[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Yo! I found the source of all evil, and, as I strongly suspected, it’s not masturbation. It’s my kid brother, a different kind of jerk off. Just thinking about his smirky face and fancy education makes me want to punch a seahorse. My dad is gaslighting his kids for shits, giggles and as a test of loyalty. I can’t prove it, because that takes work, but I know my bro did something to make our old man super sus. This guy even stole my girl by figuring out some magical way to get a lady’s panties moist. WTF? I didn’t even know that was a thing. Imagine buttering your jizz syringe for decades when your partner could be doing half the work? Like why does this dude have to exist? Why isn’t it legal to feed your family knuckle sandwiches? Why why why? Oh, the other day, my sister asked me about this fool named Christian. I think I caught my dad’s fake forgetitis, because I don’t know who the guy is. Other people bring him up too. Is it possible that everyone made up a dude just to fuck with me?

Signed;

I Found a Jacket That Is Pure Sex and Will Wear It Forever

Dear Jacket;

I hope your new attire is better looking than what I’ve seen on the village idiot lately. There’s this rich dipshit walking around bowlegged like he was trying to straddle a vending machine, looking all “baboon in a Hefty sack”. Dork. Anyhoo, instead of blaming your brother for all the ills of society, maybe you should focus on your evil duckdick of a dad and the choice he made to mess with your minds. You know, it’s not easy being the outsider kid brother from a different mother, especially when you’re much more suave, sexy and brilliant than your sibs. Jealousy is an ugly thing, especially if it’s paired with a try hard jacket and an inability to dunk your straw in a juice box. As for who Christian is, well, wait until you find out the identity of his daddy.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

I admire how persistent you’ve been in defying my decree to shut your peasant lips and stop advising others on how to live their lives. Only Newmans are permitted to provide counsel in Genoa City; check the municipal charter. Perhaps this defiance can be put to use on my behalf. My husband inexplicably adores your column, so if you could employ your platform to advise him to focus his raging distrust on his youngest son, perhaps I could go easy on you. For some reason, my husband feels compelled to test the loyalty of OUR daughter, who by virtue of emerging from my aristocratic loins cannot possibly be disloyal. The only possible traitor is his slick little turd of a son. Deep down, my husband knows this to be true, which is why he sits like a mummified kumquat while I drag his son’s buttocks through the mud. Now, go spread my propaganda like a good little serf.

Signed

Licky Blueman

Dear Licky;

I will treat the town charter the same way you treat your stepson, like my own personal buttwipe. Loyalty tests? What the fuck, lady. You don’t have a family, you’re a bootlicking functionary in a cartoonish banana republic, blustering about your warlord husband while he sends dissenters to his rat buffet/dungeon. You object, but you don’t really take any action, do you? What kind of parent are you, that you let your children’s father use them as pawns in his own sick game of crabs in a bucket? I’m trying to picture my father pulling toxic shit like that, but he actually had a conscience. If I misbehaved, sure, Dad left me on a stranger’s doorstep; he’d eventually come retrieve me after a few hours of no one taking me in. Btw, your hubby is a total putz for not telling you to cork it while you slagged his son. You know, there’s a lot of residents who genuinely need my sage advice, so stop spamming my gcmail with your high and mighty bullshit.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Yeah, I don’t even know where to begin. My siblings have been meeting at the restaurant I own, and the waitstaff has been sharing bits and pieces of things they’ve overheard. It seems that my father has lost his marbles, though my sister and brothers haven’t shared their concerns with me. Is it wrong to hope that they’ve forgotten I exist? It’s been nice not having my son ask where Uncle Blockhead is or spend hours laughing himself silly over pull my finger jokes. My biological father really messed up my siblings, and I feel guilty over my joy at being excluded from the latest dad drama. The man who raised me is still my number one dad, and he drowned years ago. I mean, both dads are dead in a way, so it’s a fair comparison. Am I a bad person?

Signed;

Ignorance is Bliss

Dear Bliss;

No, you are not a bad person. I can’t imagine being the product of sperm bank robbery, especially when you’d need a Jurassic Park scientist to reanimate the prehistoric penis filling. If you can escape the notice of a pack of hyenas, you do it, 100%. If I could get my shifty, high-haired nephew to lose my number, it would be better than winning the lottery or finding a nasal swab the size of a canoe paddle. Your son sounds like he could use a quality mentor, perhaps a strikingly handsome, insightful great uncle with world class business skills and a sensitive way with the ladies. Think about it.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Pray tell, how did braying banana butt Nicholas Newman figure out his father’s cunning plan? Was he digging for gold with such relish that he accidentally pushed the smart button in his brain? Lacking any emotional awareness, critical thinking skills or basic common sense, Nick strikes me as the last person on earth  to know shit from shinola, let alone a narcissistic vampire’s thought process.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

I like Lily and Daniel as well. It’s amazing how much more likable she’s become since losing that bleached boat anchor and cattle hustler Cane. The look on her face yesterday when offered the fun opportunity to have drinks with Phyllis was perfect. Lily always tells the truth about Phyllis, something I appreciate.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

2 hours ago, Js Nana said:

Be afraid, be very afraid, because that's when they come to get you and all that's left of you in the morning is a shriveled-up apple doll - - pleasant dreams, NinjaPenguin.

 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Dear Buttbiscuit;

I have developed the ultimate plan to cleanse my family of turncoats and unify them under my autocratic thumb, k? It came to me one day as I thrashed a punching bag. Did you know I was present at the first boxing match in human history? Og versus Grog in a no holds barred cave match. I was lighting my flatulence with hellfire to illuminate a point to Cog, the tribe philosopher, and those two damn fools started fighting over it. I could always make more, but you try reasoning with knuckle draggers.

