2005 News Archives
Phyllis Summers
See also: Daniel Romalotti  Justice

Once a Bitch, Always a Bitch

November 30, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

When I was a kid, I delivered and sold TV Guide to the neighborhood. During the Spring and Summer months riding my bike from home to home wasn't a problem, but when it got to be dark in November I'd find myself scared. I couldn't wait to toss the last magazine so I could get home where it was safe. It was not the dark I was afraid of so much as my imagination. I was sure that slimy creatures were waiting in the shadows to grab me. The faster I peddled, the more certain I was. I had no way of knowing that such fear of what does not exist is a method of self preservation.

Perhaps that explains why there's so much fear in Genoa City. Here, Victor Newman is the monster. People jump to attention when he walks into a room. They bow before his feet, call him "sir" and "Mr. Newman." Victor speaks, they listen. Victor says there may be a virus in his company's computer system so widespread as to be an act of "computer espionage" and other company executives get scared. They fuss and worry about who knew when such and such infected a given computer when the role they played in the conspiracy was well known. They fret about who told who and what it might mean and when told it means nothing scold themselves for having accused others of ratting them out.

And now that he's seen how paranoid even the thought of a virus can make people, Jack Abbott wants in on the action. He wants to get even with Victor. He's wanted to make the great man pay for years, but hasn't been able to pull it off. God knows it's not for lack of trying. Like the Roadrunner, Victor has outwitted Jack so many times a prudent man would have cut and run long ago. Not Jack. Like the Energizer bunny he keeps going and going, bumping his head into the stonewall that is Victor until he's become a laughing stock.

Still, Jack won't quit. He's determined to become Victor's worse fear. If espionage was what Victor expected, espionage is what Victor will get. That he has no understanding of computers doesn't matter to Jack. He'll find someone who does. Someone like Kevin Fisher who was once so hated by the town folk he'll surely want to get even with them and help Jack at the same time. Problem is, as always, Jack's out of the loop. He doesn't know that since Kevin was hated he found God. Now those who wanted Kevin locked up are his best buds. Kevin's a respectable coffee shop owner too.

Like a leech sucks blood, Jack wrapped his tentacles around Kevin again this week demanding he tell what he'd found on the computer in Victor's office. Inheritably a weakling, Kevin handed over two discs he'd stored data on while tinkering with the Newman computer. His adrenalin flowing, Jack was getting high on himself for having scored another coup when his former wife caught them in the act.

From what she knows about Kevin, Phyllis Summers surmised it was true. Once a weasel always a weasel. The town folk be damned, Kevin hasn't changed. But golly, how did Kevin find out what she did to the Newman computer? How did he know about the "backdoor" and she wasn't talking about deviant sex. What's that? Kevin was in Victor's office that day she allegedly removed the door? Kevin was right behind the office door and neither she nor Nick Newman saw, or smelled him?

Maybe it was the embarrassment, the humility or her damnable arrogance that caused Phyllis to spit at Kevin, "I don't want you near my son!"

The son she spoke of is the one and only Daniel Romalotti. In line to become the next Pope, if it's one thing Phyllis doesn't want, it's for Kevin to be so much as seen in the same building with Daniel. Found guilty of jumping bail, Daniel, sweet and innocent as he may be would surely get Kevin's stink on him. A bad influence. A bad role model for the righteous Daniel as if ever telling Kevin to stay away from Daniel has ever had an impact. As if Kevin and Daniel aren't two peas in a pod with their repulsive bowing and scraping before the Newmans.

Then, as if Phyllis' hypocrisy didn't have stomachs retching, she accused Jack of wanting to use her computer skills to sabotage Newman computers and lo, such manipulation of birth records and such, is beneath her. While she's suddenly the see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil monkeys all rolled into one, Phyllis had the gall to say Jack has changed and she doesn't know if he can be trusted.

But Jack hasn't changed. He's always been this way and Phyllis knows it. She knows too well Jack thinks only of himself. She knows he's got a son named Kyle he hasn't seen for months. She knows that in general, Jack is a sleaze, but she keeps going back for more. She only now pretends not to know that Jack can't be trusted and has always manipulated her. That Phyllis does this for the benefit of those who don't know her past might explain this sudden revelation, this attempt at self preservation and pitiful excuse to pass herself off as the squeaky clean innocent woman when she's dirtier than Jack will ever be.

I've heard the kettles in this city call the pots black before, but this, this sewage pouring forth from Phyllis' mouth like a Texas gas refinery pumps poison into the air, was enough to make a grown man cry. It was enough to make me remember those days when I feared imaginary things would jump out of the bushes. Only here, in Genoa City they are real. They are slimy and regardless of how creepy Jack is, he'll never hold a candle to the never changes her spots, the betrayer of betrayers and back stabber of the back stabbers, Phyllis, slithering around as usual, keeping an eye out for Damon Porter while deep within her cold, black heart waits with open-mouthed hunger for the day she can screw a boy young enough to be her son. Talk about trust. Phyllis doesn't know the meaning. Once a bitch always a bitch.

Moxie This, Bitch!

October 7, 2005
by Michael Kelly

Make no mistake, dear readers. This reporter is quite accustomed to contrived conversations in Genoa City.

However, Jabot's former but also brand new (because Jack Abbott - who should concentrate on running Chancellor Industries into the ground - believes in recycling lovers as well as useless, arrogant employees at Jabot) webmaster Phyllis Summer's chat with her employer Jill Abbott at the Chancellor mausoleum earlier this week was too uncommonly stupid and gag-inducing to avoid tearing to shreds in print.

Summers supposedly stopped by her boss's home unannounced to wow Abbott with her plans for Jabot's website. Unfortunately, the conversation quickly devolved into what would become of infant Joshua Marsino, who was sleeping peacefully in the Chancellor living room where the two women were having their initially professional pow-wow.

