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News Archives - Katherine Sterling

1.800.ASKTHESTARS

November 30, 2006
by Brent Kellogg

Are you as worried about Katherine Sterling as I am? Are you thinking, my god, the woman is having nightmares and hearing babies cry and looking like death warmed over and asking a pretend private detective to investigate, but yet she swears there is nothing wrong with her? If you were Katherine's daughter, and thank the gods you aren't, wouldn't you insist mother get some professional help? Oh sure, Katherine might refuse, but when has that ever stopped you? When the old lady was dealing with an alcohol addiction, didn't you practically keep her under lock and key? Didn't you call all the liquor stores and demand that they refuse to sell booze to her?

What? You say nightmares are different? There's no way to prevent her from dreaming? You wring your hands and wonder if mother isn't near death and yet you leave her to go party? And you call yourself a daughter? Okay, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt. There isn't much you can do, really.

Katherine's problem, whatever it is, was brought about by her own doing. Call it Karma. When you've done the things Katherine has done; when you've tried to pawn your daughter off onto another woman when she was just a baby; when you've not bothered to find out what happened to that baby and never suspected that that young woman you took into your home as a companion was in fact your daughter, you get what you deserve.

You deserve to have that woman try to steal - not only your man at the time - but other men who have come into your life since the death of Phillip Chancellor. You deserve to have developed a drinking habit for most of your meaningless life and get kidnapped along with your dippy maid and an array of other horrors the likes of which could only happen to a rich, old, hag.

You can try to make amends and hope God will forgive you, but donating a turkey or two to the homeless at Thanksgiving and Christmas is not enough. You must do more. You could for example, provide jobs for the homeless and unemployed at your mega widget factory. You could provide free medical care for the poor at the God Have Mercy Medical Center a wing of which was made possible by you. That the rich get free medical care does not count. You could, because you're rich, build homes for the homeless. Letting your son handle that task does not count either, especially when that son won't build homes in Genoa City.

You could, when you were younger, have done something about your drinking before the alcohol pickled your brain. Now it's too late. Your brain is rotten to the core. It, the brain, is responsible for your nightmares. Garbage in, garbage out, the brain merely reflects your past experience. No wonder you're having nightmares. You are so far gone a team of psychics couldn't help even if one of those psychics is Sylvia Browne who, in the coming daze, will say you are possessed by demons.

You could too, I suppose, ask God for help. But wouldn't that be so old-fashioned? When God - and Cassie Newman - have been credited with so many miracles in this town, isn't it better to consult a psychic? Thought so. Get on the phone. Dial Sylvia up. Spare no expense. Sylvia will drop what she's doing. She will fly on her broom to Genoa City and, if you're lucky, if you get on your arthritic knees before it's too late, Sylvia won't stop first at the Jitter Joint and finding a flyer for the grand re-opening of a nightclub, go there instead to offer her much needed services.

Do it today. That number again: 1.800.ASKTHESTARS

Mausoleum Nightmare

November 20, 2006
by Brent Kellogg

It is a question often asked these days: Whence comes all this dark, dank feeling in Genoa City? Why does all seem tainted and soiled and lost? When did simply living in this city seem like someone poured gasoline into the cesspool and set it on fire? Here, I believe, is the answer.

Katherine Sterling!

Seriously, the old hag has gone back to sniveling about her problems to her one and only friend and only when Nikki Newman hasn't checked in for months to see how the woman - who is like a mother to her - is coping or even alive! It's like Russian Roulette. No matter how many times they spin the cylinder odds are only one bullet will align with the chamber. Help! My life sucks. My daughter is giving me massive headaches and nightmares. Who can I turn too? The ladies at my church? I don't go to church. Don't get me wrong, I do believe in God. I pray whenever a miracle is needed, but God isn't available when it comes to helping with relationships. For that I turn to my friend who is like a daughter. Sure, I'm filthy rich and can afford seeing a shrink, but where's the fun in that when I've got a friend who'll listen for free? I could call my son, but he's busy building homes for the homeless in another state because in Wisconsin we don't give a rip about the homeless. I could chat with my dead husband in the backyard, but my daughter and I forgot about Phillip Chancellor II years ago.

Let me see, what other friend could I turn too? My live-in maid? Nah, she's too stupid. That's why I treat her like a dog. Say, that's an idea. Why don't I get a dog? A toy poodle. Don't all hags like me have a poodle to talk with? No, I need something human-like. I need Nikki. I'm sure she's waiting for me right now at the Athletic Supporter Gym & Motel.

By golly, I was right! Nikki, my darling, that evil Jill is blaming me for chasing her gambling addicted son out of town. Never mind that Billy Abbott went to Hong Kong when Jack Abbott gave his a job there, it's my fault! And the nightmares! I'm having freaky dreams the likes of which Nate Hastings and the Newman kids have never seen.

What? Why don't I see a doctor? Dumb bitch, you think I want that? You think medication will make the nightmares go away? What would I whine about then? Tell me, Nikki. I know you're not a shrink or anything but a professional stripper, what do you think is causing my nightmares? That I gave Jill up when she was a baby? Is that like killing a five-year-old boy? Can't be. Liz Foster gave Jill a good life. Gave her a college education the Foster's did. Applauded Jill they did when the best job Jill could get was digging dirt out from under finger and toe nails. Besides, why would I be having these nightmares fifty freaking years later? Don't you tell me to speak with someone. There ain't no someone. In case you haven't noticed, I have only one friend - you! Oh, you mean, like a professional? Yeah, but... oh, I think I see one now.

Hello, Paul Williams.

I understand you are the finest damn private dick this city has even seen and this isn't probably your area of expertise, but could you help me find a clue? I'm having all these nightmares. You may have heard about them. They're like the ones Sharon Newman and Lauren Baldwin get. You know, babies crying, things like that. No, I haven't seen people looking in the mausoleum windows or sitting on my furniture talking with me, but give it time. Heavens no, Paul! My nightmares put Cassie and Noah Newman's to shame. No, no. Worse than the Hastings kid. Whatever happened to Nate? That's right! My, you are a PI aren't you. Nate went to London and his mother eventually went to be with him and nobody has heard from them since. Hey, what if I left Genoa City? Think my nightmares would go away too? I know, I'm being a silly old woman. You're the expert, Paul. Tell me what to do. I'll pay you well. Yes, I have a pen. Yes, I have a notepad. Are you serious? Put the pen and notepad next to my bed and when I wake up from my nightmares write down what happened? Paul, God bless you. You are a genius! Why didn't I think of that?

Yoo hoo, Paul. Before you go, it just dawned on me. What do I do with the notes? Shove 'em where?

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