Back to the cowardly traitors in my family! I will lure them into a vulnerable place by playing a senile old man slipping into his dotage. I will misidentify my children, “forget” things I just said, fly into rages and frighten them into forming a protective circle around me. This will bring my recalcitrant son back into the family company, reveal to me the depths of my daughter’s ambition and create lasting bonds between my true children and their half-brother. Please, share this with your readers, k? I am sure there are many billionaire soul eaters who can relate to having a dysfunctional family. Youhaveanicedaynow.

Signed;

Forgetful Like A Fox

Dear Forgetful Fox;

It would be my great pleasure to share this with my readers. Not too long ago, my siblings experienced a similar situation with their estranged mother. She had abandoned them when they were young, which sounds like something your children would have benefitted from. Instead, they’ll get to bask in your performative dementia, worried sick that you’re slipping away, memory by memory, until you’re a shell of yourself. Fortunately, you’ve chosen not to use this valuable time to cultivate a better relationship with your crotchfruit through self-reflection, honest conversation or loving them unconditionally. That’s obviously for pussies. Look, I’m no slouch when it comes to fucking with family. I’ll bang my brother’s wife, brag about it, embezzle millions from the family company to gamble with and call the health department on my niece’s restaurant after sneezing a conch-sized mucus plug into my salad. I personally draw the line at faking dementia after watching how deeply my brother and sisters were affected. If I draw a line, you know there’s a total dick move on the other side of it. When your children discover the extent to which you’ve manipulated them to satisfy your tremendous ego, I hope they have you airlifted to an ice floe with high polar bear traffic.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

How dare you. How absolutely dare you! Did I not order you to cease and desist in the dispensing of advice? The word of Nikki Newman is law, as my vile stepson Adam is learning. I don’t recall giving him permission to be born, yet here he is, pestering me and my wonderful children with his existence. Nicholas and Victoria already tax their father’s supply of giftable fucks without this interloper trying to siphon some off. Honestly, I believe this is your fault, Mr. “Buttbiscuit”. Were you not supposed to rid the world of him after someone used your daughter as a speed bump and you thought it was him? I mean, Chloe does share some of the blame with her amateur efforts at disappearing Adam. Before you close down your little therapy shop here, can you recommend a good hitman?

Signed;

Nikki Newman, Queen of the Universe

Dear Queen Shit of Turd Mountain;

The Genoa City Blowhole is an uncompromising beacon of truth and light in this shitty city and will stand behind my column. You mad, bro? Was it the paper’s big scoop that Nick Newman was identified as the serial puncher terrorizing the blind, elderly and wheelchair-bound of Genoa City? Or that you had to carry a big scoop when taking little Nicky bananapants on walks? You think Victoria is so great? Her ex-husband told me that she used to lick his face when he cut himself shaving. Gross! You know, it’s generally accepted that Adam Newman is a rogue and a wrecking ball, but perhaps you’re put off your game by his soulful eyes and devilish smile. It must suck to know that another woman produced a suave, intelligent charming son of a gun despite your husband’s genetic contributions. All you could pop out was a scarecrow and a dumbfuck. I will ignore your crack about my beloved daughter, since it appears you’re an uncouth psychopath hiding your lack of conscience behind money and status. By the way, elections will be happening in a couple of weeks. Will you be working the polls? Hahahaha!

Dear Buttbiscuit;

I hope you can help me. My ex-wife often dances on the edge of sanity, but lately she’s been waltzing with whackadoodles. I was thinking about relocating to Genoa City for a spell, but everywhere I go, there’s my ex, grinning like the Joker and flinging her gangly ass spaghetti arms around like one of those car dealership balloons. Just today, she was having a good laugh about the man she stabbed and threw in a lake while adamantly refusing to acknowledge the past. I guess I’m supposed to find this all charming? Our son is building me a panic room in his new apartment, but it won’t be ready in time to avoid having drinks with her, my son and his girlfriend. I’ve tried everything to rebuff her, from bluntly telling her she sucks to trying to bore her silly with concert tour stories. The silver lining is that I finally understand what the term “toxic positivity” means.

Signed;

Rock On the Fuck Away From Me

Dear Rock;

Here’s some bad news: egotists who want to spread the gospel of their newfound life philosophy are unstoppable forces of nature. I speak from personal experience as one particular strain of annoying emotional lamprey. Now, I’ve never committed an act of violence stronger than breaking hearts, so no one has to fear my homicidal rage. The best way to stave off a crazy, hot to trot ex would be to make yourself less appealing, as they want to date someone who looks foine as hell. It’s an ego boost to score a smokeshow, you know? A few tips: Dye your hair a ridiculous shade that makes you look like you’re trying to pass as 20 years younger. I like Eight Ball Black by Only For Dudes myself. Also, to really capture that authentic, trying too hard look, get some plastic surgery that veers dangerously close to creepy; stir in a little botox to prevent expressing any emotion. Wear all black like you think you’re Johnny Cash when you’re not even good enough to front a Nickelback cover band. If you’re forced to go into hiding, I have limited space for rent about a mile inside my right nostril. Good luck!

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

7 hours ago, boes said:

his uncanny resemblance to apple doll heads

I made the mistake of googling this, having never encountered an applehead doll in my four plus decades on earth. I don’t think I could ever sleep in the same house as one, which, oddly enough, also applies to Buttbiscuit. 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

God, I can’t believe I’m missing all this incredible corporate intrigue, the twists and turns, peeling back the layers of the onion Victor wears on his belt, the light and shade… if the gripping business storylines are as good as the romantic ones, I’m in for a treat the next couple days.