Despite the fact the child's fate is none of Phyllis' business, Jill felt the need to inform Summers all about the mob predicament involving Joshua's daddy Bobby, which of course necessitates mother and child Marsino joining Papa in the Witness Protection Program.

Phyllis couldn't believe Jill would allow the child to leave the mausoleum with its own mother to live a life fraught with constant potential peril.

When Abbott informed her underling there wasn't a damn thing she could do to prevent Joshua from going bye-bye, Summers had the nerve to snort at her superior, "I thought you had moxie" before the skank sashayed her scrawny ass out the door.

Talk about nerve! Talk about being a bitch. Talk about being presumptuous and not knowing one's place. Talk about wishing Jill had grabbed Summers by the arm before the slut drove away so that Mrs. Abbott could hiss contemptuously in Phyllis' ugly face, "So you want moxie. Great! I specialized in it back in the day while you were still playing with Barbie's. You're fired, you baggy-eyed bitch!"

Of course, Summers would probably respond by claiming only Jack Abbott has the authority to can her miserable hide. At that point, Jill would be well within her right to deck the freak and inform her that Jacko answers to Katherine Chancellor, who would have her daughter's back and know full well (despite her advanced state of dementia) that web monkeys like Phyllis are a dime a dozen and are therefore expendable.

At least, that would be the outcome in the real world.

That's What Friends Are For?

September 28, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Why is the entire city not just appalled and disgusted and aghast at this latest stomp on its intelligence? Why would Jill Abbott rollover and let a freak, a job hopper like Phyllis Summers in the lobby of Jabot Cosmetics much less give this so-called "webmaster" employment and a fancy office with a view? Granted, as CEO of the company Jill doesn't have much say. She is beholden to parent company CEO Jack Abbott of whom she's had sex with. She must go along to get along because this is how weak and useless Jill has become. Without objection, Jill said how happy she is to have someone like Phyllis onboard and hacked how Phyllis' "talent and expertise" are such assets. The flying monkeys huddled in the corner tried not to laugh or puke their guts out as Jill did intimate she's between a rock and a hard place.

As she so often does, Phyllis couldn't help but run her big mouth. She blathered how Jack wants to purchase former Jabot employee Brad Carlton's stock until Jill made her realize how far out of the loop she really is. Victor Newman purchased the stock in question seemingly days ago, hours at least. Now the great man owns a piece of the most toxic chemical company known to man. Always eager to brown-nose, to be on the politically correct side of the fence, Phyllis muttered how bad it must be for Newman to have Jack again on the defensive when speak of the devil, Jack walked in much to Jill's surprise. Explaining she'd stopped by Chancellor Industries and hadn't seen him there, Jack told Jill he'd been hiding out, trying to remove the Carlton/Newman knife from his back before showing his ugly face in public. Nobody, of course, mentioned how Jack is never at Chancellor Industries or why they bother looking for him there.

Excited at the prospect of great things happening at Jabot now that Phyllis will be creating web pages on which to display and sell their toxic goop, Jill told Jack she and Phyllis have already begun "kicking around some wonderful web site ideas". Again, the flying monkeys held the barf back as even they know what a farce it is for the CEO of anything to have the slightest interest in the design of a web site or to place any value in its importance. Only Jack and Jill would see Phyllis as executive-level material deserving an office of her own with a view. In fact, Jack was surprised Phyllis had actually thought about work on her first day at work.

For all her cronyism, for all the talk about conflicts of interest and how they all hate Victor so much, Jill cut her visit with Jack and Phyllis short. She, being so lucky, had received an invitation to the Newman bon voyage party and she damn well planned on going! Her mother, Katherine Sterling, is after all, one of Victor's best friends!

And to be sure, in case there was ever any doubt, this madness, this my friend is my enemy is my friend, drives home the point again. Theses scenes, these unimportant jobs Phyllis holds and throws away like used condoms, these balls of hate thrown at Brad and Victor, are, quite literally, incredible. More so now given that just a few months ago old man John Abbott said the Newmans and the Abbotts are "friends".

Is this what it's come down to? Conflicts of interest that aren't conflicts resolved by replacing them with more conflicts? Contradictions in terms? What's black is white? Expressions of concern for the poor while padding the pockets of the rich? Is this what friends are for?

Job Hoppers!
September 26, 2005

As recently as January Phyllis Summers was still employed by Newman Enterprises. She rarely worked, told the CEO to go screw himself, but nevertheless remained employed as the company's webmaster. As the months passed Phyllis took time off to defend herself against a charge of attempted murder and then to chase her on the lam son halfway across the country. Through it all Phyllis kept her job.

That all changed last week when Phyllis announced she'd quit NE, taken a job at Jabot Cosmetics offered to her by former husband Jack Abbott, and would be starting work the next day. What she'll do at Jabot, nobody knows, nobody really cares, because she'll rarely be seen at the office except for the times she's having sex on a desk.

What's really mind-boggling is that Phyllis didn't give NE notice. She didn't because, apparently, she quit long ago. Nobody knows exactly when despite that a few days ago Phyllis was anxious to get the new NE line of cosmetics products up on the company's website.

NE Cosmetics Division head Dru Winters knows Phyllis quit because she showed up at her door on Monday to ask if Phyllis would like to come back! For all the squabbles, for all the hate that exists between these two women, Dru had suddenly realized she's without a webmaster. With the Seasons line going to market in November, Dru needs "the best" webmaster money can buy to promote the toxic chemicals on the Internet. Phyllis is her first choice! Without saying when she quit, Phyllis confirmed she's out and told Dru that if the CEO of Newman Enterprises came crawling it wouldn't change her mind. "I'm going on to bigger and better things at Jabot".

