NinjaPenguins
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I don’t mind watching the lives and loves of rich people, unless those rich people are Victor and Nikki Newman. My dog, are they awful. Are they serious with this bullshit where Nikki fires people with lust in their eyes and Victor demands lockstep obedience. The problem with these unlikeable, unpleasant douchebags is that they never get their comeuppance, and I think they’re not even supposed to be villains? I can’t with Nikki swanning all over town, lording it over the peons and trying to run their lives. Victor can take his condescending guessing game with Lily and shove it up the puckered leather change purse he calls an ass.
Emo Buttbiscuit is working my last nerve with his morose, shit-stirring, woe is me drama. That blanched pipette hasn’t ever given Jack a reason to trust him, and I hope he inhales a pink slip.
Instead of the flashbacks taking up so much time, why not extend the Billy Miller tribute? He was just perfect as Jack’s kid brother, and even though his Billy could be a fuck-up, he played it perfectly with a touch of lightness that just won’t be replicated. His smile and his charisma made the episodes he was in such a treat.
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Dick In The Box is this week’s advice columnist. Buttbiscuit is still on ASSignment. The Genoa City Blowhole is committed to helping readers with all their emotional needs.
Dear Penis In A Package;
Haha. See what I did there? I’m super duper sad! I’m feeling some sort of way about a guy who is not available. The woman he’s seeing is always nice to me even though I sort of ruined her life by coming out of my mom’s fun house. I’m getting divorced from a man who’s been like a brother to me, so it’s kinda soon to jump into another relationship. He’s big on the law, and I feel like laws don’t apply to me. Oh, and one more weird ass thing; I’ve got a kid but don’t remember ever being knocked up or blowing out my danger zone having one. He’s cool and all, but wtf?
Signed;
Spring Freshdude
Dear Spring;
I am so bored on this business trip that I jumped at the chance to share my wisdom with people. I’ve never read a newspaper, unless wrapping a dookie in one to burn on your lacrosse coach’s doorstep counts. Whatever. Prepare to be taken to school.
Who cares if someone is unavailable. I never did. Still don’t. If you want to tap that azz, jump on it and let the chips fall where they may. People will get over it or they won’t. I’m practically the town bike, or, to be more manly, the town motorcycle. I’ve spelunked (spespunked) in so many forbidden caves - a wife’s friend, a former stepdad’s wife, my bro’s ex, my dad’s ex-wife, the list of locked down ladies I’ve laid could be used to tp Newman Towers. Follow that lady boner to bliss, girlfriend.
You’re kind of annoying with the obvious, dumbass questions, tbh. You sound like my daughter, who would totally believe I had her nose when it was just my thumb. LOL! I played an epic prank on that little asshole. Way back, my first daughter died and I felt, like, a hole in my life. I banged this dude’s lady and she got Prego, right? I thought, cool, and told everyone the DNA test came out in my favor. It did not. Later, this kid started panting after her half-bro, so I thought I should come clean. Then she beat me at Mario Kart, I’m a sore loser, so I’m, like, whatever, I’m your dad. My ex went loopy and took the blame, my daughter was banging the guy and it all got away from me. Whoops! LOL. I’m sorry. It’s still so hilarious.
The kid in your life is not a problem. Raising other people’s kids is a fun, fulfilling hobby, especially if it provides an opportunity to dunk hard on someone. I’m raising my bratty brother’s kid and my car has never run smoother. You got a garage where you’re at?
Dear Dick Box;
I’m one of those unique individuals who learns nothing from my mistakes. Why clutter up your mind with life lessons? If only others felt the same! I’ve committed crimes of a serious nature, yes, and used my muffin for nefarious purposes. I don’t get why people won’t forgive me. I’m never going to change. No regerts!
I was recently approached by a sniveling ferret who offered me millions to hack into a rival’s financial information. I wasn’t going to do it, as this twerp has burned me before, but then I was forced to. A job I never started was harshly taken from me, and this was after my ex-husband was rude to me just because I framed his current wife for murder. He’s such a panty. The catch is that the man I’m hacking has given me a total free pass on my bullshit because I used to do kinky things with his nostrils and a pickle. I can’t say I feel guilty, but it’s nice to have an ally. I’m already thinking about ways I can betray the ferret and still get the cash. Please advise.
Signed;
Stabby McStabface
Dear Stabby;
Sweeeeet name! Noice. I honestly have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, as business is not really my thing. If someone is willing to pay millions for cyber fuckery, then I’d fuck cyber all day, every day. Your ex-husband has a legit beef, I guess, but that’s on him for ever sticking his dick in crazy. I’ve been there, done that, got the crabs. You ride the roller coaster, sometimes you finish the ride with a lapful of regurgitated corn dogs. Don’t betray the ferret, tho, as those little skinny fuckers rock. Hope this helps! I’m going to look at porn and text my girl. Bye!
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Victor Newman watches silently as his daughter’s portrait is removed from the wall of the CEO’s office. A worker carefully pulls the sheet off another grand portrait, looking up in surprise when a younger Victor Newman is revealed. Victor merely nods and chuckles to himself. If only the mover knew! Knew that the mustache in the painting was actually crafted from Lucifer’s pubes. When Victor Newman says he’s got the devil by the short and curlies, people better recognize, yo.
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Nate: Let me know if my dick can do anything to calm your nerves.
Victoria: I’m not nervous. I’m anxious. Nerves can be humped away, but anxiety is inflamed by carnal relations. It’s a whole science thing. Don’t ask me how it works.
Nate: So what are you going to do now, if not me?
Victoria: I’m going to attack my father’s advanced age and undermine him with innuendo about his failing faculties. Out of concern.
Nate: Concern? Or revenge?
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Adam recalls a conversation with his father. It sucked.
Sally: What’s the joke, artichoke?
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Victor admires his portrait with a glass of fancy liquor in hand. He delivers an uppercut to no one in particular as the rush of being the alpha dog surges through his veins. Maybe he’d go on over to Jabot and kick Jack Abbot’s jabutt for old time’s sake. He could invite Nikki and make it a tag team event against Jack and Diane. Yes, he was still at the top of his game.
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Victoria: Revenge is not a factor. I’m worried about my father. He’s been acting erratically, making dumbass decisions and forgetting shit.
Nate: I haven’t noticed any of that.
Victoria: You don’t know him like I do. The other day, he forgot what happened on the Ides of March. He’s been telling us for years that he could have prevented Caesar’s death if his stupid rooster had woken him up. The cock that didn’t crow is the one you have to watch out for, he told me and Nick.
Nate: Thinking about Victor in a toga has guaranteed my cock won’t crow today.
Nikki: Is this serf going to dine with us? Can he not just scrap with the other riff raff for the crumbs we generously allow to stray from our bounty?
Nate: As delightful as that sounds, I’ll just grab a shit sandwich at work. Have a nice lunch.
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Adam: There’s no joke. I’m just remembering a bullshit conversation with my dad. It’s great to have so many to choose from.
Sally: You know what they say, for a good time, argue with Victor Newman.
Adam: For an even better time, slap him in the grill with a partially defrosted salmon.
Sally: I know what your father did broke your heart. The plan to start at the bottom and work your way up is admirable. What if you fail?
Adam: Fail at rock bottom? Thanks for the vote of confidence.
Sally: You have to admit, you do not deal with disappointment well.
Adam: I can deal with it. I’ll just have to confront my failures like a grown up.
Sally touches his forehead and cheek with the back of her hand.
Sally: You don’t seem to have a fever, but there’s some intense heat. Your complexion is flawless. I may need to check the pulse in your groin.
Adam: Nick still out of town, I take it?
Sally: Yeah, he’s got to visit all the Kirsten offices and smooth things over, what with all the Cameron upheaval and Newman cutting them loose. He asked me to leave Lunchables outside his garage three times a day.
Adam: I bet it’s stressful at Kirsten. My dad has never realized that his wheeling and dealing affects actual human beings.
Sally: Loud, disapproving sigh. There’s that ugly cynicism again. Soooo old Adam.
Adam: You’re right. Recognizing the humanity of workers is terrible. Thanks for calling me out. Rolls eyes.
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Nate stands in the doorway of the Newman Enterprises’ most powerful office. Victor is staring at his portrait with an enigmatic gaze. The young executive watches as the shadow cast by his boss’ figure walks toward the picture and melts into it. His side part tingles. The moment passes.
Nate: I hope I’m not interrupting anything occult.
Victor: Of course not. I was considering freeing the monster and beating it lightly to let it know who its master is, k? How could I not, standing before this symbol of raw virility and unbridled power?
Nate: I actually hope you’re talking about masturbation, sir.
Victor: Come here. I wish to show you something.
Nate: I’d rather not.
Victor: It is a phrase of the day calendar, k? Today’s expression is ‘smooth the waters.’ Tell me, have you seen Victoria?
Nate: Yes. She was having lunch with Nikki.
Victor: And how is she taking her demotion?
Nate: Well, it’s a shock to her. She’ll need time to process it. I, of course, feel that if your name is on the building, then it’s your prerogative to do whatever the hell you want.
Victor: You polish the apple like no other, young man. And I see you have indulged in the pleasures of a word of the day calendar. Now, do you think Victoria understands that my taking the reins is not a criticism of her work?
Nate: Um, I uh -
Victor: Good, good. I shall require her expertise in what the hell has been going on these past few months. These figures look like hieroglyphics! Did I tell you about my time carving the Rosetta stone? Nefertiti spanked my ankh every damn day, k?
Nate: Well, I’m sure you have a lot to accomplish on your first day, so -
Victor: Pour yourself a drink, Nate. We must consult my calendar.
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Sally: How much have you had to drink?
Adam: Not enough, Officer.
Sally: I’m only asking because I know how morose you get. Morose and uninhibited. Have you had anything to eat?
Adam: Humble pie.
Sally: Alcohol and an empty stomach do not mix. And I’m starving.
Adam: Are you suggesting we dine together?
Sally: I’m suggesting we do something mutually satisfying on a surface draped in fabric.
Adam: I won’t read anything into this. We’re just two friends celebrating our new direction in life.
Sally: Sigh.
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Nikki: Our matching salads are so cute.
Victoria: Your suit and top look atrocious together.
Nikki: Perhaps you should do more than sniff your lettuce. That waiter sustained a cut when he accidentally collided with your elbow.
Victoria: Goddamn it, Mom. Can’t you see Dad has lost his fucking mind?
Nikki: Victoria! Language!
Victoria: I’m sorry, but I’m just so concerned about Dad’s clearly deteriorating mental state.
Nikki: Because he decided to take your job? It’s his playground, if he wants to pee down the slide, that’s his decision.
Victoria: Oh, so now I have to worry about both of you.