Monday was my kind of episode, filled to the brim with Newman family drama. Nick showing his inflamed red buttocks to the world, throwing freeze dried fecal matter at a punching bag, acting like he was doing the world a favor by not punching his brother? Hot like a ghost pepper. Sally blaming Adam because she still wants to fuck him AND claiming to be happy with a violent ham head? Definitely not a pathetic hot mess.

Throw in the sizzling spice that is Heather and the highly detailed drama that is Daniel’s demons, and you have to wonder how I couldn’t finish a recap.

I want to keep Ashland Locke, his boring ex-wife and all their bull crap in the past, but I’ll allow anything that gives Nick his just desserts. Too bad murder is taken so lightly in Genoa City. Phyllis’ judge would probably give Nick a medal.

Tucker is Mamie’s secret business partner? Who knew? Besides everyone here.

My greatest regret this week is missing the flailing failings of Phyllis. Save some for me, JG!

 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Detective Deadwood, aka Dylan McAvoy, was clearly produced before Paul was vacuum sealed into his final pair of Levis. Nikki blocked out his birth due to the splinters he left in her log flume. Prior to leaving Genoa City for an old sea salt’s driftwood collection, Dylan was elevated to sainthood. He is still alive and practicing photosynthesis in an undisclosed location. Fun Fact: The bonsai Tucker McCall recently gifted to the Abbotts is a distant cousin.

- Who’s Who: Genoa City edition

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

I almost used my television as a punching bag today. The sheer machismo of Nicholas Newman dragging his knuckles all over Genoa City must have rubbed off on me. Snarling, belligerent, on the verge of violence and dramatically throwing back big gulps of he-man juice? All traits I’d advise my best friend to look for in a man. Nick’s mature handling of disappointment and existing alongside people he doesn’t like will provide Christian with a sterling example to follow. Does anyone think Nick knows what Adam meant by vitriol? Anyone? That fifty dollar word probably sent Nick into a rage spiral.

Let’s not forget the wonder that is Sally! It’s just heartwarming to see her return to cutting Adam to the quick and mooning over that refurbished enema with itchy fists. Good for Chloe, hearing that Nick was in a punching mood and spinning his toxic alpha male bullshit into fiery passion. What a pal. Sally practically talked herself into being in love with both guys in the same conversation. She then searched her soul for all of thirty seconds before dialing dumbass.

I don’t want to hear the words ‘great aunt’ ever again. Enough already.

I bet JG thought that last scene with Victoria smashing the picture was Succession level gold. He could be half right because it was definitely comedy gold. Newman temper tantrums make me miss the dour stylings of Buttbiscuit.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Nikki: This is my new assistant, Claire Grace.

Victor: Are you a virgin?

Nikki: Ixnay on the irginvay oodblay.

Victor: Your pig Latin is atrocious. I once had a marvelous grasp of the Latin language, k? I have conversed with many popes, usually as I’m being exorcised from a hapless vessel.

Claire: I’m totally honored to be here.

@@@@@@@@@@@

Adam: Nate, I was nearby running those errands you gave me and thought I’d drop some deets on you.

Victoria: Send a text, asshat.

Nate: No, no. I like the enthusiasm for kissing my backside. Please share, Adam.

Adam: Thank you, my liege. By the way, it is amazing how much the loss of your side part has enhanced your swagger. Maybe it was holding you back.

Nate: My thoughts exactly!

Adam: Anyways, I sent your mirrors out to be polished, special ordered that volcanic ball buffing cream from Iceland, rotated your tires and have twenty minutes worth of baby goat videos ready to roll on your iPad. Oh, and the binders. You can’t have a serious meeting without them.

Nate: I’m impressed.

Victoria: Grrrrrr.

@@@@@@@@@@@

Sally: Blah blah blah new company. Blah.

Nick: Whatever.

Sally: I could design your office at Banana Hammocks International.

Nick: Sure.

Sally: Would you like me to install a sex swing for you and Sharon to rock out on?

Nick: Yep.

Sally: You’re not even listening.

Nick: Just noticing that, huh? But I did hear you. You want to swing with Sharon and Chance. I am so down for it. God, he’s handsome.

@@@@@@@@@

Nikki: You made a very good first impression on Victor.

Claire: Gosh, really? Little old me?

Nikki: Oh yes.

Claire: What was that about the blood though?

Nikki: Victor has a very esoteric sense of humor.

Claire: Of course. I read all about the man in business school. I wrote a paper about Newman Enterprises’ acquisitions and his book Mine, Mine, Also Mine was such a huge help.

Nikki: I’m sure my husband would love to have one of his basement gremlins read your paper to him.

Claire: Maybe in a few years.

Nikki: Why don’t you sit down while I go over what kind of boss I am.

Claire: How exciting.

Nikki: I’m very demanding, but fair. I will bite your head off if I find whimsy in it, but it’s nothing personal. I just have fuck you money and cannot be constrained by society’s rules.

Claire: I get it. Fortunately I have a hide like a rhino. I also realize that when people snap at you, it’s more about what an asshole they are than it is about you.

Nikki: Maybe. You should also know that I will be making all your relationship decisions for you. It is imperative you stay away from any and all dick that is not pre-approved by me. I’ll have a list on your desk by noon. If you prefer ladies, I’ll provide a taqueria menu. I will always be very clear about my expectations and demands.

Claire: …

@@@@@@@@@

Adam: My sister is not impressed.

Victoria: Bravo, dickhead, for doing your job.

Adam: What do I have to do to get you into a better mood today?

Victoria: We’ll see how long this nonsense lasts. If you’re behaving, it means you’re up to something.