Rejected, Dru, having just buttered Phyllis up, said she wouldn't share what's going on at NE with a disgusting Jabot employee then stormed off declaring she'll emerge the victor from the cosmetics war with or without Phyllis.

Not that it's really a war, it's isn't. Not like the last war. Hell, as far as anyone can see, Jabot isn't participating. The company's chief skunk oil sniffer mentions occasionally she's working on new product, but Ashley Carlton has yet to say there will actually be a war probably because she'll be too busy helping her step-brother take down terrible Tom Fisher.

In addition to all the concern lately about "conflict of interest" (in that employees cannot hold stock in competing companies) it's important to note there is no concern that nepotism is a conflict. Former Jabot employees can work at Newman Enterprises and vice-versa and that's fine. It's also interesting that Dru knew where to find Phyllis without calling ahead or having heard Phyllis has an apartment of her own. And too, Phyllis' statement, that a team of wild horses can't drag her back to NE, should be remembered the next time she goes back on her hands and knees begging Victor Newman to reinstate her. Phyllis has quit, been fired and re-hired at NE so many times it's hard to keep track.

Also, how did Dru know Sharon Newman would be home this day? Didn't Sharon say she'd give 110% to NE and that the company can depend on her to work hard on the Seasons line? Why then was Sharon at the Newman Ponderosa? Why, when gas costs $3 per gallon, would Dru drive one hour without knowing whether Sharon was there? Never mind. We know the answer. Few people, especially the rich, care what gasoline costs. And too, Sharon, still so distraught over her daughter's death she can't work a full day, had a party to prepare.

Dru's purpose for the long drive was to seek Sharon's input on a slogan she'd come up with for Seasons.

"Winter Spring, Summer Fall. Season's has something for all."

The slogan might have had some credibility had Dru not smeared it by imagining a skanky woman opening presents on Christmas Day as a hot husband drooled nearby. Before getting into the graphic stuff, where the woman sprays Winter on her bush and the man immediately jumps her bones, Dru noticed Sharon didn't seem herself. Was the thought of sex on the day Christ was allegedly born in America causing Sharon to think what being without her dead daughter will be like this year?

Oh no! Sharon is perfectly fine. That's why she can attend dinner parties but can't put in a full day of work without vomiting pity all over herself. Changing the subject, Sharon asked about Dru's daughter. Will Lily be let out of reform school for the holidays?

"We haven't decided yet," Dru actually said, like it's her decision. Like Lily Winters' incarceration at a New Hampshire "boarding school" where the teen can't even send email is not part of a plea agreement with the District Attorney's Office.

Here's the upshot: Genoa City same as it ever was. No resemblance of reality. No credibility. People quitting jobs, getting news ones and going back to old ones easy as changing the TV channel. Don't like that job? Quit without notice and soon your old supervisor will be knocking on your door offering it back. Daughter's death causing so much grief you can't work more than an hour? No problem. Go to a dinner party. Got a case of Traumatic Stress Syndrome for which you won't get medical help? Got a history of mixing drugs and booze? No problem. Ask your best friend for some of her pills like Sharon's mother-in-law will soon do.

These are the Abbotts. These are the Summers and the Newmans and the Fishers with their appalling inability to speak with any depth or believability. Coupled with their personal brand of aww-shucks, none-too-bright simpleton worldview they are forever caught in the throes of a desperate need to change and grow and move on only to dig themselves deeper into a regressive ideological tar pit from which they may never emerge.

How to Screw a Dead Cow
September 8, 2005

There's nothing like a flip-flopper. There is nothing like a mother who doesn't yet know her teenage son had sex with a one-time STD carrier and isn't right now demanding the girl's mother show proof of updated rabies shots. There's nothing like Daniel Romalotti saying the Abbotts are not family and therefore demands his never at work mother find a new place to live without offering to get a job so as to help pay the rent. There's nothing like Phyllis Summers shelling out the bucks for a new place and then having Daniel snicker and say oh, he didn't really mean it. He's happy living at the Abbott Hotel.

The clues are all around as to what teens growing up in Genoa City will face as they age, what sort of warped perspective and decimated sense of place and community and home they will develop. Lines like "You are you father's daughter" "You are your mother's son" are often bantered about for good reason. Like father, like son. Like mother, like daughter even if the kids aren't really related or haven't seen their real parents much beyond the day they were spawned, they will carry on their parents agenda. They will commit crimes, take drugs and have premarital sex without serious consequence. Like Daniel, they will listen alone in their rooms at night as their parents in the next room get it on with with whomever is the bitch of the month.

In Daniel's case it'll be his mother's male bitch, Jack Abbott. Married to Jack at one time, Phyllis Summers' marriage was destined to fail like previous marriages too numerous to count on both sides when Jack kicked her out because she refused to stop working for the enemy. And even though Phyllis still works, technically, for Newman Enterprises, it no longer matters because Jack is so desperate for sex he'll screw a dead cow.

Jack, with all his negativity, was not allowed to stand with Phyllis at Daniel's trial, but now she's hot for him because he let her and Daniel stay rent free at the hotel and once cooed how much he cares about her son. And despite Jack hasn't seen his own son in a coon's age, the same son Phyllis said she wanted to be a step-mother to but never asks how Kyle is doing, buys Jack's caring facade. Phyllis doesn't bitch, or rip the building manager a new one, when she finds Jack standing inside her new apartment beaming how he managed to have it redecorated during the one hour since Phyllis rented it.

"I had the super let me in," Jack actually said, proud of himself, like Dru Winters and others with their polished ability to get superintendents to let them into apartments without any concern as to renters' privacy.