Nikki: Darling, I know you’re terribly hurt, but I think you’re reaching here. Age simply doesn’t affect your father.
Victoria: Something has him doing crazy shit. First he wants to acquire Sharon’s and Nick’s and Adam’s company, then he changes all the rules on them. He fires Adam. He offers Sally a fantastic job and pulls the rug out from under her. He just changes things on a whim!
Nikki: That’s your father’s hobby, dear. And really, you’re viewing your father’s decisions in the wrong context. He’s not becoming a doddering fool at all. He’s just an asshole who loves to fuck with people.
Victoria: Excuse you? Language!
Nikki: Rules are for thee and not for me. Eat your salad.
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Victor: I believe these humble calendars carry in them universal wisdom. Therefore, I ask that you help smooth the waters between Victoria and me.
Nate: Being smooth is what I do. I want to makes this transition as peaceful as possible for Vic and the company. I believe Newman Enterprises will come out of this more unified than ever.
Victor: You magnificent glad handing son of a bitch! I could have used you while helping negotiate the Louisiana Purchase. I think I got a raw deal, k? Now, be honest with me. Is Victoria plotting my downfall?
Nate: Nah. She’s salty as hell, but who wouldn’t be, getting demoted like that? She’ll come around for the good of the business.
Victor: My daughter is a stubborn one. Always has been. She once made Nicholas muck out our stalls by hand after she caught him using Sharpies to draw nipples on her Barbie dolls.
Nate: That sounds like her. And him, for that matter.
Victor: She did not even accept a promotion until she felt she deserved it. She did not want to appear to get by on her name.
Nate: Sure. That worked out well.
Victor: She started in the mail room, k? Her job was to stamp FIRED on the forehead of any employee who sorted mail at less than five pieces per second.
Nate: Is that right?
Victor: I am bored with you now and wish to practice my boxing. You will go forth and smooth the waters until they are as sleek as a mirror. Iron them with your velvety double talk, k? I am counting on you.
Nate: Gratified to hear it, sir.
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Adam: A bottle of your finest champagne, Jeeves.
Sally: Champagne? Is his name really Jeeves?
Adam: Today it is. And it’s a platonic bottle of bubbly. We’re celebrating our new lease on life. I have my reinvention all plotted out.
Sally: Fuckin’ a, dummy. First your cynical concern for working people and now you’re using naughty words. Why say plotted? You could use words like planned or mapped instead of plotted. Just old Adam shit rearing its ugly head.
Adam: You’re super uptight. I’m not scheming. Why do you automatically assume I have some ulterior motive?
Sally: I know you. And, yeah, I might need my cork popped.
Adam: Hey, enough about me. Let’s talk about your new interior design venture. I know you’re going to succeed because you’re awesome.
Sally: That’s kind of you to say. I’m on a designing bender. I’m so inspired and rejuvenated with all the peace and quiet this week. I never imagined I could find something I loved as much as fashion, but here we are.
Adam: Excellent. I love seeing you happy and smiling and laughing. You’ve come a long way.
Sally: We both have come a long way. I appreciate how long it takes you to get there. You’re very considerate that way. It’s really great that we’ve come at the same time.
Adam: I feel reborn. And drunk as fuck on champagne.
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Victoria: Let me try a more appealing approach. This is all Adam’s fault.
Nikki: Amen to that. No arguments from me. Adam bashing is the crouton on the salad of life.
Victoria: Adam’s nonsense with McCall and the merger has driven Daddy to a mental breakdown. The stress from his very existence has fried the old fart’s already withered synapses.
Nikki: I know exactly what you’re doing.
Victoria: I am worrying about Dad’s health. I don’t want to lose him to something as meaningless as business.
Nikki: Never fear, my dear. I will never allow your father to become ill. I have placed his phylactery under an abandoned church, which should give him several more millennia. You’re welcome.
Victoria: Will you at least talk to him?
Nikki: I will, of course, make sure he’s in adequate shape. And I’ll tell him you’ve solved world hunger and can breezily throw out a perfectly fine salad.
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Adam: Balls. We’re out of champagne.
Sally: Noooooo. Too bad your dick isn’t a Dom Perignon tap.
Adam: Haha. What?
Sally: It’s past my bedtime. I’m going upstairs to sleep naked.
Adam: Please allow me to do something without any strings attached. May I walk you to your room?
Sally: That would be amazing.
Adam: I’ve missed being able to hang out and talk like this. I’ve missed my friend.
Sally: I have also missed my friend. And that thing you used to do with your tongue that made my eyes roll back in my head.
Adam: I’ve missed your sense of humor most of all. I’mma kiss you now like a damn fool.
Sally: Sorry.
Adam: Sorry. That was my champagne brain. This never happened.
Sally: What never happened? You know, if Nick was here, he wouldn’t get it and tell me ‘the kiss, you buttmunch”.
Adam: A perfect boner killer to finish the evening. Good night.
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Victoria storms into her office, still steaming from everyone’s refusal to help her ageist crusade. Someone has drank something recently. Two someones, actually. She carefully lifts fingerprints from the glasses, then swirls the liquid about and takes a delicate sniff. Using an eye dropper, she acquires a sample of alcohol to send to the lab. Then she notices her father glowering down at her from the wall and a white hot flame of rage burns through her. She wished she’d papered the office in Hello Kitty and installed shag carpeting. The old man deserved to suck it.
Victoria: That fucker sure moves fast.
Nate: I had a conversation with him and -
Victoria: The evidence speaks for itself, you devious, side parted traitor. You told him my plans to bring the hammer of justice down on his thick head, didn’t you? Didn’t you!
Nate: Why the fuck would I do that? And there’s only one instrument of justice in Genoa City, the silver briefcase my Uncle Neil once carried. Put some respect on his name.
Victoria: You’re a known backstabber. And Widdle Natey wuvs to get ahead by impwessing the big boss man.
Nate: I actually protected you, but your plan sucks. Right now, you suck.
Victoria: Well, it’s a damn shame you won’t take my side, Natey Nate Nate. The sexual harassment around here is about to get real AF. .
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Victor: Baby baby my baby.
Nikki: Baby let’s take a trip baby.
Victor: I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, though I did ride a fine dappled horse in the Middle Ages. Its saddlebags were full of onions I sold to men to put on their belts.
Nikki: We’re both taking on serious responsibilities soon. I really need to recharge my snoot batteries. And it will give Victoria time to accept the changes.
Victor: Baby.
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Genoa City Blowhole is happy to introduce our first guest advice columnist, The Swoosh!
Dear Swoosh;
I have some vague suspicions about my latest girlfriend and would appreciate you putting my mind at ease. Today I found her chatting with an old fuck buddy. Her dress was on backwards and her hair looked blown back. Mysteriously, she declined a pre-meeting meat massage even though I’m a tall, smooth glass of vanilla chai, if I do say so myself. Then my uncle, who I like to call The Under(wear)taker, asks me to spy on her because her old fuck buddy is plotting vengeance against my family. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is amiss.
Signed;
Nervous Nuts
Dear Nuts;
You could probably put your finger on it if your thumb wasn’t firmly ensconced betwixt your buttocks. Do you need the money shot to hit you between the eyes? Your lady just got plowed like a field of fennel and it was not your equipment doing the work. I strongly recommend you do no spying for your uncle, as your inability to put two and two together doesn’t reflect well on your strategic thinking skills. I sense a young man whose mother stitches his address inside his underpants but then gets lost after some flatulence breaks the seal. You refer to yourself as a tall glass of vanilla chai. Well, a twosome involves a couple having sex, a threesome is a menage a trois, so what does being handsome mean? Gosh, I like how I can cut loose in this gig.
Dear Swoosh;
I’m an innovator, an entrepreneur and kind of a dick, but with like a soupçon of charm. My latest project involves developing a philosophy sure to take the world by storm. It’s called Fuck You Zen. It’s just zen, but edgy. The rollout has been a bit rough, as I torpedoed my new marriage by having a titty fit over my wife choosing to mend fences with her family. My ego just would not. I strutted home, full of manpain, resentment, blue balls and immeasurable rage. The blue balls koan was solved quickly, but my shit attitude isn’t winning any converts. I left a deranged message on the wife’s voicemail, which I realized was a little past edgy. I just want people to understand that I’m rolling out a new product, and there will be bumps in the road. I’m not a nasty, controlling cheat, but a patron saint of pricks. Also, I’mma steal Jack Abbot’s lunch money.
Signed;
It’s Me, Tucker McCall
Dear Tucker;
How’s the bottom of that bus look, buddy? You’ll get to know every drop of oil, fleck of rust and the sweet, sweet taste of exhaust as it backs up over you. Repeatedly. Is your name Victor Newman? No? Then you’re about to be kicked in the dick by a kangaroo wearing steel toed boots. G’day, mate!
I was once at the top of my game, a CEO who could have almost any woman he wanted. I was throwing chairs out windows and stepping over my prone opponent after his original demon heart gave out. Now I’m a naive, romantic dope who would marry a shrimp fork if it gleamed at me just right. I’ve had a dead hooker left in my bed, lost a couple of paternity sweepstakes and was kidnapped and brutalized, only to have my brother mock my suffering and fuck my wife. Did I get to fold that swizzle stick accordion style and play the Thong Song on him. No, sir, I did not. This is the grim(acing) future ahead of any businessman not named Victor Newman.
Smilin’ Jack Abbot would normally feed you his lunch money like you were a vending machine and he wanted that Butterfinger, but sad, sweet sap Jack will put his money on a small velvet pillow like it’s hotel mints and hand it to you with a graceful flourish. He’ll probably thank you for taking it and be content that he took the high road. Have fun swatting at the persistent little Buttbiscuit nipping at your ankles!
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Dear Readers;
First of all, read this letter in Christian Bale’s Batman voice with the Mission Impossible theme playing in the background. The scene is now set.
I will be taking a leave of absence from my popular advice column in order to execute the most daring, high stakes undercover operation in the history of the modern world. Will my life be in danger? Undoubtedly. I must do this to secure my father’s legacy of success and wealth beyond what you losers can imagine. Seriously, I could jack my rabbit using Benjamins to catch the payload and still be able to buy another yacht.
I will be engaged in a battle of wits with a diabolical hustler who quite probably murdered my sister and buried her under the Eiffel Tower. Fortunately my mind is a well honed rapier, forged in the fires of of hellish adversity. My opponent has an agile mind and bottomless thirst for violence, which will make my ultimate victory all the more satisfying.
I would never leave you poor saps in the lurch, wrestling with thorny human problems without a coach to encourage you and slap your ass. The Genoa City Blowhole will feature a roster of guest columnists to help you rubes locate your butts without a map, two hands and a flashlight. None will be as wise or empathetic as me, but they’ll do until I vanquish the evil that haunts my family. I shall return triumphant.