Adam: Well, that puts me between a rock and a hard place. If I scheme and act out, I get the cold shoulder. If I try to be a good doobie, same thing. I hope we’ll get to a place where you take my words and actions at face value.

Victoria: I’d like to take your words and actions, ball them up real tight and launch them into orbit around Uranus.

Adam: I get it. Very original. Did you borrow that from witty titty Nick? Oh, and have I mentioned that I really like the Halloween costume you’re auditioning today. The black and white cookie from Seinfeld, right?

Victoria: At least my hair stylist doesn’t put misshapen rectangles on my head.

Adam: I’m going to get back to the office. I rented a sloth to keep your chair warm and it probably needs feeding, boss. Ta ta.

Nate: That young man is going places.

@@@@@@@@@@

Nick: Me Nick! Me have manpain! Like paper cut on nads!

Sally: I can guess what this is about.

Nick: Yeah, it’s called ‘don’t whack off into an empty McDonald’s fry container cuz it will slice and dice your balls like a cardboard ninja.’ Oh, and I can’t stop thinking about Adam kissing you.

Sally: I get it. I can’t either.

Nick: It’s, like, really disrespectful for you to be friends with him.

Sally: But that’s all we are. Friends.

Nick: I hear the noises coming out of your snack hole, but I choose to interpret them in a way that makes me the victim of your harlot ways. Can I mansplain your feelings to you? I promise to use small words.

Sally: Aren’t those the only kind you know?

Nick: Whoa. Coming in hot, huh? Guess what this brain genius finally figured out? That “Adam” isn’t a nickname you’ve given me for a sick yet sexy role play. It’s not a safe word. You’re thinking about my brother during our romps. At least I have the decency to think of the Green Bay Packers instead of other ladies.

Sally: I don’t want to argue about this. Adam is in the past, just like your many lovers are.

Nick: Nah. Look, sweet cheeks, I cannot be balls deep in a relationship with someone who isn’t all in. Even if they are all in, I’ll still peace out if I get bored.

Sally: I’m all in. I choose you. Can’t you hear the fiery passion in my voice?

Nick: I’m sick of you and Adam and your bullshit.

Sally: What are you trying to say?

@@@@@@@@@

Nikki: I would also like you to call me Nikki, in a properly deferential and awed tone. A curtsey would not go unappreciated.

Claire: Consider it done.

Nikki: If you don’t mind, I’d like to awkwardly probe your background, especially your family life. The viewers need their appetites whetted for the mystery of who you’re related to in town.

Claire: I’ll be as reticent as possible, if that helps. I’m sure it will a gripping tale of intrigue.

Nikki: You sweet summer child. 

Audra: Pardon me for barging in, but I had an update on that podcast we’re trying to buy, Rich Fucks Who Have More Money Than They Deserve. The price has gone up again. I think the seller is getting cold feet.

Nikki: What do you suggest? 

Audra: It’s an awesome podcast and very relevant to Newman. We should probably let things cool off for a while until the seller calms his tits.

Nikki: Do you have any suggestions, Claire?

Claire: Little old me? Oh, I couldn’t.

Audra: I’d love another perspective. That’s business speak for ‘shut the fuck up.’

Claire: What if… we agree to the higher price, which allows the other party to feel like they’ve won. We can recoup the cost by incentivizing the advertising platform or some bullshit like that.

Nikki: My god. You have revolutionized the world of business as we know it.

Audra: I’ll implement this bold strategy of pleasing both sides right away. That’s business speak for ‘I can’t believe I’ve been demoted beneath a ninny who is dazzled by information as obvious as the tassels on a stripper’s ta-tas.

@@@@@@@@@

Victoria: You’re falling in love with him, aren’t you?

Nate: No. Though I will ask why you’ve never hit Like on my baby goat posts.

Victoria: You can’t possibly believe he’s reformed. He’s incapable.

Nate: He drew a smiley face on my cinnamon rolls with icing. That’s not the act of a troublemaker.

Victoria: Fine. Take his side. No one ever takes my side. Boo hoo.

Nate: I’m always on your side. What am I supposed to do? Run up to Adam and scream BUSTED! in his face. He’ll never let his guard down then.

Victoria: I’m on an island. It’s called Lonely Island. You died in the shipwreck that left me stranded. All I have is a coconut and a handsome Italian nudist to help me survive.

Nate: Didn’t we agree that we’d give Adam all the time and space he needed to fuck up? That way, Victor will finally see that he’s beyond hope and there’s no one to blame but Adam.

Victoria: Yes, but that plan isn’t scratching my itch. I need results, not my boyfriend bonding with my brother over binders. I bet you haven’t even hired someone to forge Daddy’s commitment papers.

Nate: Victoria, you said you were going to cool it with your father. Let your mom handle it.

Victoria: You never agree with me. Ever since you got rid of the side part, you’ve been downright defiant.

Nate: I’m trying to protect you from your father’s wrath. He told me he keeps the souls of his detractors in his bourbon bottles. I believe him. Bottle your hurt before he bottles you.

Victoria: I don’t need protecting. I need you to believe me about my father’s insanity. And I’m not hurt. I’m insulted. He’s going to whip us all into shape? That dumb ox Nick could use a few cracks, and Adam needs a cattle prod to keep him in line, but me? I did an amazing job running Newman. I’m not one of the rabble!

Nate: Just stick to the plan and everything will be fine. I gotta get back to the office before the sloth heat escapes my chair cushion.

@@@@@@@@@@@

Adam: Hey, Pops. Mind if I test out some of my ass kissing tactics on you?