Look too! There's Daniel surveying his new room. It seems like only yesterday the Abbott's weren't part of his family, and here Daniel was licking Jack's boots and ignoring Jack's comment, "I thought I'd be spending a lot time here". Daniel better damm well get used to it. The way Phyllis sluts around Jack will be Daniel's step-dad real soon. In the daze that follow Daniel will be hearing Jack put the pork to his mother like a pig on Viagra. The really sick thing about this is that Daniel already knows. He seems somewhat excited about it so much so he picked up the scent of lust in the room and excused himself so that Jack could nail Phyllis right there before the ink had dried on the rental check.

As he lay awake listening to the moans and groans it would behoove Daniel to start thinking about getting a job and a place of his own in the coming year so as to take the burden off his mother. Jack's fat ass atop Phyllis will be more than enough.

See also: Mom Fantasizes About Sex with Son

Woman Allows Self to be Spat On!

August 5, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with this picture? You've just helped a teenager sneak into the local jail to see her boyfriend and you've been busted. You know this girl encouraged your son to run from the law and got him into more trouble than he might have otherwise, yet you blame yourself that the girl was arrested again for violating terms of her bail. What can you do to rid yourself of the guilt?

You go home to the Abbott Hotel where you've been staying with your former husband since the mess with your son began. You and Jack Abbott haven't exactly been tripping the light fantastic during this short period, but nevertheless you entertain the thought of taking a late night skinny dip in the pool with him if only you could stop thinking about that girl.

Aware that you aren't quite yourself Jack asks what's wrong thereby opening the whine gates. As much as you bitched and moaned and pleaded for someone to get you out when you were in jail twice before, you now say how righteous it would be if only you could take the girl's place in jail.

Jack tells you there's no way you could have known Lily Winters would have been locked up after you dressed her in a disguise and urged her to break the law so you shouldn't be blaming yourself. But you, being so moral and Christian, can't help yourself. You order Jack not to let you off the hook and lament the fact that the creature you hate the most, and the man who said he'd take the blame because it happened on his watch, gave you a good tongue lashing.

You further state the despite the hour you should "bite the bullet" and take what's coming to you by going right over to the wooden box where Neil and Dru Winters reside.

Jack is concerned. Are you sure you want to take Dru "head on?" Are you certain you've never hesitated in the past to make a scene in public and at the office by your persistent and annoying squabbles with Dru? Why, yes. You are. You must make amends because if you don't Dru will come storming right into the hotel and disturb the Abbott family like she's never done before.

You can do this because Jack has been so good to you and your son and you're so "lucky" to have Jack back in your life now. After all, Jack has offered you a job at Jabot Cosmetics because you are so "brilliant at internet marketing" he can't stand it. You are amazed at Jack's praise because you haven't worked in weeks and when you do have no control over what people buy and for anyone to think a company is generating so much in sales it can afford a $50K per year webmaster partially explains why Jabot was close to bankruptcy last year.

So off you go. Without calling ahead you arrive at the box to find the Winters home. Falling on your knees you beg Dru and Neil to whip you. You have been bad and thus deserving to take whatever hatred the Winters wish to bestow upon your sorry ass.

Dru is confused. Are you confessing? You bow your head in the affirmative. You did it for your son who is "dying" in a jail cell. You knew if your son saw the girl of his wet dreams for even a moment it would give him hope. You further agree to tell a Judge you made the girl do what she did, but it's all for not. Dru and Neil do not like you. If anything happens to their pure as the driven snow little girl it will be on your head. As for the letter their precious daughter wrote to your son he'll never see it as Dru is ripping it to shreds and throwing the pieces in your face. Now get your ass outta here and never come back.

There, there now. Don't you feel better? Don't you feel cleansed? Aren't you glad you humiliated yourself and got spit on by the two most repugnant, depraved characters in all of Genoa City? In one fell swoop you have given women of your ilk a bad name. You are a disgrace to privacy information hackers, those who'd like nothing more than to see a certain private eye and lawyer dead, and betrayed those who set motels on fire.

Fighting Hatred with Hatred

May 12, 2005

Does it make your skin crawl? Does it make your stomach churn and feel like you're going to hurl big chunks of green bile? Does it make you want to reach down Phyllis Summers' throat and rip her cold, black heart out except you can't because she doesn't have a heart?

When did Phyllis become a pillar of the community? When was she ever an upstanding, good woman? Was it when she attempted to run down Christine 'Bug' Blair and Paul Williams with a Ford Taurus? Was it when the resulting injury to Williams left him impotent and unable to have sex? Was it when Phyllis fried Sasha Green to a crisp or when she tricked Danny Romalotti into marrying her?

Where does this bitch get off calling Kevin Fisher a freak? If ever there was a case of it takes one to know one Phyllis was it late this week when she stormed over to the Abbott Hotel and immediately seized control. When an invited Kevin showed up Phyllis had the audacity to ask, "What are you doing here," then demanded to know what Kevin's business was.

Told that old man John 'Yawn' Abbott is alive today thanks to Kevin didn't satisfy the flame throwing bitch. Just because Kevin saved a human life doesn't mean squat. Doesn't make him a hero. Kevin could have saved Mother Teresa from a burning building and it wouldn't have made a difference in her book probably because Phyllis would have set the fire. She knows only one thing: Kevin is a freak! She doesn't want him "screwing" around with her, or her son, Daniel Romalotti.

She knows too that Kevin bought the beer for Daniel the other night before the car wreck. She knows this because Kevin said he saw Daniel. Well, maybe not. But if Kevin didn't buy the booze who did? She's going to damn well find out. She's going to make Kevin's mother rue the day he was born too. She's going to tell Gloria Abbott that Kevin is a "con artist" and that "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" when she's a friggin' orchard unto herself.