Your hero,
Buttbiscuit
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MacKenzie was the surrogate for Lily and the blunder from down under, not Heather.
I also have no problem with Lucy calling Heather mom, considering Heather has raised her from a very young age. The show did acknowledge Daniel’s crazy rapist when Lucy told Johnny that she didn’t know her biological mother but understood she was a pretty awful person.
Show, stop talking about Daniel’s awful ways if you’re not going to tell us what the fuck he did. Make an effort, writers, if you can tear yourself away from penning the endless Newman Media saga.
Wtf with Ashley and Tucker breaking up on their honeymoon? Suddenly he wants Jabot? It’s probably safe, though, with streetwise rogue agent Billy Buttbiscuit as its noble guardian. Tucker may have the smarts and style, but Billy is packing a sneeze that can straight punch a hole in the space-time continuum. Hopefully he’ll blow his nose and send the show into a timeline without JG. The guy will just wipe out months of story for whatever reason - boredom, lack of talent, a whim.
I love Tucker and like Audra, but I was incredibly skeeved out by their afterglow. I don’t even know why. It wasn’t like Nick/Sally levels of gross, but it had a touch of ick. I did enjoy Bouffant catching all them strays though.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I thought my boyfriend walked on water, but now I suspect he lurches through a diarrheal lagoon. He was incredibly rude and insensitive today, first engaging with his ex while completely ignoring me. Then he doubled down on the dick moves by implying it was karma that his brother lost a child. That child also happened to be mine. I felt the scales fall from my eyes, and the first thing I saw? Man titties. When he realized I was not pleased, he kept saying even dumber shit before asking to change the subject. For an added bonus, he told me how I should and should not feel about my ex. Later, there was a knock at my door. When I looked through the peephole and saw my ex, I found myself fixing my hair. Is my current relationship doomed?
Signed;
Putting the Ex in Sex
Dear Sex;
I hate to be crude, but DUH!!! I don’t know how you stand the feeling of your boyfriend’s jigglypuffs chafing your nips. Gross. I, of course, have never suffered the indignity of dude udders thanks to my nightly regimen of wearing restraining gear to maintain a concave chest. As for his boorish manners, sometimes the best way to correct a person is a quick, efficient punch to the nuggets. To make this more about me, I have given my brother enough shit to fertilize every inch of land on earth. In fact, I’m plotting to fuck him over as I type this. No matter how many times I insult, betray and abuse my bro, he’s never thrown my dead daughter in my face. The thought would never cross his mind, let alone the words ever crossing his lips. I can 1000% guarantee my brother has suffered more because of me than your boyfriend has due to his brother. God I’m a dick.
Dear Buttbiscuit;
I never imagined I’d be writing in to a piping hot rectal roll for advice, but life is an adventure, right! My daughter is still a baby and we’ve just discovered she has profound hearing loss. I subsequently came down with profound chill loss. All I can do lately is lament my daughter’s condition, proclaim her doomed to a miserable life and cry to my mother. I even up and moved in with my dear friends because one of them experienced something similar to my daughter’s ordeal. My wife and I basically have nothing else going on in our lives. Occasionally, we get together with my mother and have a strong woman circle jerk until someone throws up from all the cloying bullshit. How can we get more interesting storylines? I can’t listen to many more of my mom’s platitudes.
Signed;
My Life is a Dial Tone
Dear Dial Tone;
Whoa whoa whoa. Don’t knock the platitudes, friend! They are my bread and butter, a truly efficient way to deposit a pearl of wisdom into a conversation you haven’t been listening to. People will eat that shit up with a spoon, especially if you’re regurgitating greeting card banalities with an ironic, jaunty flair. If you’ve been a self-destructive disaster for years, somehow that makes the bromides all the sweeter. But I suppose you didn’t email me to get advice on how to manipulate people or cleverly pretend to give the slightest fuck about others. As a front burner studmuffin from way back, I can’t tell you there’s a magic formula for getting primo stories. Personally, I’d love scenes of my family blowing sunshine up my nethers. I’m sure your daughter’s condition will be treated with the same sensitivity and respect as Sharon’s bipolar disorder or Chelsea’s suicide attempt. Things could always be worse. You could be wearing a chipmunk head, killing nazis with your thighs or loudly chewing gum to signify a psychotic break. It is what it is. See? Cliches rule, thinking drools.
Dear Buttbiscuit;
I’m going to be right up front with you. I am a highly ambitious, painfully sexy, smug son of a bitch. I rock a suit like a boss and my business deals make it rain all over the place. I’m a force of nature, tbh. As off putting as my arrogance and swagger are, there’s something worse out there, lurking on the corporate ladder. The wife of the owner works at my company, and she is as rigid and cold as a polar bear’s pea shooter on Pluto. A non-stop stream of insults, insinuations and threats pour from her mouth like a douchebag dam burst. Today, she asked (demanded!) that I resign so that her B-cup baby boy would come back to work. Isn’t nepotism supposed to be a bad thing? This dude has worked here before and spent 7 hours a day playing spank solitaire on the computer, and yes, that is exactly what you think it is. The other hour was used to hit other people’s desks and spell BOOBIES on their calculators. I may be a first class wanker, but my work is solid. Fortunately, the big cheese didn’t go for my dismissal, and the CEO really appreciates my bottom line. I feel like maybe I should consult a lawyer? WWBBD? What Would ButtBiscuit Do?
Signed;
Eat Shit Nikki Newman
Dear Eat Shit;
I’ve been getting A LOT of letters about this person lately, and there’s not a kind word to be had in any of them. Did anyone order a bride of Dracula Pez dispenser that doles out little rectangles of arsenic and cruelty? No, motherfucker, they did not. Public Service Announcement: Nikki Newman is not the empress of the universe or even Genoa City. Her reign as Queen Shit of Turd Mountain is currently (and ironically!) clogging up the court system. Now, I think nepotism is just fabulous and I’ve milked it for all it’s worth. When such a great concept is used to hand posh jobs to free balling fart miners, I draw the line and so should you. Be smart about it - write everything down, especially detailed descriptions of desktop dick dancing with your boss. Send it to me and I’ll pass it on to my elite legal team of Me, Myself, and I, attorneys-at-law. As someone who is also dealing with a corporate snake in the grass, I wish you good luck.
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Fools! Judgmental fools! The cameraman who appeared on camera is a character on the show. He is Skip Picnic, documentary filmmaker. His job is to create the definitive life story of Victor Newman, from a prophecy in the Necronomicon whispered into existence by a demon to the mumbling industrialist of today. How does a man go from timeless, vampiric entity to having his most mundane moments recorded by some schmuck plopped into his living room? Your guess is as good as mine.
90% of the biopic will be various retellings of the orphanage story. A few minutes are carved out to highlight the Abbot family’s secret identity as vampire hunters and their inability to purge the mortal realm of mustached malevolence. Victor Newman isn’t just a hunted abomination; he’s also a family man, father to a wraith, sasquatch and two other ones. Eons of passion preceded his domestic phase, including torrid affairs with queens, saints and warrior women (and possibly mermaids, succubi, Medusa and some kind of fucked up half-unicorn centaur). The documentary will be rated V(omit).
The final 45 minutes are reserved for a Newman Media infomercial, because the public clearly wants more Newman Media content. Interview With a Grampire: The Life and Legacy of Victor Newman will be shown exclusively on Newman Media’s streaming platform. Newman Media! For all your Newman Media needs.
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It would be great if Jack and Diane could stop acting like Kyle is smoking crack behind Rexx Rugs with a gang of serial killing hobo clowns instead of just enjoying a Summer-free life. I felt like I was taking crazy pills listening to them lecture Kid Pomp about the dark path he’s been going down by kicking his asshole habit.
Bouffant Boy, on the other hand, is sporting a great deal of unearned arrogance. He’s not fit to hold Smiling Jack’s jock. I love how he always wants someone shitcanned at Jabot to soothe his feelings. First Adam, then Buttbiscuit. While Billy definitely deserves a pink slip shoved up his panpipes, Kyle’s Little Lord Fuckleroy act takes a bit of the joy out of it. Isn’t it great, though, that JG is recycling Ashley’s scripts for the past few months and putting Billy’s name on them?
Nick remains annoying AF. Did Sharon ask you to fight her battles for her? Did anyone ask a potato with moobs to provide psychoanalysis of Adam? No? Shut the fuck up. He’s a judgmental ass, just like his mother.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I’ve finally lost 110 pounds of dipshit weight, and everyone I know keeps finding it and dropping it on my doorstep like it’s a burning brown paper bag full of poodle noodles. I shitcanned my spouse so hard, but no one will accept that I’m enjoying my freedom. They constantly encourage me with cheerful advice, like “incest is best, put your sister to the test” and “why can’t you overlook lying and obstructing a murder case, bitch?” They think I’m hiding some deep, secret pain when I’m actually getting my booty rocked like never before. How can I make my friends and family fuck off?
Signed;
Smilin’ and Profilin’
Dear Smilin’;
You fool. You poor, sweet fool. You’ve got the world eating out of your hand and showering you with sympathy! Lean in to the “poor me” routine. You honestly can’t lose. Both my girlfriend and I have, at various times, parlayed our emotional crises into job opportunities, sexual encounters and free donuts. Even if you’re feeling dandy fine, you don’t have to broadcast it to the world and pinch off the attention supply. If your loved ones grow weary of your sulking, you turn that ish right around on them and shove it up their downspout. I do it to my idiot brother all the time. Making people feel guilty for shit you pulled on them is the ultimate high. By the way, I’m an expert analyst of the written word and your letter tells me that your mom is a whore. Good luck!
Dear Buttbiscuit;
Today, I received an unwelcome visit from a particularly odious relative. Using the double barrel snotgun in the middle of his face, he inhales all joy from the room and exhales bitterness. We’ve recently healed a rift in our family, and this joker wants to stir more shit without licking the spoon. He’s fixated on his brother’s wife as some sort of corporate usurper, out to knock him off his perch. He is unmoved that this same woman saved his sister’s life, despite his sister being a complete ass to her. Nothing seems to penetrate his perimeter of self-regard. He expected me to join him in his wacky crusade to shiv my beloved uncle. I have always tried to play the role of peacemaker in my family, which he would know if he gave the first fuck about anything other than his own feelings. How can I tell him to fuck off and fly right?