Victor: You are taking to the assistant role as well as the Titanic took to the iceberg. Ah, what a tragedy. Had I not summoned a team of squid to skim me across the briny deep, the frigid Atlantic would have been my grave until the next cycle.

Adam: Well, I asked to slum it. Are you telling me you rode a shoal of squid across the ocean floor to safety?

Victor: Technically, they were kraken. Few people realize that a group of kraken is called a dime bag. 

Adam: Yeah… so, I’ve learned a lot. Like get your dry cleaning delivered instead of making your assistant pick it up. I will certainly treat my assistants better should I be lucky enough to rise that high.

Victor: What is that damn Nate Hastings teaching you? Do not concern yourself with the little people, k? Are you some kind of commie?

Nate: I hope I’m not interrupting anything.

Victor: Not at all. Is there a problem?

Nate: Just looking for my assistant. I’d like him to sit on this conference call. I’m pretty sure one of the executives on it is getting his pipe puffed and I need confirmation.

Adam: Gross, but okay.

Victor: Good luck, Nicholas. Heheheh.

Adam: …

Nate:…

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Nick: Look, I’m tired of staring at these four walls, worried about Adam manipulating you, manipulating both of us. He’s just relentless. Look at how much he forces us to talk about him. Plus, it smells like hella swamp ass in here.

Sally: Adam isn’t manipulating anyone. Let’s talk about us and our future.

Nick: I couldn’t help but notice how after Adam kissed you, you suddenly felt like you were falling in love with me. At first I’m like, how does Adam’s tongue in your mouth trigger an emotional reaction to me? I pondered and meditated for hours on the can. After giving butt birth to a turdler, it hit me. You were just saying that to make me feel better.

Sally: Are you calling me a liar?

Nick: I’m trying to very gently maneuver you into the bad guy spot so I can come off as a nice, romantic leading man.

Sally: You don’t get to take all my words, jumble them up and throw them back in my face with your spin on them.

Nick: Really? Cause I’m totally doing it. That kiss got you horny as hell. It made you irrational like you were on the rag. You’re in love with Adam, not me.

Sally: Am not.

Nick: Are too.

Sally: We’re just friends. I mean, yes, we bonded over losing our daughter. Surely you understand that process better than anyone.

Nick: Not really. When I lost my daughter, I bonded my dick to a crazy person and got a poppin’ fresh new one. I may have fudged the DNA test a little, but my ex got the blame so I wouldn’t look like the asshole. It’s a move that works for me. I thought after you lost your daughter, maybe I could be your Phyllis.

Sally: What the actual fuck.

Nick: I get it. This is all a punishment for me because I was defusing bombs on my daughter instead of supporting you. Adam hogged all the glory. You didn’t blame him long enough for me to get a foothold. That’s on you.

Sally: You didn’t do shit for Faith.

Nick: Wow. Now you’re calling me a bad father? I’m famous for my top notch dadding and being a straight up DILF. You’ll eventually realize you’re in love with Adam, but I’m not going to watch it happen. I’m out. Buy yourself some Febreze, girl. Damn.

Sally: I guess I have to pretend to cry now. Sniffs bedsheets. Sobs.

@@@@@@@@@

Nikki: I need to hand down some decrees to the finance department. Have the kind of day you deserve, ladies.

Claire: Gosh, I hope little old me didn’t overstep my earnestly modest bounds.

Audra: Of course not. Nikki asked, and you were right to quote page one of your Negotiations 101 textbook.

Claire: I don’t want to step on any toes.

Audra: I feel that good ideas can come from anywhere, even one’s posterior. And we are supposed to be a team here at Newman Media.

Claire: Yay team! So do you need anything more in Nikki’s office?

Audra: If you’re planning to go through her things, don’t bother. The books are all hollowed out to hold soil from Victor’s homeland. The middle drawer in the filing cabinet is full of bananas in case her son visits. The safe behind the painting holds a crown that she wears while listening to “Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina” during her lunch break.

Claire: That’s so amazing. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at my desk.

Audra sits down in a chair and fires up her tablet so that its screen faces the doorway where anyone can hover and see what she’s doing. She surfs to the FuckFuckNo search engine and types in Claire’s name.

@@@@@@@@@@

Victoria: Thank god you’re here. I need somebody to start following orders.

Nick: Can’t you see I’m suffering from third degree manpain?

Victoria: That’s great. I’m worried about Dad. Yesterday he got stuck while trying to transform into a bat. I had to lock him in a closet for eight hours until he came out of it.

Nick: So? Sometimes I get my head stuck in the armhole of my shirt while I’m getting dressed. Doesn’t make me incompetent.

Victoria: For eight hours?

Nick: 12 is my personal record.

Victoria: Please, Nick. I need someone to take this seriously. I’m worried that Daddy is off his game. It’s like nobody cares. Even Nate just shrugs his shoulders.

Nick: Since I’m clearly superior to Nate, I will buy in. What do you need from me?

Victoria: Come back to Newman Enterprises so I have someone to blame when my coup attempt ends in tears. 

Nick: Not this shit again. Can’t we talk about monster trucks or s’mores or something interesting?

Victoria: Do you really need to start a business with Sharon?

Nick: Well, sex isn’t an option with you, so…

Victoria: Is this about proving you can leave Newman any time you want? Fine. You’ve proven it. Now prove it harder by running right back.

Nick: I’ll talk to Dad. But that’s it. Now let me drink my milktini in peace.

Victoria leaves. Nick’s phone plays I Want Your Sex by George Michael. It’s Sally calling. He answers it without speaking, subtly lifting a cheek off the barstool and offering Sally a wet peal of thunder before shutting the phone off. They couldn’t develop smell phones fast enough for Nick’s liking.

