usual Hellstrom stuck to his pitchfork-wielding story. That terrible terrorist, that freak, that dangerous Kevin Fisher is after Browning. Brittany married that "low-life" Bobby Marsino. "What's wrong with women?" Hellstrom asked. "They always seem to fall for the bad guy."

They are what they are, so the saying goes. Marsino and Fisher may be bad, but they aren't so stupid as to think they're alarm installers or private detectives. 

Action Figures for Imbeciles

January 3, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Right out of the gate. The very first thing to happen at the start of 2005 that told the world Genoa City is full of slimy college students and inept private detectives and pitiful, literally lost souls and that nothing will ever change in this mini-megalopolis was the disappearance Monday of Bobby Marsino.

The proud owner of a failing pornographic female meat market/strip club turned cabaret up and left town. With no warning, no mention to his new bride - who only hours earlier he'd bawled his eyes out to and said how much she meant to him - no message on the cell phone or answering machine or note to the owners of the Newman ponderosa where he's been squatting that he needed to get away to clear his empty head, Marsino just took off.

His departure wasn't noticed until the next morning when Brittany Marsino asked hostess Nikki Newman if she'd seen the man. Her question, of course, was answered with a question. When had the songbird last seen the Mafioso grandfather?

Why, last night at the club when she was counting receipts with solider boy Angelo Italiano.

And why would she, a "singer" who performs maybe once a week at the club be counting receipts? Hush, now. Such inconsistencies are not to be noticed. Perhaps she had nothing better to do. It could have been that her husband was still in the back bawling what with his being "so sad" and looking like he'd lost his best friend although he doesn't have any best friends.

Quivering and tremulous, waiting to be crushed by some dark massive throbbing wall of evil at any moment, Mrs. Marsino oinked, "I'm scared."

Her prime motivator was the company Bobby keeps. Those dangerous people worse than the Taliban who keep the club under their thumbs, forcing it to cough up kickbacks from the sale of untaxed cigarettes and booze and immigrant strippers. What if Tony Soprano or Sal Staley wanted to hurt him? What if they'd come in the middle of the night and taken Bobby for a ride?

"Maybe I should call the police," Brittany concluded, as if the inept cops could solve the mystery when they've never been able to determine what happened to Joshua Casein or had any interest in why Victor Newman stashed Otis Elwood in a Montana cabin during the disappearance of Izzy Brana Williams.

Told to forget about calling the cops because 24 hours had not elapsed Brittany suddenly picked up Bobby's mantra. Was the reason Nikki acts so strange have something to do with her? Is something going on she doesn't know about?

Nikki strained her small brain. Not exactly. Bobby is merely going through a rough time. He wants to be a man according to the traditional family plan whereby the man brings home the bacon. Now, with a new wife to care for and no home of their own, Bobby has run off.

Makes perfect sense - no?

Not to Brittany it didn't. She could tell Nikki was hiding something.

Since continuing the pointless conversation with Nikki may have caused her to think for herself, Brittany rushed off to the Sugar Shack to tell hunkmonkey, and private eye in-training J.T. Hellstrom her tale of woe.

But it got better, more embellished.

Not only had Bobby run off but she should have known something like this was going to happen. She could feel it in her skinny bones and Botoxed face. Since waking up she'd managed to check with all the hospitals too. None reported a patient fitting Bobby's description. Would J.T help?

Do bears crap in the woods?

J.T. delivered one of his soul-cringing smirks before noting that at one time old Booby had been a lady's man. His reason for running off may have been that Brittany wasn't putting out enough in bed. Was she pulling a Tricia McNeil on him? Brittany swore up and down, no. Bobby would never do such a thing. Not after just a few weeks of marriage. Not when she was being the best little wife an inexperienced wife could be.

You see, just like the where do bears crap question, J.T. had to ask. For no reason other than so he could say later he hadn't passed up an opportunity to slime those he doesn't like.

Then J.T. got all serious. He stroked his ego and sighed wistfully for the day he becomes a real man; for the moment Brittany gets back to him with the account numbers so he can perform one of those illegal credit card checks like his boss Paul Williams taught him. If Bobby, so broke he's living with the Newmans, is out there charging up his maxed out Master Card, J.T. will find out.

His gull-wing ears toned down and the thin-lipped brow-furrowed monkey confusion so common to his scrunched little face, J.T. must be proud. Leave the degrading dirty scum work to him.

J.T. Hellstrom. All agog and atwitter over the possibility of invading someone's privacy. The heavily shellacked college boy playing big shot PI. A boy with zero experience in the investigative or law enforcement fields, the intellectual skills of something found on the bottom of a shoe at Marsino's strip club, and no license.

Have we really forgotten what a real private investigator is? Have we been so desperately numbed into thinking it's some over-pampered spoon-fed monosyllabic D-grade Genoa City college boy?

Have we been so endlessly hammered with the lie that Paul Williams is some sort of grunting lug nut PI with contacts willing to invade credit card accounts? Are we to believe that Williams' "apprentice" can step in to order credit card activity searches to find Marsino - without a license?

If we do believe, who then will save us from this degrading onslaught to our intelligence? Who will fight back the demons of ignorance and misinformation? Who will be the hero to conquer all this bogus heroism?

The answer is easy. The hero we most need is us. We must don the intellectual armor and endure the sneers of the uptight and the deluded who see Williams as a flag waving all-American PI and J.T. as the Robin to Williams' action figure for imbeciles ready to service his babes and former roommates every need. It's the J.T. Hellstrom action doll, just in time to degrade every notion of private investigating, ever.