Signed;
The Jackwagon’s Niece
Dear Niece;
Well, the letters all seem to share a common theme today, and it’s not even Fuck Off Friday! Hold off on silencing your uncle with a stern word and consider the possibility that he’s 100% right. Perhaps the only thing he’s “obsessed” with is preserving his family legacy. Could it be that his brother is sadly slipping into his dotage, unable to muster the moxie to beat back all comers? How do you know that your “odious relative” hasn’t already spent years satisfying the old fool’s women with his potent and magnificent staff? Sounds like your much maligned uncle has earned the right to grace the corporate throne with his resplendent buttocks, which you would be wise to start kissing in earnest.
Dear Buttbiscuit;
Lately I have been having issues with something called a “human resources department” at my workplace. Isn’t that a kick? When I first heard the name, I figured it was the division that provided my husband with thralls. As it turns out, this department takes an interest in how employees are treated. Sounds a bit communist to me, but you seem to be an astute member of the moneyed class who can judge my behavior with the proper eye.
As the lady in charge, I must oversee every aspect of my employees’ lives. Who are they calling or texting? Who are they sleeping with? What brand of toothpaste do they use? Are they lascivious leg spreaders who diddle your granddaughter’s ex-husband? I simply can’t trust any employee who won’t lay their medical records bare for me to peruse. If Mr. Codswallop in Accounting has a rectal prolapse, I need to quickly work up a pretext to boot him off the company insurance rolls. We can’t leave our asses hanging out financially.
The worst part of this whole ordeal is that there have been complaints about how I speak to the lowlifes scuttling about the office. It’s terribly hurtful, as I pride myself on being able to fake empathy for the poors. Goodness, when did it become inappropriate to pelt your lessers with ramen noodles when they snicker at your jacket/pantsuit combo? Anyways, how can I tell HR to fuck off? It’s what Katherine and Neil would have wanted.
Signed;
Picky Human
Dear Picky;
Pardon moi, but you sound like you’d be a nightmare as a mother-in-law. You’ve written to the right man, at any rate. After a deep dive into a post-nuptial agreement, I now am considered a legal expert. Reading a document is essentially the same as passing the Wisconsin bar exam. Now, you could fire your entire human resources department, but, honestly, you’ll just get another batch of officious sticklers in their place. Fire a staff enough times, mix in that nepotism you hinted at, and soon some government agency is looking through your books. Pro-tip: don’t compound your problems by buying a five million dollar fuckboat. Kiwi almond personal lubricant is not a legit tax deduction.
Here’s an intriguing thought. As my bro likes to tell me, silence is golden, fuckface. Let it pay. Keep the roasts and ripostes to yourself, let your disdain reach a boiling point and then explode in a cataclysm of self-destructive dumbfuckery. Eventually your family will get used to it and consider it part of your charm.
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Nikki: Summer! I haven’t thought about you in months. How’s your marriage to that upside down toilet brush?
Summer: We’re getting divorced.
Nikki: But you’ve been through so much! As siblings and lovers.
Summer: He’s whoring around with Audra Charles, who is a whore. The problem is definitely that slut and not all the criming and lying I did.
Nikki: I didn’t think I’d get to crush another peasant so soon.
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Kyle: Can I interest you in a bouffant buffet for dessert?
Audra: I think I’d like a refreshing pompsicle.
Nate: Sorry, but I have to interrupt before you make the whole restaurant sick.
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Jack: Thank goodness you’re still alive, Ash. I bet you’ll make me regret saying that within 20 minutes.
Ashley: I don’t know what’s more shocking, that I somehow choked on a grape while eating broccoli alfredo or that Satan herself saved my life.
Jack: You don’t think that Diane would let you choke to death, do you?
Ashley: I don’t think she’d piss on me if I was on fire, unless she could piss gasoline.
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Billy indignantly recalls Jack’s lack of trust in his lying, cheating, gambling ass. Adam saunters in and perches on a nearby stool.
Adam: Scotch. Neat.
Billy: Ah, yes. The universal elixir for manpain.
Adam: I thought I felt a draft.
Billy: I think I can finally see the world through your eyes. Your deep, soulful eyes.
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Summer: Grandma, I did lie to Kyle and push him away.
Nikki: Newmans can do no wrong. I’m so glad you told me this. I have a meeting with Miss Hot to Trot this afternoon. I shall endeavor to put her in her place, which is under my shoe.
Summer: Oh…no. Please don’t do that, grandma. Not for little ol’ me.
Nikki: Audra needs a good dose of humility. Why shouldn’t it come from me? I am the most humble person I know.
Summer: I suppose I wouldn’t mind. You really twisted my arm.
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Jack: This woman who you thought wanted you dead saw you choking, did a small, albeit tasteful dance and immediately jumped in to save your life.
Ashley: I mean, there were a lot of people there. I’m sure that if I’d turned blue, someone would have intervened.
Jack: You flatter yourself. But I know you’d do the same for Diane.
Ashley: No. In fact, I’d crane kick anyone who tried to help her.
Jack: Underneath that brittle, obsessive shell is a loving heart and kind soul.
Ashley: Goddamn you’re naive. I pray every day for that bitch to choke on a bottle cap.
Jack: Oh, you. I think this could be the olive branch we’ve been looking for.
Ashley: Don’t hand me an olive branch, Jackie. I’ll make a Diane popsicle out of it.
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Audra: If this is about Newman Media, Kyle works there. You can speak freely in front of him.
Kyle and Nate eye each other warily, two young gladiators taking each other’s measure and assessing each other’s hair game. Nate can just tell the air is thinner at the top of Kyle’s head. The Abbot scion instinctively realizes that Nate’s side part symbolizes a path to nirvana. They exchange nods of mutual respect. Just kidding. They’re both idiots, ready to unzip and whip ‘em out for the ruler to judge.
Nate: Alright. Victoria called, and, well, you didn’t hear this from me, but Adam is dunzo at Newman. He’s cut off completely.
Kyle: Awwww yaaassssss. I whooped that ass again!
Audra: Huh. That is unexpected. What about the merger? What happens to SNA?
Nate: The merger is still on. Nick is back in the Newman Enterprises fold as co-CEO with Victoria.
Audra: That’s Nikki’s job.
Nate: She’s now CEO of Newman Media.
Audra: So Victor lied to me.
Nate: Not quite. You’ll be Nikki’s COO, her second in command.
Audra: Well, I’m fucked. She doesn’t trust me and acts like I’m the one who graduated from Stripper Pole University, home of the fighting Thigh Rashes.
Kyle: What about meeeeeee?
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Adam: Something terrible must have happened to make you see things from my perspective. Jack cut off your shoe polish allowance?
Billy: Look, dillweed, I had a brief moment of empathy and a jostling in my shorts when you smirked at me. But don’t get it twisted; we ain’t bros.
Adam: I wasn’t trying to be your bro, bro. But you can’t relate to me, and it’s not just because you’re emotionally dead inside. I am a cold, selfish, power hungry narcissist, while you are a mere fuck up. You’ll never be on my level.
Billy: I don’t disagree. But I get what it feels like to have everyone just waiting for you to fail or go back to your old bad habits.
Adam: You don’t know shit. What did you do to Jack this time?
Billy: Not a damn thing. He just refuses to trust me.
Adam: That’s weird, because he trusts me. In fact, he’s wistfully told me he wishes I was his son or brother. You and Kyle suck all species of ass. Do you even realize you’re only co-CEO because I chose to leave Jabot? Deep in your heart, you know Jack would take me back yesterday.
Billy: Don’t presume to know what’s in my heart, fucko. One day, you’ll have sex with Jack’s wife, rub his nose in it, mock his manhood as he suffers PTSD and then have a filthy, shame-soaked fuck party with his wife’s daughter. Then we’ll see who Jack’s favorite is.
Adam: ….
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Jack: I think we should take this as a sign to really make peace, to reunite the family, to spread rainbows, sunshine and confetti, to -
Ashley: Okay okay okay. Stop cosplaying as a greeting card. I just wanted you to understand that I’ve been trying to save your life. Metaphorically. And literally. Diane is definitely plotting to kill you for your money and assets. The post-nuptial agreement was a brilliant feint, I will admit.
Jack: I miss you, Ash. And I want to get you the help you need.
Ashley: I’ll back off, but a lot of this depends on Diane. If she so much as looks at me funny, she’ll be found floating in Jeremy Stark Memorial Lake.
Jack: I’m sure she’ll behave, being sane and all.
Ashley: What about you? Will you accept Tucker McCall as your spirit animal? He is my husband.
Jack: Ah come on. You know that I’m subconsciously halfway there. I just want to go back to fighting over stupid shit, like whether Billy looks more like an anteater or an alpaca.
Ashley: Don’t forget the great mortician versus reverse mortgage salesman debate. Remember Traci coming in hot with ID channel schmuck who murders his wife for insurance money, but gets busted after police find corpse disposal research in his Google history?
Jack: She is a writer. I hope this means you’ll come back to the family company. It’s where you belong, not at some competing business.
Ashley: I’ll think about it. You’ve got me well and truly boxed in here, but given enough time, I’m sure I can find a solid reason to continue my vendetta.
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Audra: I’ve got your back, Kyle. Not to mention your front.
Nate: Why would you be in danger, Kyle? It’s not like Nikki has a grudge against you, right?
Kyle: Dude, come on. I’m divorcing her granddaughter.
Nate: Does Nikki even know that? She doesn’t spend much time among the plebes if she can help it.
Kyle: I’m sure Summer has already tattled on me.
Audra: When I meet with Nikki this afternoon, I’ll make sure she sees the value of your work, Kyle.
Kyle: Thank you. Of course, I’ll still explore other options, just in case. They’re auditioning exotic dancers down at Club Thundernuts, and I really think I have a shot.
Nate: You don’t even have to work, motherfucker.
Kyle: I do actually. I’ve been in on acquiring a podcast about hats. It would be, uh, my master stroke. Several of them, if you want to know the truth.
Kyle wanders off.
Audra: I suppose I have to get to my meeting with Nikki. I saw the cobra exhibit at the zoo the other day, so I’m prepared.
Nate: Wait a minute. I don’t mean to overstep, but I’d advise against torpedoing your career for that tall glass of skim milk.
Audra: Kyle and I are just having fun. We both went into this thing with our eyes wide open.
Nate: Does he know that? ‘Cause he doesn’t know much.
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Billy: I’m rather intrigued by this tasty morsel you claim to have on Tucker McCall. How much does it cost? What would I have to do to earn it? I’m willing to do things… forbidden things. Naughty things.
Adam: Considering how little I have going for me at the moment, I’m going to hold on to any leverage I get. You’re left holding your dick yet again. Fortunately for you, there’s not enough heft to induce carpal tunnel.
Billy: Jerk.
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Kyle: Summer. How strange to cross paths in Genoa City’s only park.
Summer: Right? No one else gets how amaze balls it is to meet in one of like five places our social circle frequents.