@@@@@@@@

Nikki: Gentlemen, you look troubled. Not that I care, but you did just emerge from my husband’s office.

Nate: He called Adam ‘Nick’. That’s a burn requiring a hospital stay.

Nikki: I shall attend to the matter. Excuse me.

Nikki swans into Victor’s office.

Nikki: What the hell? You just called Adam by Nick’s name.

Victor: Indeed I did. It was intentional, k? My plan is to come across as a doddering old fool, forcing my children to band together either to care for me or to plot an overthrowing of my regime. My pawns grow complacent and I must find new ways to amuse myself, k?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

I miss two days, two friggin’ days, and the bugged bonsai saga is already over? Am I to understand that Tucker’s nefarious espionage effort has crashed and burned just like that? I was looking forward to weeks of bonsai related content, concluding with Jack’s romantic moonlight proposal to the tree.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Billy’s and Ashley’s inability to prove their loyalty to Jack is down to their poor choices over the years. If “Hey, remember when chucklenuts really did embezzle money and fuck your crazy wife? LOL!” is a stealth campaign, sign me up to be the campaign manager! Sadly, in the face of all Billy’s bullshit, Jack remains naively loyal to him. 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Are you familiar with the rules of etiquette? I recently attended a lovely wedding reception for a dashing gentleman I consider a son. He has a younger brother who I consider a mistake. During the touching renewal of vows, this uncouth fool rolled his eyes, made a jerking off motion, pretended to stick his finger down his throat and spit sunflower seeds at his nephew’s wife. While others gave beautiful speeches, this vulgar ass sat sullenly and silently, refusing to clap and occasionally setting off a fart machine app on his phone. I suppose he can’t help it, being the son of an obnoxious slag, but I still feel he should be taught some manners. What say you?

Signed;

To The Manner Born

Dear Manner;

I can understand your confusion, since you sound like a stuffy old bat who adheres to the traditional school of etiquette. The modern rules of proper behavior are beyond your ken. Today, it’s all about keeping it real and unvarnished truths. The truth is, wedding receptions are basically the prostate exam of social events and a freewheeling young lad can’t be expected to keep it together through all the tedium. Did you know? The jerking it gesture is considered to be the appropriate response to chuds talking about their grandkids, dorks blathering about their 401ks and every basic bozo who thinks they’ve got an original thought about the weather. Oh, and corny ass toasts at receptions. Readers, for $199.95 plus shipping and handling, you can order my helpful pamphlet, Buttbiscuit’s Rules of Etiquette. Discover the best ways to subtly deploy your middle finger from “pushing up your glasses” to “brushing aside your bangs.” Learn the best locations for disposing of nose nuggets during high class events when an emergency extraction is called for. And, by the way? That wasn’t a fart app.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

My aunt is quite insistent that I make peace with my cousin, who is a backstabbing, sideparting, bossfucking scumbag. He tried to sell out his family company, then slept his way almost to the top of another. Loyalty means nothing to this guy. Smug, smarmy, and ambitious enough to fuck a taco if it would get him promoted is no way to go through life, but that’s what he chose. I need my aunt to understand that she just can’t drop in out of the blue and force a truce on me. Thoughts?

Signed;

Wants No Part of a Side Part

Dear Part;

Whoa there, buddy! Slow your goddamn roll and take a few deep breaths. I have just about had it with you holier than thou, sanctimonious ninnies with a flagpole up your asses over a family member’s betrayal. Booohooo! I’m sick of being oppressed by self-righteous, moralizing pricks who never accidentally charged a yacht to the company credit card. Business ain’t for saints but it is for taints is something I always imagined my dad saying. Ambition and hustle are manly American values, my friend. You can lay there like a speed bump and cry about getting cheated, or you can stand the fuck up and run your own scam. Goody two shoes like you are what provoke alpha males like me into taking advantage. If you didn’t want your cousin’s foot in your ass, you shouldn’t be walking around with a vacancy sign for a tramp stamp. What’s with the jab about the guy’s hair? It’s not enough that he has to endure your shunning, but you have to cast aspersions on his style? Not today, bro. Dickhead nation, stand the hell up!

Dear Buttbiscuit;

I feel like my associate is attempting to pimp me out to fend off some blackmail, plus he expects me to play along with a truly idiotic plan to vanquish some business rival. This guy is actually pretty smart and driven, but when you try to weaponize my lady parts, I will not only jump off the bandwagon , I’ll derail that motherfucker. I’m supposed to “reignite the flame” with my ex-lover for my associate’s benefit. I actually really like my ex, though I have no idea why because he’s just a tall, dopey glass of skim milk. I’m pretty sure he and his estranged wife made up an imaginary son out of whole cloth, as no one can prove he exists. I told my boss to mind her own business today, which could possibly leave me with plenty of time for sex with my ex. 

Signed;

Bewitched By Bouffants

Dear Bewitched;

Your associate needs a beat down with his own pimp cane. It’s important for every person to choose their own sexual destiny, no matter how tawdry or desperate. I like the thought of weaponizing my dangly bits, if I’m being honest. I’d like to think of my baguette as a bold and powerful Jedi light saber, protecting me as I dive into a dark and mysterious lady cave. Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could force choke my own chicken? Anyhoo, so you told your boss off. Big deal. I talk shit to my boss’ face every single day and he has to take it because he’s family. Have you tried marrying into your boss’ family? Just a thought.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Just who in the hell do you think you are, doling out life advice to the pitiful beings in this hamlet? If anyone is going to give orders to the peasantry, it will be me, Nikki Newman. I have an assistant. Do you have an assistant? I didn’t think so. Today I proved that I was the pinnacle of high society by offering a heartfelt wedding toast to a woman I despise, simply due to the deep friendship I have with her husband. I wore a cold smile as I warned her not to hurt the groom, as I would personally lead the mob of torch and pitchfork wielding hired mercenaries to her doorstep. It is not easy to make threats classy. You will cease and desist with this little column of yours and leave the guidance of the poors to me. By the way, a ‘poor’ is anyone not of my clan.