At a time when practically the entire city hates her son, at a time when Daniel is this close to becoming a convicted felon, at a time when she should be thankful someone cares about her son, at a time when the Newmans are all over Daniel like vultures on dead meat and spite her so for giving birth to the "little punk", it's just so sickening to see Phyllis and people like her crawling with some of the nastiest abuses humans are capable of. It's the ability to ignore the incredible hypocrisy of her own life, the staggering amount of self-loathing, the pathetic insincerity. It's the ability to call Kevin a freak and feel no shame as she steps right up to endorse that exact same hateful agenda.

Yet as the GCN has said so often, Genoa City wouldn't be what it is without its bona fide, first-class, card-carrying hate-filled demons. There is almost too much to explore here, too much twisted psychology and inverted morality. Even when they're being spat on, even as the venomous hate drips from their collective face, the people here fight hatred with hatred.

An Open Letter to Phyllis Summers

February 15, 2005
by Michael Kelly

Phyllis Summers
Newman Enterprises
Genoa City, WI

Dear Phyllis,

I do hope I didn't make a mistake sending this letter to your workplace when you seem to spend so little time here. In the several seen it all years I have been a reporter for the GCN I have never felt the need to write a letter to a citizen but I felt it was time to make an exception where you're concerned.

Before you get a swelled head or begin to feel important, you should know this is no love letter. Hardly. You see, Philly dear, there is very little to love about you. You're loud, stupid, have no class, are a loose cannon and jump head first into already dicey situations without thinking of others' feelings or the ramifications of your actions which only results in getting yourself into trouble.

In fact, you look for trouble the way the proverbial moth yearns for the flame and the oinking, stinking sow craves slop. Your latest stunt, shooting off your fat mouth to your friend Malcontent Winters about your suspicion that he is the biological father of Lily Winters - who is believed by most to be the man's niece - is proof that you've gone too far this time.

The writing was on the wall regarding you placing yourself smack dab in the middle of a potential and no longer private Winters' clan scandal was evident weeks ago when you burst into your co-worker Dru Winters' apartment carrying a package from DMS labs that was intended for Mrs. Winters' eyes only.

Mrs. Winters basically told you to "Butt out, buttinski" but of course you wouldn't listen. You used the excuse that you used to work at DMS and knew they primarily resolve issues of paternity to justify putting your dirty paws on someone else's mail, taking off with it, showing up unannounced and unwelcome at the Winters' residence and asking the woman invasively personal questions and indulging in sordid innuendo during your visit.

Some would say your interference in this matter is an example of Dru's bad karma finally biting her in the ass after she harassed and blackmailed Ashley Carlton over the paternity of her daughter Abby. However, there's far too much baggage in your own checkered, violent past - some of which you have yet to atone for because it has yet to come to light - to make you the appropriate person to make Mrs. Winters pay the piper.

It's funny you mentioned to Dru your previous employment at DMS which, along with your computer expertise, sure came in handy when the time came to fudge the paternity test results of your own son Daniel. How unfortunate for your son's biological father Brian Hamilton and the limp wristed rock n' roller Danny Romalotti whom you chose to pin the boy's paternity on because it was the only way you could sink your claws into the sissy that you felt the need to play with people's lives for years and flaunt your poor taste in men.

Hamilton and your son have yet to set eyes on each other thus denying them their rightful relationship. Danny ultimately showed his true parental colors after depositing the boy in boarding school after obtaining full custody. After a brief reunion Romalotti Sr. and Jr. are once again estranged while Danny Sr. flits around the globe.

If you have a heart and a conscience one would think you'd deeply regret the misery your deception has caused so many. Especially your son. One would think the years you and Daniel were separated would have taught you how precious time with your child is.

If that were true, you probably wouldn't be the neglectful mother you are today who rarely knows where your son is or what he's doing. Denting your emotionally unstable, Samurai sword swinging boyfriend's mattress while Daniel did God only knows what and risking your freedom and relationship with your son so that you could don disguises in an effort to nobly protect your favorite lab rat from an attempted murder charge wasn't a bright move. I'm starting to think your kid would have been better off being raised by the woman you once plowed into with your car Christine "Bug" Blair who, as you put it, ripped your son from your arms.

Getting back to your chat with Malcontent at the God Have Mercy Medical Center regarding your suspicions about Lily's paternity, I'm sure you'll attempt to excuse blabbing your belief he sired the girl at the worst possible place while the man was giving blood to save his brother's life. After all, Malcontent the psychic inexplicably knew you weren't there out of concern for your so-called friend Kneel whose life you "spiced up". He obviously knows you're a cold, calculating loose cannon who cares only about herself and stirring up crap which is why he demanded you cough up the purpose of your visit.

However, when you noted how strangely determined Dru was to get Mal out of town, that Lily was the only person he "bonded with" since his return to town and therefore "I know what is going on between you and Lily" (making it sound like the two were sleeping together, which, if you heard the sickening way those two nauseating nitwits spoke to each other would have been a reasonable assumption), Mal's blood, what little was left of it, ran cold and he demanded you "drop it."

But of course you didn't. To hell with the fact Kneel Winters is lying flat on his back fighting for his life and his family is obnoxiously howling and sobbing with worry. To hell with the fact you more than anyone should know how many lives could be ruined by a paternity secret being leaked. It's more important for you to air dirty laundry like the interfering hag you are than respect other people's privacy. That would take an understanding of the words boundaries, restraint and discretion which you obviously don't have.

If you really want to make yourself useful and do something constructive, make a donation to the GC firehouse in your former DMS co-worker Sasha Green's name since you likely burnt the poor woman to a crisp. Or perhaps invest in some wrinkle cream to take care of those bags under your eyes which are no doubt the result of years of hard living and sleeping around. There's a lot of mileage on that bod of yours, hon. Also, it wouldn't hurt you to get a haircut. You're starting to resemble an Irish setter. Speaking of dogs you bitch, find yourself an extra large muzzle. You obviously need one.