Kyle: I’ll, uh, just leave the only outdoor bench in town to you. I’m sure your soft and pampered buttocks need it more than mine do.
Summer: How’s Harrison?
Kyle: Great. He doesn’t like Brussels sprouts, which is such a fresh, original trope.
Summer: Maybe he’s allergic to them. You don’t know his life.
Kyle: He also wants an emu for his birthday. Like that’s a real animal.
Summer: Poor kid. I tried to explain it to him. That damn Limu Emu has really caught his fancy. Just when we finally convinced him that geckos, lemurs, and sloth were myths. Commercials are, like, so fake.
Kyle: Talking mucus blobs are real though. Uncle Billy has a small community of them living in a sinus cavity. So… I hear Chelsea is out of town and Chloe has joined Marchetti. How’s that going?
Summer: I don’t know. I spend most afternoons at the amusement park, seeing how wide I can open my mouth on various rides. How’s Newman Media?
Kyle: I guess that depends on how wide you opened your mouth around Grandma, doesn’t it?
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Nikki: As lady of the estate, I bid you welcome, commoner. You may be seated.
Audra: Why are we having a business meeting in your private home? That’s weird.
Nikki: Would you care for some tea? I’m sure it’s a step up from the tepid water and sorrow you peons can afford.
Audra: That would be lovely. Shouldn’t someone of your status and means have a servant to pour tea?
Nikki: I would like to address the Kyle Abbot situation.
Audra: He’s fantastic. Hard working, creative, efficient… I hope there’s still room for him here with you being promoted to CEO.
Nikki: And just how did you know about Victor’s decision? That information is not for the grubby hands of commoners like yourself. Let me guess. The other interloper, Nate, heard it from Victoria and presumed he had the right to pass it along?
Audra: It’s not classified. There was an article about the restructuring on page F2 of the Genoa City Blowhole, right next to the Dear Buttbiscuit column.
Nikki: Let us return to the Kyle Abbot problem. As you know, he is married to my beloved granddaughter.
Audra: They’re getting divorced.
Nikki: So he thinks. Victor has not granted him permission yet, so there is still a chance for reconciliation. Until such time as he grants Kyle his freedom, you will cease and desist playing with Summer’s toys. Perhaps you can find some rusty nails or broken glass to amuse yourself with.
Audra: If Kyle wants to move on, that’s his business. Summer isn’t blameless in what happened. She helped Phyllis commit crimes and lied about it.
Nikki: Irrelevant! Newmans are always innocent even when proven guilty.
Audra: My private life is not your business. I thought I was here to discuss a job, not be slut shamed.
Nikki: Oh yes. The job. Here’s a slice of humble pie for you. Your future at Newman Media depends on ending this defiance and leaving Kyle Abbot alone. Summer’s happiness comes before record profits and increased market share. It’s not personal.
Audra: I’m not a lawyer, but I’m pretty sure none of this is legal.
Nikki: Audra, Audra, Audra. Is there something about my family that provokes your rage? Why must you target us? The worst people target the most vulnerable in our society. Does our Newmanity mean nothing to you?
Audra: Less than that. If this is about Noah, I can only tell you that we broke each others’ hearts. I admit I asked him out on a dare from my friends. He was the nerd trying to use a Batman voice to pick up chicks. We went out to dinner, he started droning on about art and six months later I woke up from my coma. The doctors told me I would have woken up after a week had Noah not sat at my bedside every day.
Nikki: Poor widdle baby had to take a widdle nap. Waaaaahhhhh.
Audra: Am I in or am I out?
Nikki: If I had my way, you’d be shipped to our satellite office in Hell. However, your work is very impressive and because you’re a slattern, Victor admires you. You must cool your jets with Kyle, though. So let it be written, so let it be done.
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Jack: I’m glad I found you here, Billy. Wtf? Why am I saying things like that?
Billy: Go fuck yourself, you fucking fuck.
Jack: I wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding earlier.
Billy: Is that we’re calling accusations of ratfucking these days? I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, old man. Get to stepping.
Jack: Listen. I just came from Ashley’s. We made a real breakthrough today. I sincerely believe this rivalry is coming to a peaceful conclusion. I want to make peace with you too.
Billy: You’re pathetic, man. You’re so naive. You’re still as naive as you were when I was dustbusting Phyllis’ tits with my nose vac. My lips harden nips. And now you’re buying the moist cow flops Ashley is selling and thinking they’re chocolate cake. Am I going to have to put my keys in Diane’s ignition to wake you the fuck up?
Jack: Grimace.
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Nate: Adam. Lol.
Adam: Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Newman Enterprises’ new golden boy, the man with the precision part, Nate Hastings! Bravo, sir.
Nate: I wouldn’t call myself that. I prefer “The Part Who Steals Hearts” or “Part-y Animal”. Victoria calls me “Fastest Gun in the Midwest.”
Adam: Good for you, cowpoke. And good job influencing my father.
Nate: Have I impressed Victor? Yes. He brings visiting entrepreneurs to my office and gives them a carpenter’s level to check my hair. I’m also damn good and don’t need to resort to blackmail. Check yourself before you wreck yourself, pal.
Adam: Don’t get too comfortable, chum.
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And why is a lone punching bag and stool sitting in a spare, beige room? Victor did accurately sum up one of the things that has weighed down the show - no one ever gets to defeat him. That’s why there was zero tension in today’s absolutely pointless scenes. The outcome was pre-determined, yet somehow still lamer than my expectations.
Were we supposed to clap and cheer when Nikki verbally abused Adam? I had serious secondhand embarrassment when she was mocking him. Take a fucking seat, asshole. Adam was being a dick about the whole thing, but Victor and Nikki were such horrors that I’d much rather he come out ahead. Victor and his shitwife acting like Victor was some magnanimous, benevolent father who offered Adam nothing but opportunities and wuv was the height of hilarity. The Newman family is a sick, depressing mess and I’m not sure that’s what the writer intends.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather watch Billy inhale various objects than see Nikki, Victor and their two idiot children on my screen blathering about Newman Media.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I guess you could call me a repeat customer, which tells you everything you need to know about my life. I’ve been caught up in what I thought was corporate intrigue, but it turns out my father was just jerking off and ejaculating embalming fluid all over me. We’ve been trying to figure out the leadership structure of a new media company, and I threw my hat in the ring. Was I smug and cocky? I was just mirroring the energy people give me.
Anyway, the old scrote ordered all the players to gather in his mausoleum, where we each shared our opinions and vision for the company. My partners’ opinions varied between “I should be launched into the sun” and “I should drop dead”. My dad’s wife dropped by to serve me a vitriol cocktail, and he said nothing as she kept pouring more cyanide in the glass. Considering she birthed my brother, the flatulent fascist boy bander, she’s got some cheek looking down at her nose at anyone. Not only did my father sit there like roadkill as his wife took a strip off me, he gave her the job I wanted and left me with two new partners, Diddly and Squat.
I’m not really asking for advice, unless you have some scorched earth tactics I’m not aware of. I am attaching a list of my father’s credit card numbers, their associated pins, security codes and expiration dates. A link to my brother’s massive porn collection is included; just make sure you have a terabyte drive if you wish to download it.
Signed
Fuck All Y’All
Dear Fuck;
While I always appreciate fresh masturbatory material, this is some of the most non-erotic and hilarious porn I’ve ever seen. Mrs. Pac-Man getting railed by a ghost? Sex with suitcases? To each his own, I guess.
Victor Newman’s credit card information? Wow! I can’t risk any illegal activities as I’m in the thick of real corporate intrigue and need to maintain a low profile, but I’m going to spam that shit all over Reddit.
Even though I suspect this is my nemesis, I’m going to help a fellow black sheep out, mainly because I’d love to see Victor Newman finally eat fossilized shit. I recommend low level psychological warfare that leaves a trail of chronic irritation in its wake. He’ll wait for the other shoe to drop, never knowing it’s going to kick him in the jimmies and run. Spread Grape-Nuts throughout his bedding or coffin lining or whatever the hell it is he sleeps in. Leave a trail of LEGO’s from the bedroom to his private bathroom. Add dandruff flakes to his salt shaker. Sew dead fish inside his punching bag. There is truly no end to the hateful pranks one can deploy to poop on pop. Good luck!
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I need a cure for manpain, STAT. My brother is a poopyhead, but my dad thinks the sun shines out of his azz. Let’s call my brother, I don’t know, Adumb. Adumb is a dickface, and you can tell by the way everyone calls him a dick to his face. Haha. He got to be raised on a farm by a nice dude, but then he showed up back here with his fancy schmancy degree, looking for a slice of the family pie. He didn’t even pay his dues by having his bio dad pizzle on him since the day he was born. Sorry, buddy. You snooze and then you lose. Amirite?
Pops is always like “why can’t you get your hair cut like your brother’s?” “Shave that fucking thing off your head or put a brown paper bag over it. And don’t forget the eye holes this time, clown.” “You look like an overcooked boiled hot dog bitten by a radioactive shower clog.” To add injury to insult, my pipe cozy keeps shouting out Adumb’s name when we’re humping. WTF? My sister shitcanned me for her fuckbuddy while my kid was strapped to a bomb, my mom is doing this creepy whisper thing and might be dead inside, and my gurl won’t pursue my dream of starting a fart foundation. It’s such a good idea! Imagine one place on earth that holds all the information on cheese cutting while doing research on stuff like fartless beans. She just shakes her head and looks sad.
I’m on the shitter all the time because of the stress. My ex-wife is banging a guy way hotter than me too. I’m just a billionaire’s son, struggling to be my own dude. No one gets me. I just really want to sit on my couch and watch pickleball with my hand down my shorts, occasionally taking it out for a quick sniff test. Maybe I’m depressed because my brother ruined everything by getting born. Help me, Buttbiscuit. You’re my only hope.
Signed
Manpain-iac
Dear Manpain-iac;
The doctor is in! You’ve come to the right place, my friend. I have used my column for years to bring awareness to the silent epidemic of manpain. Real talk: there is no cure, but it can be managed successfully. It used to be that the world would put on a nice lipstick and kiss our hindquarters just because we existed in a penile state. Now we’re expected to not say stupid shit and no one leaves gift baskets full of unearned respect, nookie, and power on our doorsteps anymore. You sound a lot like me, the son of an influential and wealthy man unfairly expected not to fuck up all the time. I also have a jerk of a brother who thinks his talent and hard work and my underhanded skeeviness somehow entitle him not to trust me.