Signed;

Nikki Newman

Dear Nikki;

Blow it out your bagpipes, lady. Aren’t you the same basic bish who left your beloved friend at the altar after he fought to walk again just so he could surprise you at your wedding? That you? You left him for some decomposing dick at the no tell mustache motel, if I recall. I shall continue my column with the same sensitivity and deep emotional intelligence my readers have become accustomed to. By the way, please tell your dumbo of a granddaughter to stop writing in repeatedly to ask if Chance likes her. He hasn’t passed me a note in gym class yet, but I’m certain the answer is no. Because no one likes her. I tapped that and I can’t stand her. I hope you ride your high horse into a barn door.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

29 minutes ago, Joimiaroxeu said:

The advice letters were hilarious as usual but I am struggling to figure this part out. Billy only has two living nephews, Kyle and Chance. Neither of those guys has a sister. Does this refer to Summer? Because if so, Kyle's gonna have bigger problems than his uncle having screwed her. Eww eww eww.🤮

It does refer to Summer. She and Kyle may not be related by DNA, but they thought they were siblings long enough to make it icky.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Why is it so hard to wring sympathy out of people? Nobody’s perfect, right? I’ve made some slight mistakes in my time, but everyone else living in Genoa City has too. My children, who treat me like shit, aren’t better than me. One’s a recovered porn addict and the other is easily the most annoying person I know. My so-called best friend sold a dress to the woman who forced me to frame her for murder. WTF? One of my exes seemed to be showing me compassion, but it was all a ruse so he could tell me to stop scavenging for pity. This guy should be honored that I even messed up his life in the first place, considering he’s a one hit wonder and I could probably score, like, Nickelback. He told me happiness comes from within. What a crock of shit! Happiness is owed to unique individuals like me and should be generously doled out regardless of behavior. He wanked on and on about how I should I take some ratchet ass job with my dick of a son, when that is clearly beneath my talents. I fuck to video games, not develop them. My question is this: is it wrong to crash someone’s wedding reception and pelt the newlyweds with jumbo shrimp?

Signed;

Woe is Me

Dear Woe;

There are a number of factors to consider. As someone who has been pelted with seafood before, let me assure you that jumbo shrimp pack a mean wallop. For a unique, unforgettable splash, may I recommend live lobsters being launched into the party via slingshot? I can definitely relate to your other issues. Most people have a finite supply of fucks to give and it takes an excruciatingly long time to replenish. There are worse jobs than game development; I once suffered the indignity of renting my nasal cavities out to children’s parties as a bounce house. One pollen fueled sneeze later and I was tied up in court for months . Speaking of kids, every parent has an annoying, misdirected sperm that should have been left in a hand towel. I like to keep my nostrilets guessing as to just who that wayward dick dollop is. The ex you mentioned sounds like he’s trying out to be a motivational speaker. Genoa City has enough of that bullshit, thank you very much. My girlfriend is so high on her own supply that she farts sunshine and earth mother wisdom, sometimes letting me light them to use as incense. If you’d like a muffin served by a walking Live, Laugh, Love sign, Genoa City has got you covered. There’s even a local lounge where you can commune with the portrait of boathouse philosopher Neil Winters. Good luck!

Dear Buttbiscuit;

I’ve recently filed for a restraining order against the most obnoxious tool I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. Since there’s one whole cop in Genoa City, it could take months, so I’d like to warn the good residents of this town to BOLO for this miscreant. He looks like Gumby, but if Gumby was made of string cheese, turned upside down and daintily dipped into an inkwell. Beady eyes and a shit eating grin frame a dual exhaust system. This jerk threatens me every time we cross paths, which is suspiciously often. He delivers what he considers to be zingers with such bravado that I want to twist his chicken legs up like a pretzel. Having a weak burn game is worse than having a small dick, not that I have to worry about either. This nerd keeps swaggering around, telling me this town ain’t big enough for the both of us and I should be the one to leave. He’s holding some pretty damning information over my head, but if he keeps pushing that leverage too far, I’ll still give him a wasabi nasal lavage. See, I told him if he betrayed his family, I’d put him in the big boy chair. I guess it was my fault for offering a dumb bunny such a crisp, flavorful carrot, but you’d think this waste of space would be used to disappoint by now. He keeps braying about “his father’s legacy” like the rest of the dopes in his family. TL;DR, I’m not going anywhere. Suck it, buddy.

Signed;

Tucker “I Banged Your Sister” McCall

Dear Tucker;

Oh yeah? Well, I’m rubber, you’re glue. Whatever bounces off me sticks to you. I’ll send some aloe to your suite. Sick middle name, bro. I’m going to make my nephew address me by that sobriquet from now on.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Did your paper get those letters of support I had Connor write for you? He got bored after eleven, but that should be enough to fend off your competition. The erotic dick pics you sent me were just brimming with such a robust vitality that I had to sit on Mom’s washing machine to calm down. It’s weird but I’ve been really inspired to design while away from you. Did you ask Sharon if she’d wear the little number I whipped up? I can’t wait to hear about all the kudos she got. Yay me!