With the best of intentions for you and your potential victims,

Michael Kelly

Crime Case Gains National Attention

January 18, 2005

Even before Phyllis Summers dressed up as a reporter and wormed her way into an interview with the Genoa City Police Department's most inept detective it was a given. I said it, you said it, pretty much anyone with a brain said it maybe a thousand times over. If Hank Weber doesn't recognize "Miss King" he deserves to have his ass kicked off the force. Forget that he's never once solved a case.

As a matter of fact the GCN reported in last week's DAZE that if she was smart Summers would go to the District Attorney and try her act out on Glenn Richards. Maybe he'd buy it.

And damn but what Summers didn't do just that.

There she was at the DA's office Tuesday disguised as Sandra King. A reporter for the Atlanta Times or some other equally obscure paper/magazine for which Richards didn't check, King had traveled all the way from Georgia to find out for her gullible "readers" why prison inmate Dominic Hughes had been paroled early.

The piece she was working on, "Exported Crime & Parole Violation", would attempt to satisfy Georgians supposedly outraged about criminals being let out of prison early even though they'd served minimum sentences. In Hughes' case he was released after eight years which is just one year longer than the standard period before which most all prisoners are granted parole assuming they've been good little child killers.

But what bothered King's readers most was that since being attacked by the crazed samurai sword carrying Damon Porter in Wisconsin, Hughes was getting so much publicity. Hell, every night in Atlanta it seemed Hughes was the topic of the local talk show circuit. His picture in the papers, the headlines were all ablaze with hue and cry.

Parolee Attacked in Genoa City! Georgians Demand Justice!

Just where had Hughes obtained the much talked about gun found that day in a Genoa City motel? Why were two seemingly innocent persons charged with attempting to kill Hughes when Hughes is the so-called "bad apple", King wondered.

Then, too, the story was of much greater concern because Hughes had killed an eight year old boy. It's always about who will save the children, isn't it? And so on and so on and oh, what the hell am I doing in Genoa City asking the DA about the Georgia Parole Board, King did not say, but you know, should have given how freaking and simply staggering it all was.

How gut wrenching. How eyeball gouging. How you try so hard telling yourself that it makes perfect sense for a reporter from Georgia to be in Genoa City when even Genoa City reporters - the GCN not withstanding - have zero interest in this case and not one has requested an interview with the DA or so much as tracked down the easy to find Damon Porter or Phyllis Summers to ask their side of the story.

Had reporters wanted to question Porter they could have found him Tuesday at the Newman Ponderosa preparing to go horseback riding with his ex-wife. Reporters might have found Porter on some remote mountain trail had Adrienne Markham not nearly fainted when she saw a saddle and a horse which reminded her of the saddle used on the pony named "Cinnamon" her now dead son once rode.

You want to block it out. You want to yank your hair and say no way in hell and lean out your window and scream it will all be over soon, even though you know there is more to come and Adrienne was doing just fine moments earlier when she suggested to lover boy Malcolm Winters that they take astronomy or French cooking classes together considering she needs a reason to stay in Genoa City.

Reporters could have also discussed the case with one of the defense attorneys as Michael Baldwin was also taking advantage of free Ponderosa Pony Ride Day too. But there were no local yokels digging into this story because there is no story. Never has been. Never will be. Except, of course, the lone reporter from Georgia.

The one reporter out of a million asking Richards questions and Richards, he having such an erection for Summers and allegedly wanting to get even with her and the creepy lawyer Christine 'Bug' Blair for making a fool out of him during the Abbott pool house fire of yesteryear, did not suspect for a moment that King was Summers.

Inexplicable? Not really. People want to believe. They want to trust, even against all the screaming, flashing evidence. They simply cannot allow that Summers might really be an utter boob and that they are being treated like an abused, beaten housewife who keeps coming back for more, insisting the drunk husband didn't mean it, that she probably had it coming, that the cuts and bruises and blood and broken bones are all for her own good.

Did you hear? Phyllis Summers dressed up like a reporter and interviewed the DA. Did she get busted? Did the DA think it strange for all the reasons mentioned above? Hell no! This is Genoa City. This is where people do and say the dumbest things you ever did hear and almost always get away with it with, of course, the blessings of their lawyers.

Weapons of Mass Distraction

January 14, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

On an episode of the Sopranos one of the not so bright gangsters tells the story of how he and the boys were going hunting for bear. As they drove along and were about to reach the woods a highway sign BARE LEFT came into view. "So we turned around and came home," the gangster says as to why they never went hunting. All the bear had left so why bother?

This pretty much sums up the Phyllis Summers/Damon Porter crime spree. From its inception this playing fast and loose with the law fiasco should never have turned into a criminal case. It is a joke. And not a funny one.

For the uninformed, who may have stopped following the events the moment prison inmate Dominic Hughes was released before his parole hearing began, here's what happened on Friday. These antics alone were enough to make the most pummeled soul vow to never, ever, observe how the Justice System in Genoa City works.

What we have are lawyers and private detectives and those charged with crimes seemingly without any connection to any sort of legal reality or perspective. Only the District Attorney, Glenn Richards, showed this day that he is in agreement. The case is a joke. The lawyers are jokers gone wild.

Prior to meeting with the DA the legal nightmare known as Baldwin, Blair-Williams & Associates was gathered together at its law offices. As attorney Michael Baldwin scribbled on a dry-erase board he remarked that Jack Abbott's contribution to the defense strategy was the best yet.

No attorney he, not much of anything as a matter of fact, Abbott's only connection to the case is that Summers is his former wife and that he'd earlier instructed Baldwin to "work your magic" so that Summers would never go to "prison" again. Not that she ever had, Abbott considered a few days in jail prison-like although there is a world of difference between the two.