Don’t give up and give in though. You can still carve out a satisfying life even without society tickling your balls 24/7. Are you still getting your dick wet? Then who cares what name she calls out! If your lover was once your brother’s, it’s rubbing sandpaper across his hemorrhoids to know you’re together. He thinks about it every single moment of every single day and it is killing him. You can still get away with being deeply sexist and classist in Genoa City, as it is a bit of an aristocracy where you can delude yourself it’s a meritocracy. I don’t know shit about shit, but I’m a CEO with bags of cash so the rubes treat me like I’m awesome. I don’t even have to aspire to mediocre! Embrace that sweet freedom, bud.
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Billy owns an iPhony, an exclusive model sold only to the biggest pricks in Genoa City. The iPhony streamlines the process of treating your friends and family like hot garbage. Be even more loathsome by downloading apps from the Crapp Store: DikDok, Nosebook, Sapchat, Snotify and so much more. iPhony is the mobile of choice for Genoa City’s failsons. “It makes sending banana hammock selfies a breeze,” raves Nick Newman. “A fart breeze.”
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Did I see that someone floated the idea of Sally and Victor? If you get a packet of Buttbiscuit nudes left on your doorstep, it was NOT an act of vengeance.
5 hours ago, Joimiaroxeu said:Whoo chile. I'm trying to remember which Thomas Forrester Sally dated, the current one or the one before him. Either way, yes, that pipe work had to be next level
I think she lucked into Pierson Fode instead of the beady eyed creeper we have now. I was actually referring to Wyatt, who seems to be the most capable pipe layer on B&B. You know, before he got engaged to the jerk who human trafficked his niece and became unpalatable.
So Ashley choked on a grape, huh? I always thought if she choked on anything, it would be the lemon she’s constantly sucking on.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
You seem like a really big dipshit who regularly alienates the people around him. How do you cope with with friends, family, even strangers for crissakes! treating you like a fresh diaper? My dad hates me, my siblings hate me, my exes hate me and random people feel comfortable telling me I’m garbage right to my face. I am being a dick, but that’s just business. Speaking of business, that’s definitely about to implode too. I have an MBA and tons of experience, but I’m supposed to be on the same level as a latte-slinging therapist and a smooth brained fuckmuppet who once swallowed a bottle cap to see if he could poop out a CaCa-Cola? I think not. Oh, and apparently the love of my life enjoys pumpkin spice moobs. What the fuck, man?
Signed;
Eat Shit and Die
Dear Eat Shit;
What the fuck indeed! My brother needs to read about your brother and thank his lucky stars I’m not that guy. Sure, I banged the love of his life, but I have never used a toilet as a doody juice factory. Holy shit, what a choad.
I have also struggled with being the bad boy outsider. Men secretly wanted to be me, and all the women secretly wanted to be with me. I was given the reins of power and the freedom to shape my family company. Oh, I may have produced a yacht shaped turd actually. Never mind.
Ultimately, I’d just stop riding the business merry-go-round. Everyone knows it’s just going to spin around and around at the same speed, with the same music playing, until it runs out of juice. It will sputter to a quiet stop, no fun will have been had and nothing will have changed since you first hopped on the horse. Everything that happens in Genoa City happens exactly like that. Extra word of advice: make the love of your life yourself. The worst that can happen is your left hand gets jealous of your right.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I’ll get right to my question - am I a prostitute? My whatever has offered to fund a business for me, but I only accepted this afternoon after he rubbed one out in my vicinity. He agreed to invest, but I feel stupid and gross now. See, I used to date his brother, who has repeatedly offered me a job. I kinda responded like he committed an act of pure evil. Is it hypocritical to accept my current honey’s cash now that my career has hit the skids?
There is one more slightly insignificant problem I could use some help with. My boyfriend is… well, if I put my ear next to his, I can hear the ocean. He’s not totally dim, I mean. He has memorized an impressive catalogue of fart types and knows the rules for thirty-four international variations of beer pong. We don’t have a lot to talk about, except my ex, so we end up doing it a lot. Sex… isn’t his strong suit. Pull my finger jokes aren’t really effective foreplay, even though I try to seem into it. My ex could make my panties drop with just a smoldering look, and I dated a guy in Cali whose pipe work rivaled the Roman aqueducts. Their dicks were unicorns made of cotton candy and crack, while my boyfriend’s is a snail made of Visine. His fascist-curious haircut doesn’t sweeten the pot.
Signed;
Sandy Vagina
Dear Sandy;
Will your current boyfriend be funding a brothel for you to work at? If the answer is no, you’re not a hooker. However, I’d advise against getting an infusion of capital from the same spigot you get the hot beef injection from. You do not want the embarrassment of some nosy posy running a black light over your office sofa. I’d insist you get something in writing to keep your bed buddy out of your boardroom, but he doesn’t sound literate.
One thing I know the fella can’t read is the room. The bedroom. I myself am a generous, methodical lover who hunts the G spot like it’s my white whale. (Editor’s note: Ahab never got the white whale, limp dick!) I can’t tell from your letter if the jerk you’re dating has any redeeming qualities that make up for the mediocre sex and ugly haircut. You say you dated his brother previously; are you banging this loser out of petty revenge? I once shagged a duck/human hybrid for the lulz, so I get it. What I don’t get is what you’re trying to prove by denying yourself a ride on the magical cotton candy sexicorn. Feel free to email me your phone number so we can discuss your unquenched sexual desires in explicit detail.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
You damn well better feature my letter! I don’t care that it was delivered by carrier bat, k? Listen up!
I have discovered the joys of holding court in my living room like a mafia don. Family and friends are ushered into my inner sanctum by my butler, Ploppers, where they genuflect and kiss my ring. The last time I felt so powerful and dominant were the five days I held the coral throne of the lost Atlantean Empire. I had my pick of Mediterranean mermaids and I bedded thousands of them in marathon orgies that changed the very currents of the world’s oceans! Why do you think so many modern fish species bear a striking resemblance to me?
I digress. Lately my wife has taken to perching next to me as I receive supplicants. She makes snide, cutting remarks with her snoot in the air. I fear she will drive away the steady stream of worshippers I have so artfully cultivated. She has the charm and warmth of Rasputin with all the elegance and refinement of a donkey fart. Modern society often bewilders me. Is it proper to seal one’s bride away in a cryogenic chamber, to be thawed out after one feels she’s learned her place? Youhaveagooddaynow.
I Kicked Rasputin in the Jowls Once
Dear Jowls;
Pardon the pun, but it’s definitely not cool to flash freeze your spouse just because they’re annoying. While Genoa City is soaking in a retrograde misogynistic substance squeezed from the anal glands of a plague rat, I advise rebelling against the prevailing norms. Tell your wife, honestly and tactfully, how her untoward remarks bother you. Perhaps you’ll both learn something from the conversation.
As a product of my environment, however, may I also suggest that your lady love needs her merlot uncorked? When was the last time you served her up a piping hot slice of dick pie? If you’re not in the mood for hiking Mt. Orgasm, why not give the gift of the Jabot Jackhammer? The latest in personal pleasure devices, the Jackhammer packs eight inches of steel in a luxurious velvet sheath. It’s from the new Billy’s Boudoir line at Jabot (NOT AN OFFICIAL SPONSOR). Good luck, sir!
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10 hours ago, Kemper said:
And is Elena going to have some sort of psychotic break? I hope not because I have a fantasy of she and Adam discovering each other. It would be a nice break from the corporate couples. And the ick of Sally/Adam/Nick. We wouldn’t need a shower with Elena/Adam.
We’d still need a decontamination shower because Adam/Elena does nothing to solve the existential emetic that is Sally/Nick. Unless, of course, Nick decides it’s not fun anymore to bed Sally because Adam has moved on. Hmmm…
9 hours ago, Joimiaroxeu said:Why is Nikki so worried about Audra? Audra has no power at NE/NM beyond what she's granted by the Newmans. They could fire her for no reason and Audra knows it. Shut yer flytrap, Mrs. Newman.
It feels like Nikki doesn’t trust anyone but her children to work at Newman. She casts a bad light on everything Nate and Audra do, and we can’t forget the bee in her bonnet over Adam. Never mind that Audra has more ambition and business acumen in her pinky than that flea infested garbage ape Nikki adopted from a traveling freak show has in his entire body. Not everyone can rise to the lofty heights of co-CEO by letting a decrepit vampire gum their neck for all eternity, Nikki.
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Geez, Nikki was so awful today. The best part of her scenes was that neither Audra nor Victor gave a flat out fuck that she was making noises with her piehole.
Even though Adam is on one of his dumbass, self-destructive tears, I can’t get too mad at him. Watching Nick and Sally together makes me want to wash down some ground glass with a bleach martini. “Oh Nick, you’re not mad at me for entertaining a job offer from another man are you?” Shut the fuck up, Pleather. It’s amazing that Sally can become instantly unlikable the second Nick enters a room. Buttbiscuit wishes he had that kind of magic.
These sophisticated corporate storylines just have my mind in a tizzy. The generic, buzzword-laden dialogue, the complete lack of stakes, the frequent appearance of Nick’s roidy douchebro scowl… pure gold. En showers.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
Today, I gazed into the abyss. There were two of them, actually. They didn’t have eyes, yet I felt them gaze back into me. Weird, right? Anyways, this chucklefuck with the twin coal mines and cadaver’s profile is my brother-in-law, and he is trying to get his sister (my wife) and his older brother to reignite a feud they just called off. Personally, I think he’s a smarmy, ambitious little snake who doesn’t feel alive unless he’s betraying his family. How do I get this unlikeable clod to calm his tits?
Signed,
Tucker McCall
Dear Tucker;
There is a great deal of hostility wafting off your email. I don’t know this mysterious brother-in-law of whom you speak so poorly, but isn’t possible you’re exaggerating what an ass he is? Maybe some duplicitous dick wagon lured him into this so-called feud with promises of sitting him on the corporate throne with a gaudy scepter and crown, fulfilling his lifelong dream. Or maybe, just maybe, the playa is getting played because your brother-in-law is taking the game to a whole nutha level. Bitch.
Dear Buttbiscuit;
Thanks for your sage advice. If I may gently correct you, my brother-in-law is playing tiddlywinks with rabbit turds. Adam Newman stepped to me the other day and I dropkicked him back to daycare. BIL hilariously overestimates his own talents and will, per usual, fall dick first into a puddle of mucus.
Tucker Motherfuckin’ McCall
Dear Tucker;
Fuck you. Thanks for writing in!
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
My co-workers keep emphasizing the word ‘part’ around me, and I just can’t figure out why. Maybe they’re planning a surprise PARTy for me? I’m sure if I had any friends, they’d tell me I was crazy. What I really want to know is if it’s possible to be too successful? I’ve been in my current career for only a short time, yet titans of industry seek my advice, I’m putting the D in R&D and my executive bidet now has a warming testicular cradle attachment. I’m not even worried that my paramour is expressing interest in her old swizzle stick. I’m truly at the height of my powers.
Signed,
They Hate Me ‘Cause They Ain’t Me
Dear Ain’t Me,
After combing through the various parts of your letter, I want to set aside your question about success. Not to brush it off, but I think we need to tease out the cause of your workplace paranoia. Perhaps you’re only hearing strands of conversation and not getting the full context. Don’t get a hair across your ass when there could be a perfectly innocent explanation is my advice. Now, can you be too successful? In my opinion, you should never relax; success is never permanent and staying hungry will give you plenty of bang for your buck. While it’s okay to be confident, having a humble side is part of winning people over. Let me highlight one more thing: Keep an eye on your lady love. Her ex sounds like an irresistible sex taco; a hard shell just filled with smoldering spice and heat. Insert Taco Bell ‘dong’ noise here.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I’m dick-tating this urgent letter to my little mechanic dude so you can give me some of your sweet, sweet advice. Plus the spellcheck on my phone cussed me out the other day, and my mechanic won the Walnut Grove spelling bee. LOL! Anyhoo, I just told my brother’s ex that I’d like her to be my baby momma (no rings!!!). Thing is, my doctor says I can’t have any more kids because I tried the banana in the tailpipe trick. I think it would have been fine if the car hadn’t been running, since it turns out that carbon monoxide is as dangerous for the crotch cannon as it is for your mouth hole. My bro already knocked this chick up, so I kinda have to too or my nads will end up in a jar in his freezer. Them’s the rules. How can I dunk hard on my bro when my schlong’s gone wrong?
Signed,
Not So Prime Mate
Dear Mate;
There’s a lot to unpack here. Fortunately, you have come to a certified expert in crushing your brother’s soul like a wine grape under the foot of an earthy vineyard wench. I’m not even sure you need my advice, considering you’ve already taken the most important step - leaving your penismobile in your brother’s favorite parking spot. This is the ultimate boss move. I highly recommend having sexual intercourse in places your brother frequents so that he’ll smell your dewy sweet sex musk wherever he goes. Don’t worry about making babies, as long as one of you has a child, you’re golden. I’m currently easing myself into a fatherhood role with my current lover’s son. I’m most concerned about the extremes you’re going to in order to enhance the masturbatory experience. One should be able to enjoy a soul-searing orgasm with a minimalist spank kit: hand, lubricant, cum catcher (I recommend silk or burlap. Trust me.) Remember, not every hole needs filling. Good luck!
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9 minutes ago, Joimiaroxeu said:
So, what are the odds on Billy cheating on Chelsea while she's out of town? I'll take that bet.
I would place a small wager, maybe a yacht owned by your family’s cosmetic company.
Today was tedious. Blah blah blah.
Dear Buttbiscuit;
My son, “Condor”, is being bullied at school, even after I sent a copy of my world changing video game to every student who attends. He wants to go to a different school near his grandmother. I know it’s the best thing for him, but I’m super sad. My number one problem, though, is that Condor’s father and my new boyfriend sometimes seem to be on the verge of making out. Can I trust them not to while I’m helping Condor acclimate to his new school?
Sincerely,
Schmatta Than YouDear Schmatta;
Relax. I’m certain your beau is trustworthy, devilishly handsome and accustomed to passing the lonely hours lovingly smoking his salmon by hand. He also sounds like a captain of industry, devoted family man and generous lover. A daily exchange of naked selfies should keep you both from straying. Honestly, Condor’s father sounds like the kind of monster who tortures small animals and runs over children. I think your boyfriend will be able to resist.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
I’m up for a big promotion, but I feel rather ‘meh’ about it. How can I take pride in it when I’m the only employee? Pretty sure my girlfriend is high as fuck too, which isn’t the greatest look for my new position. I’m avoiding the real question here. How can I tactfully tell my lady that neon prairie pimp ain’t it?
Signed,
Perplexed Lumberjack
Dear Perp;
I believe I saw the clothing item you are referencing on a local proprietor. There is simply no easy way to tell your lover that her outfit has given you psychic abrasions. The best option is to tear the offending attire during an evening of unbridled passion. If you’re like me, she’ll be amply satisfied and forget all about her wearable barf. Congratulations on your promotion! Take pride in it. I took pride in mine even though it was a gift-wrapped bone tossed to me by my brother. Being rich and connected is awesome.
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Dear Buttbiscuit;
My love muffin’s ex is trying to reheat their flavorless tofu casserole of a relationship. He much prefers my zestier menu, with its broad range of appetizers and decadent desserts. Still, there’s a little part of me that worries she has a secret ingredient that can win him over. Please advise.
Signed,
Paint Me Like Your French Ladies
Dear Paint;
From your letter, I can tell you’re a simmering pot of sexuality just waiting to boil over. I think you’ll find your love muffin has little urge to visit the diner he used to enjoy. Perhaps, in private correspondence, you could send me the name and number of this joint he used to frequent. My favorite place is closed for renovations.
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Well, I finally watched Friday’s crackling, romantic cliffhanger of an episode. How does one recap the hairpin twists and turns the plotmobile takes through Genoa City? Are there even words in the English language that can adequately capture the raw intensity? I couldn’t find them.
Connor expressed the most complex and relatable emotions, easily becoming the highlight of the episode. It’s a shame he wasn’t able to reveal the whole truth. The kids at Walnut Grove tease him because his grandpa is undead and loving it, but Connor’s afraid to admit it lest those students get invited to Victor’s and Nikki’s guest cottage made of gingerbread.
Fortunately, Billy was there to offer his wise counsel. Buttbiscuit rappin’ with the yutes is a special treat, my friends. Poor Connor probably keeps wondering why his mother dispatches the local funeral director to advise him. Certainly it’s economical for Billy to get his makeup done where he moonlights, but that doesn’t make him emotionally savvy.
Mad respect for Diane and Jack making important financial decisions based on appeasing Ashley’s bottomless well of spite. Dunking on a sibling with a picture of a legal document is exactly the content I want from veteran soap characters. I’m sad Tucker is moving out of the manse; his interactions with the Abbots made my day. Was it just me, or was Ashley comparatively chill about Tucker’s scandalous tidbit once she realized he wasn’t cheating on her?
Adam would probably get more satisfaction and less pain giving himself a vasectomy with a can opener than he would talking to Sally. It’s Adam’s fault that Victor rescinded the job offer. Huh. I’m sure a man who tried to buy your baby was operating in good faith from the very beginning. But then Adam Adamed and ruined everything. Shut the fuck up, lady. Go keep an eye on Nick; from the looks of his hair, he’s about to start stockpiling weapons and survivalist foodstuffs in the bunker he built to hide from the black helicopters.
On the other hand, Sally’s scenes with Connor were very nicely done. It was sweet that he acknowledged the baby, and Sally made him feel comfortable enough to confess he was running away. She was straightforward about calling Adam while Connor fetched her water instead of tricking him or being a condescending scold. I did chuckle when Sally said she missed Connor. Maybe if he lived up Nick’s azz, she’d see the kid more.
Everyone will be flocking to the town swizzle stick now for ineffective advice and dream interpretation. Dear Buttbiscuit…
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Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat
in The Young And The Restless
Kyle: Shit. I’ve been made.
Diane: Where are you going?
Kyle: To clean out my desk at Newman Media. Well, Audra was letting me store my stuff in her drawers. Hehehehe.
Diane: That whore whored you out of a job, didn’t she?
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Tucker: Do you have a minute?
Audra: Kyle’s favorite question. 30 seconds of foreplay included.
Tucker: Sit down. I’ve been thinking about you.
Audra: Yeah, about that. I enjoy a good Tuck fuck as much as the next girl, but we’re not starting that stuff again. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.
Tucker: I was thinking about you in a more karmic sense. Wink. What goes around comes around. Several times, in fact.
Audra: I get it. Your game has hit a rough patch.
Tucker: Can’t win ‘em all. So, you still in on Operation Fuck The Abbots?
Audra: I never claimed to be in on it. I said I’d keep my options open.
Tucker: Everything cool at Newman Media then?
Audra: Nikki doesn’t trust me much. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not in the sisterhood of the pole or that I dared to play with her granddaughter’s toys. Still, I like my job.
Tucker: I can find a role for you at Jabot after I pants Jack Abbot.
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Phyllis: Give me one minute to spew some bullshit, Jack. One minute.
Jack: I’ll give you two so you can repeat everything.
Phyllis: I know. I know I messed up. Messed up badly. I am trying hard, so hard, to change. I’m just trying my ass off here.
Jack: Actions talk, bullshit walks. You can turn your receipts in to my accountant.
Phyllis: Well, it doesn’t happen overnight! But you’ll see. You’ll all see. Mwah ha ha. One day a halo will just poof into existence over my head.
Jack: Right. Look, I don’t wish you any ill, and I absolutely admire your commitment to having your hair, skin and outfit be one color. And one day, I’ll probably ask you to marry me again. Until then, I said goodbye to you at your memorial and still consider you legally dead.
Jack leaves the park.
Daniel: Oh man, Mom. Ya burnt!
Phyllis: You heard that?
Daniel: Damn straight! That was savage.
Phyllis: You could defend my honor.
Daniel: Nah. You earned that with interest, dawg.
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Billy: May I sit down?
Adam: Is there a cactus in the chair? If not, no.
Billy sits and then plucks a piece of food off Adam’s plate, popping it into his mouth with his usual je nais se quois. That’s french for donkey facedness.
Billy: Gross!
Adam: Found it with my toothpick just before you arrived, sucker. Why are you dressed like a cat burglar?
Billy: I’m afraid that’s classified. Now, you have some intel on Tucker McCall, intel that could very well upset the balance of geopolitical power in Genoa City.
Adam: The fuck you on about?
Billy: I need that compromising material like I need air to breathe. I’ll pay any price using nature’s credit card. Hell, I’m willing to pay in installments starting with a down payment tonight.
Adam: I’ve decided against using it. I turned a personal corner this week.
Billy: Ahhh. You’re feeling me out with your long, graceful fingers, seeing how far I’ll go to get what I need. This mission cannot fail. Tell me every line I need to cross, every forbidden place I need to trespass. Name your price, bitch.
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Diane: Sit your flat ass down.
Kyle: I don’t want to get into why I lost the job. I promise you it wasn’t hats.
Diane: Fine. I know how disappointed you must be. What will you do now?
Kyle: Find a nice fez to settle down with? Harrison likes palm trees and sand. I got time on my hands and and a beach ready bouffant.
Diane: So you’re just going to take your son and build sandcastles on a tropical island somewhere? Mister, that kind of fun is frowned upon in this town. You need to hop back on the corporate carousel. Preferably at Jabot.
Kyle: Why? So Dad can put me in charge of the eyebrow pencil division and pretend he’s being such a good father? I’d rather shake sand out of my dick flap for years.