For all her previous boasting and speeches about how she knows the law, that she's "invincible" and "a force to be reckoned with" the best Christine 'Bug' Blair could add to the conversation was that they should put their heads together and follow defendant Summers freedom theory. Or, as Baldwin said, "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Never mind that Summers doesn't have a theory, private detective Paul 'Clueless' Williams reminded the group that with the trial set to begin "time is of the essence." In turn, the Bug said, "He's right." With the trial date set they'd better get the evidence they've been concealing from one another into the DA's hands pronto.

Popping up again like an agitated gopher, and with time of the essence, Baldwin wanted to review. Just what do they know?

A - Porter is accused of murder.
B - The prosecution "know" Porter attacked Hughes with a sword.

How does the prosecution know this? According to the Bug it's all in the prison transcript they've been withholding. "It gives them motive [and shows that Porter] had opportunity," she said, which so confused Baldwin he had to ask again, "What do we have?"

It was easy to understand why these great legal minds were confused. If, as apparently it has, the DA's Office charged Porter and Summers with a crime it would have surmised that Porter had motive and opportunity or it wouldn't have brought charges. Furthermore, Porter can't be charged with murder since Hughes is very much alive.

What happened next was all the reason anyone needed to swear on a stack of Bibles that they will never again be a party to this legal buffoonery.

After Porter had restated for the umpteenth time what happened in that motel room while Summers was present Williams said, "Unfortunately we have no solid evidence to prove that's what happened."

No evidence? What about Summers? Is she chopped liver?

And then, as if more proof was needed that these "lawyers" are brain dead, Baldwin said that based on the transcript, "The prosecution can prove your hatred and desire to see him dead."

But it got worse.

"We can't take this [transcript] to court. It's too risky," the Bug squealed, when it was already common knowledge that in order to get Summers off the transcript must be turned over to the DA.

So where did this leave the experts?

Let Summers figure it out! Or, as Summers said without elaborating, "Go to the top of the food chain." Did this mean the police or somebody who might actually interrogate Kramer 'Fuzzy' Walsh? The one person who can tie Hughes to the gun? The man who can testify Hughes planned to knock over the 7-11 with him? Not exactly.

Don't be surprised if Summers pays a visit to detective Hank Weber. Not as defendant Summers, but a reporter looking for a story.

Worse yet, before meeting with the DA to turn over the transcript which was said to be "too risky" the Bug and Baldwin again blamed Richards for having a vendetta against their clients that in some way could be traced back to the years ago Abbott poolhouse fire.

Smug as always, Baldwin sneered, "Read it and weep" as he handed the transcript over to Richards.

Richards nearly burst out laughing. "Don't call us, we'll call you," he as much said telling the buffoons, um, lawyers that he might read the transcript at a later time - most likely not at all.

The Bug was furious. That bastard. Richards was still trying to get even with them for getting Summers off the last time when it was Richards himself who never followed up Diane Jenkins' connection to the fire as if a petty arson conviction might get him promoted to Attorney General.

And again the disposition of this case was left in Summers' hands who said she wanted to do something "creative" like maybe manufacture some evidence of weapons of mass deception. After all, it worked once. Why not again?

Swimming with the Sharks

January 11, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

Sometimes you have to laugh. If you don't you'll breakdown in a bawling fit. You have to laugh that in Genoa City those charged with crimes so often must find ways to free themselves. For all the money they pay lawyers it's usually the defendants who find the evidence that will set them free as close as the daily newspaper.

From the beginning of the Damon Porter/Phyllis Summers legal debacle it was known that another person was with Dominic Hughes the day Summers went to his motel room to hand over $500 Porter had been keeping in a piggy bank which would enable Hughes to get a fresh start. It was known, following Porter's burst into the room as Hughes was attempting to rape Summers and the subsequent samurai sword/handgun battle, that one other person connected to Hughes could testify that the prison parolee had a weapon and planned to holdup a local 7-11.

Police knew too but made no attempt to investigate as they were satisfied Hughes was the victim. Even when the most clueless private detective was told of the gun Paul Williams did nothing. It took Summers, weeks later, to stumble across a newspaper article wherein it was reported that armed robbery suspect Kramer 'Fuzzy' Walsh had been arrested. Walsh is the man Summers said was in the motel room that fateful day.

"Sounds interesting," was the best Summers' attorney could say when told Walsh holds the key to Porter's freedom. Adding, "I don't get it," Michael Baldwin said what everyone already knows. Porter is accused of attempting to kill Hughes.

According to Baldwin "Nothing [in the newspaper] refutes that" as if it would in that the story was about a convenience store bandit who had been captured after being sought "for months" following the November 1 robbery.

Digging deeper into the article Summers noted that Walsh had killed a security guard during the robbery.

"That makes this guy a cold-blooded killer," she surmised, upon which Baldwin quipped, "That makes Fuzzy a very bad man."

The genius with which these so-called legal experts operate is nothing less than appalling. Even Porter's attorney was skeptical. Was Summers certain Walsh is the man she saw with Hughes, creepy Christine 'Bug' Blair wondered as sidekick Williams asked if Summers actually saw Walsh give Hughes the gun.

Summers said she saw what she saw and that it shouldn't matter when, where or who saw the gun. It was found at the crime scene and is conclusive proof that Porter acted in self-defense.

After throwing around some legalese the Bug deferred to Williams. What did he think?

"It fits," Williams actually said, not five minutes after he'd implied the gun wasn't important. Williams then proceeded to admit he's known for some time the gun wasn't registered as if to say all good criminals use registered weapons during the commission of their crimes.

Despite that the gun and Walsh should have been at the top of their list of things to investigate the Bug remarkably flicked off what is truly a "smoking gun" when she said the new development doesn't prove anything.

Morons that they are, Williams said he would "look into this" to see if the gun had been used in any other crimes and the Bug said she'd check with the DA to see if Walsh "is still in custody". Provided Genoa City justice hasn't reared its ugly head again and that a suspect arrested after "months" of being sought had not been released, the Bug said she'd try to cut a deal!

Had flying monkeys been gathered together during this mindless dribble not died from laugher, they may have had they considered where the one person who should be most worried about his future was during this time. While Summers was taking all the risks Porter was sipping on an expensive latte at the Newman Jitter Joint. Not just any latte but the newest blend straight from the shores of Africa - Kenyon roast!

Forget Juan Valdez and that bitter Columbian crap. Kenyon roast is all the rage in Africa and now, thanks to its high-profile daytime coffee shop manager, is being served right in Genoa City.

"I like it!" Porter told Malfunction Winters who said he decided the coffeehouse by day, club for all ages by night, should carry it because, "It has extra meaning for me."

As for Porter being worried about going to prison, he wasn't. His only concern was hooking up again with his former wife, Adrienne Markham.

So it comes to this: Why would anyone hire Baldwin or Blair or Williams to do anything except maybe scrub toilets? They couldn't solve a crossword puzzle if their meaningless lives depended on it. Cases solve themselves long before these clowns get around to investigating leads that were apparent from day one.

Need more proof?

Somewhere during the dark of night Nikki Newman hired Williams to find the missing Bobby Marsino. Did Williams get off his fat ass? Hell no! Nor did he assign unlicensed frat boy J.T Hellstrom to conduct an illegal search of Marsino's credit card usage. Hellstrom had already taken it upon himself to do that free of charge as a favor to the woman he may be in love with and Marsino's wife, Brittany Marsino. The search had proved fruitless as Hellstrom trudged all the way to the Newman ponderosa to report this week. No sooner had Hellstrom given Mrs. Newman an update but what Marsino walked in under his own power.

So much for private detectives and lawyers. If Hellstrom or Williams would spend more time investigating and less time sitting around or going to movies, if Blair spent more time practicing law and less time ignoring evidence, if Baldwin spent less time complaining about the joy of Christmas they might, just once, solve a case without their big-buck-paying clients having to do it for them.

Employee Chews Out Boss, Keeps Job!

January 7, 2005
by Brent Kellogg

For all her faults, for telling her lawyer how the law works and it doesn't matter that evidence that could free her from criminal charges might expire and thus increase the odds of her going straight to prison, Phyllis Summers did something smart this week.

At least on the surface it seemed like a smart thing to do.

She zoomed away from her self-imposed work exile to ask her employer if it's true. Has the uneducated Dru Winters been placed in charge of the entire Newman Enterprises cosmetics division?

Summers knew of the latest bad business decision made by childlike CEO Nick Newman thanks to a personal head's up by Winters herself. The foaming foul mouthed woman had hoofed it all the way to the Newman ponderosa to tell Summers of her new job and to order Summers to pack up and move out of her office. Strange, considering that the head of an entire cosmetics division would most likely qualify for a new, bigger office or at least share that of her mentoring nepotistic husband, Neil.

Crazier yet, and further evidence that Mrs. Winters is barely qualified to scrub toilets and that her otherwise empty soul has become infested with rat dung, was her delusional self importance. If Summers is a good little girl and licks the fingertips of the divine new boss she might get to keep her job.

Summers called Winter's anointment "laughable" but her own delusion of grandeur was just as obscene.

Unlike most employees with supervisors they report to Summers was able to waltz into the CEO's office to demand why she hadn't been considered for Winters' new position. She was, after all, highly qualified. During the course of her employment she hardly ever works, has quit at least once and fired. What nerve little Nick the Prick had not consulting a person with more experience in her "little pinky" than Winters has in her entire big mouth.

Furthermore, why hadn't the Prick held a star search? A lottery? Drew names out of a hat? Why wasn't she, a webmaster, considered?

Were he not a numbskull one might have felt sorry for little Newman having to put up with such insubordination from a lowly employee. Why he didn't fire Summers on the spot can only be explained by her value as a person with Internet skills a child of four could replace in the blink of an eye.

It did occur to Newman that Summers hasn't done any work since her arrest, but even this did not influence his decision not to toss her out like the dime-a-dozen worthless employee she is.

Then, just because there has to be a constant reminder that Newman is so utterly empty and blank eyed and falsely important and had just told Summers why she was never considered for a promotion, he said, "I don't discuss promotions with employees."

Snarling with widespread fear-induced ignorance Summers accused her boss of having an agenda. There was more going on than meets her beady eyes. Newman's promotion of Winters was a lame way to "save face" and a "terrible mistake" just to get the equally useless Neil Winters back. If Newman knows what's good for him he'd back out of the decision while he still can.

And still, after he'd been reamed up one side and down the other little Newman didn't have the balls to fire Summers' ass. He did give her another in a series of empty warnings, however. Summers better clean up her act or she could lose her job not that she ever works.

So here again we have yet another example; more evidence that Nick Newman is gutless and should not be controlling a vast empire. He is but a speck on the coattails of time. Poke him with a stick and out pours sawdust and tiny ball bearings. That's right, Nick. Let your employees bad mouth you to your face and snicker about you behind your back. Let them off with another warning that such intolerance won't be tolerated like, when Dru Winters called you "little Lord Fauntleroy" you reward them with continued employment and promotions.

This is Nick Newman at his best. Numb, dumbed-down and sloth like. Too comatose to speak out as he's being spanked like an adult who just soiled his diapers. Just let them walk all over you, Nick. Let them whip your ignorant and childlike simplicities. Sit back and wait for the apocalypse with a devious grin. You know it's coming.