Diane: At least your father can’t be summoned by a ouija board.
Kyle: I will grace Jabot with my as yet unseen expertise on one condition - I replace Billy as co-CEO. So, you know, hope in one hand, shit in the other. See which fills up first.
Diane: I’ve got two pimp hands to your one mouth hole. Do that math, genius.
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Tucker: Your position at Jabot would be a very prestigious one.
Audra: Working under you, I presume.
Tucker: Hell no. I have no interest in running Jabot. Maybe I’d be an advisor or senior guyliner developer or whatever.
Audra: Why bother?
Tucker: Some men just want to watch the world burn. I want to watch Jack Abbot bite his lip in consternation.
Audra: That’s it?
Tucker: I want to raze the Abbot family to the ground and salt the earth where they once stood. I want pure, unfiltered vengeance injected directly into my bloodstream. It’s just that people look at you funny when you say shit like that.
Audra: Don’t you think the Abbots realize that you’re hurt and looking for revenge? Their defenses will be up.
Tucker: Oh noes. Whatever shall I do? Those meddling assholes took away my chance to be with Ashley. Fuck their defenses. I’ll nuke those tits from orbit.
Audra: Good luck with that.
Tucker: Now I need to warn you about Agent 007, Lame Bond. Billy Abbot is out there making moves like a cracked out giraffe on roller skates, thinking he’s as smooth and subtle as a hummingbird fart. He’ll probably try his act on you. Don’t stare directly into his nostrils. Common rookie mistake.
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Adam: I mean it, Billy. I’m on my best behavior.
Billy: Sure, buddy. Billy makes a vigorous jerking off motion. The gesture goes on for about thirty seconds too long.
Adam: Do you mind? I’m getting uncomfortable.
Billy: Look, one screw-up to another… I can change but you can’t. You can try to woo me with your honeyed words, but no matter what you say or do, you’ll always be Adam Newman.
Adam: Duh? I’m serious. I’m starting on the bottom rung of the corporate ladder at Newman and working my way up.
Billy: Was this all just some cock tease? You sidle up to me, smelling of sandalwood and intrigue, offering to whisper sweet McCall somethings in my ear. Now you’re playing hard to get?
Adam: Yeah, I don’t really want to lob bombs or get tangled up with your schemes while I’m headed in this new direction. You’ve got nothing I want, but if I ever need a place to store a herd of elephants, I’ll ring your nasal cavities.
Billy: You’ve made a very powerful enemy today, motherfucker.
In his haste to storm out, Billy almost runs into Tucker.
Tucker: Hey, Billy. Didn’t we have a meeting? You texted me.
Billy: Fuck off. It was probably a butt dial.
Tucker: What’s his problem?
Adam: He’s a mystery wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma. He’s like the turducken of douchebags.
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Phyllis: I’ve just had it with people holding me accountable for my actions. Everyone in this town has done horrific things, yet I’m the one being persecuted. Persecuted!
Daniel: Oh, I don’t know. Not too many folks in Genoa City have faked their own deaths, framed their rival for murder, committed insurance fraud, sliced up a velour villain like a Christmas ham, watched their children suffer unimaginable grief and guilt and recruited those same kids to commit felonies, all while wearing a noggin topper so ugly Kyle Abbot wouldn’t fuck it blind drunk.
Phyllis: I get it, okay? I get it. Do you get that this kind of moralizing is why you’re not my favorite?.
Daniel: Focus on something positive. Like your new job with Nick and Sharon and Adam.
Phyllis: Yeah, about that… There was a shakeup at Newman and I’m collateral damage. As usual. As usual.
Daniel: I know. I just really enjoy hearing you admit it.
Phyllis: I’m not angling, absolutely not angling for you to get on your knees and beg me to stay in Genoa City. That’s not what this is. But maybe Jeremy Stark was right that I should just disappear and start a new life where no one sees my bullshit coming. You kids would be better off. Better off.
Daniel: Personally, my fuck tank is depleted. I do not want to listen to Summer’s insipid whining though. Look, you start a new job in the morning. It can’t be done remotely, so you’ll have to stick around.
Phyllis: I do? I will?
Daniel: You’ve got an unpaid internship at Omegasphere. You’ll need to behave yourself. I’m not playing favorites because you’re my mother. For starters, your parking space will be in the Rexx Rugs lot three blocks away.
Phyllis: Oh, Daniel. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. Daniel. Omigod. You’re just as dumb as your sister.
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Jack: Kyle. What are you doing home?
Diane: Our bright boy was fired from his Newman Media job. He’s too fragile to explain why, so don’t push it.
Jack: Sigh. I’m sorry, son. I suppose your nookie supply was cut off too.
Kyle: Dad’s picking on me.
Jack: You know you’re always welcome to quickly disappoint me at Jabot.
Kyle: Well, you know my terms and conditions. Who can say where I’ll bang my hat? Fortune favors the pomp. Ta ta!
Jack: Are you sure he’s not Victor’s?
Diane: I need to apologize. I was so excited that he was free of Newman Media that I sort of let slip Billy’s possible departure. Now Kyle’s really feeling himself.
Jack: Hopefully not in public.
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Tucker: May I join you?
Adam: Please do. It would be the highlight of my day, nay, the very pinnacle of my existence. What a palate cleanser your company would be after the shit sandwich who just departed.
Tucker: God, kid, you’ve got so much potential. Your sarcasm is too gaudy, too obvious to be effective. Subtlety is the key to sticking the landing. Drain a few watts off the smirk so your audience doesn’t sense the verbal shiv you’ve got equipped.
Adam: I can admit that I’ve got a lot to learn.
Tucker: What did Billy want? Looked like you two were on a date.
Adam: Billy thinks he’s the lead in Mission Impossible. He’s not even Austin Powers.
Tucker: Yeah, baby. He seemed pretty agitated.
Adam: Hey, you could always ask your brother-in-law. Is he still your brother-in-law, by the way?
Tucker: Oh, he told you about me and Ashley, did he?
Adam: What happened? You spent all of one day in Paris before coming home with your tail between your legs.
Tucker: Like I’m sharing the intimate details of my life with the punk who blackmailed me.
Adam: I harbor no ill will towards you. Technically I blackmailed Audra Charles.
Tucker: Technically it blew up in your face. Ha!
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Kyle strides into the GCAC with the assured swagger of a Cornish rooster who sees the whole world as his henhouse. He spots Audra sitting alone at a table. Surely he could call upon his natural charm to slide back into her DMs, whatever the hell that meant.
Kyle: May I sit down, or will that get you fired?
Audra: By all means. Just don’t eye fuck me.
Kyle: Wow. It’s like that, huh? How can you be so cold with all the heat this smokeshow is putting out? You’re practically sitting on the sun, girl.
Audra: We didn’t have some epic, fairytale romance, Kyle. It doesn’t even rate as a Harlequin..
Kyle: It had to have meant something. I mean, we had a flashback montage and everything.
Audra: We had fun, the sex was surprisingly adequate and I was able to own how provocative I found that duck’s butt perched on your scalp. However, we’re not soulmates. That would be you and Summer.
Kyle: You already rejected me. You don’t have to insult me.
Audra: Face it, Kyle. I’m just a rebound fling. You used me to mask the pain of losing your true love.
Kyle: All of you fools out there selling Summer’s shit on a shingle need to fucking stop. You don’t even know what it’s like to have a second asshole attached to your hip. My father and I are off the Summers women for good.
Audra: Good luck with that.
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Phyllis: Daniel, can I tell you how much it means to me that you’re willing to give me my millionth chance? I promise to fuck it up and blame you.
Daniel: I’m just setting you up to fail, tbh.
Phyllis: Let me think about this. Could I get an advance of two million dollars?
Daniel: No?
Phyllis: I’ll be in touch.
Daniel: Yeah. Let me know when you’re done getting in your own way.
Daniel walks away in disgust. Phyllis can’t believe it. What’s the point of shtupping the CEO if you couldn’t make deposits AND withdrawals? Once again, fate had forced her hand. If only Jack had been nicer to her or the insurance company had been as easy to roll as the criminal justice system.
Phyllis: Are you there, God? It’s me, Phyllis. I’m going to do more one naughty thing in my whole life, just one, and that is it. I promise. I promise. One more thing. Cross my heart. It’s just a little hacking, no slashing this time. Promise. Promise.
A bird soars overhead, loosing its biological weaponry on the orange bullseye below.
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Billy: Audra Charles, hold up. I’m investigating a known associate of yours. I’d like to ask you a few questions.
Audra: Under whose authority?
Billy: I’m a rogue agent. And Tucker McCall is the most dangerous rogue of all.
Audra: Should I call your mom to come get you?
Billy: Don’t play games with me, lady. Tell me what Tucker McCall is up to and I’ll talk to the judge about going easy on you. By the way, I’m the judge.
Audra: How the hell would I know?
Billy: Come on. My nephew may be too much of a rube to sense it, but I can smell the McCall all over you. It smells like irony and vengeance.
Audra: Congratulations. With that two lane tunnel on your face, I’m sure you can smell fresh penguin shit in Antarctica from here.
Billy: I’m giving you a chance to avoid being entangled in the deepest, darkest corporate espionage sting the world has ever seen. All you gotta do is give Daddy some sugar.
Audra: I can take care of myself. Are you going to get out of my way, or do I need to tie your balls in a bow and leave you on the Abbot mansion doorstep?
Billy slinks away and hides behind a plant.
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Adam: That’s him alright. Trying to pretend he doesn’t have a snootful of ficus.
Tucker: His family really needs to stage an intervention.
Tucker’s phone caws. It’s a text message from Phyllis. “I’m in. Be right over after I wash my hair.”
Tucker: Gotta go.
Adam: That’s a shame.
Tucker: Very good shade. Nice and subtle.
Billy oozes out from behind the plant. Adam has moved to the bar, his tight hindquarters cuddling the cushioned stool. Tucker is waiting… but for whom? Suddenly, Phyllis storms in, a chaotic storm of gangly limbs. She makes a beeline for McCall, until a gaping abyss in her peripheral vision stops her cold.
Billy: Hello, Phyllis.
Phyllis: Oh fuck me sideways. Hey, Billy. Hi. I’m here to drink. Alone.
Billy ducks into the revolving door, pleased as punch with his clever subterfuge. Tucker has bolted up the stairs. Phyllis sprints to catch up like her ass was on fire. The game was afoot.
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Tucker: Let’s get this show on the road.
Phyllis: Because I’m in a position to make demands, I want a million bucks before I start hacking. I’m the best. You can tell by the way I needed Adam to dig up dirt on you instead of doing it myself. Myself. Bitch better have my money.