Love;

Chelz

Dear Chelz;

This is the Genoa City Blowhole’s editor in chief. Since “Buttbiscuit” won’t pay for the copies he made of his testicles or reimburse us for the vending machine he turned out, we’ll be publishing his private emails until he cuts us a check. Toodles!

 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Scenes from a Yawn, October 5:

Jack: Schmoopy.

Diane: Schmoopy.

Jack: I know! Let’s renew our vows after being married less than a year! Bury all our guests up to their necks in treacle. I hate myself.

Diane: Yeah, that sounds like filler material to me. Whatevs. Could you make our son co-CEO and shitcan Chad the Inhaler?

Jack: That’s not my style. Maybe Jabot could be led by a trinity: the CEO, the Pomp and the Holy Nostrils.

Diane: I’m going to start a sex offensive and put it on you until you crumble.

Jack: Bites lip.

@@@@@@@@@@

Jill: Duplicitous cabbage!

Mamie: Bitter bovine!

Jill: You invested large sums of money and came back to town just to piss me off.

Mamie: I’m all about the fam. Smirk.

Jill: John liked me the mostest.

Mamie: You baked up a fine buttbiscuit. But I’d say he preferred my cupcakes.

Jill: Your cupcakes are dry and tasteless.

Mamie: My cupcakes are moist and delicious.

Lily: Let’s keep this friendly, as my father, Neil Winters, would want.

Nate: Did anyone notice a PART of me is missing?

Mamie: I noticed you replaced that nice doctor lady with a bag of bones.

Lily: Devon and I have excommunicated Nate from the Church of Neil.

Devon: I don’t even really know Mamie?

Abby: I feel so awkward.

@@@@@@@@@

Jill: Cut the crap, you two. What’s Mamie’s game?

Devon: I don’t know her.

Lily: l’m just weirded out that even Aunt Mamie is getting a corporate storyline. Maybe some time with Daniel’s penis will help me think.

Devon: Yeah, I suppose Abby and I need to get to shagging at your house, Jill.

Jill: I’m so happy Chance invited you to live there. It’s a wonderful reminder of my grandson’s pain.

@@@@@@@@

Mamie (on phone) I just came from seeing everyone. What a night! Mwah ha ha! They have no idea. That sounds like the lead in to something juicy, but we all know it’s not.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

I gotta warn you. If you give Nick an enema, he’ll be able to bathe in a shot glass.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

It’s your favorite advice columnist, Buttbiscuit, reporting from an undisclosed location that is not Tucker McCall’s closet. I want to thank the eleven readers who texted me their support and well wishes. I’m undertaking this high risk mission for the people, after all. If rich white men aren’t safe from the predations of their fellow rich white man, well, we have a tendency to take it out on the help and no one wants that. I think we can all agree that someone needs to wipe that smirk off Tucker McCall’s face. Despite my precarious position in this corporate game of cat and mouse, I must once again seize the reins of my Genoa City Blowhole column. The guest writers were a little too well received for my liking.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

I don’t know if you’re an expert in the paranormal, but I sure hope so. My home is quite possibly being haunted by a dark entity, and it’s not Victor Newman. I recently discovered a used condom, candy wrappers and a jug of urine in my closet, none of which I put there. I live alone, which makes it doubly weird that I came home from a hard day of trolling to find a sixteen inch deuce wrapped around the porcelain. My heated seat must have been violated in unspeakable ways. I’m also finding ominous black stains on my coats, a sure sign of a poopergeist who uses shoe polish on his hair. What should I do? I’ve heard locking a rabid honey badger in one’s closet will often scare the ghosties away.

Signed;

The Haunting of Tucker McCall

Dear Haunting;

Consider me a renaissance man, a master of many disciplines and arts. Not only do I deeply understand the mortal plane, I also watch a lot of Travel Channel, home to a plethora of paranormal programs. Sometimes I have to sleep with a light on, but gaining knowledge is worth the risk. I’ve never seen a rabid animal used by paranormal investigators, and it would probably be too dangerous for all involved. Believe it or not, there are a lot of litigious spirits out there. As a locally famous expert in mental health, may I suggest you’re stressed or experiencing a psychotic break? You obviously forgot the exhilarating evacuation of a ten pound chocolate log that nearly brought you to tears of joy and relief. (Sh)it happens. Did you know that ghosts get bored easily? Ignore the main location of the activity and watch your problem disappear in 7 to 10 days. 
 

Dear Buttbiscuit;

Have you ever made a mistake while in the throes of despair? And then everyone but your so-called best friend points out it’s a mistake, which only fuels a perverse desire to double down on it? I once owned a beautiful painting of a summer evening, created by a sophisticated, masterful artist. The colors were bold; the brushstrokes were sensual. I found a painting of dogs playing poker, done in the velvet medium. It’s crude and cheesy, especially the one dog off in the corner lovingly washing his own balls. It was a flea market find. I took down the superior painting and hung up the velvet dogs as a lark. I knew it wasn’t right for the room; it cheapened everything around it. I honestly hate the sight of it, but I feel I must persevere when everyone mocks it. Oh, as an aside, how do you tell your boyfriend he needs a training bra?

Signed;

Painted Into a Corner

Dear Corner;

Fucking up is an art form, and I am its Michelangelo. When you’ve made a high level mistake, you need high level tactics to deal with it. I suggest coming out of the corner you’ve painted yourself into like an angry Doberman, snarling and snapping and biting. Go on the offensive! Start throwing accusations around like confetti and blame others for your bad choices. People will be in absolute awe over your outrageous behavior and need time to recover their senses. This is time you can spend manipulating the narrative. As for the training bra, most dudes will let you bedazzle their nads if you ask them for permission while naked. BTW, my brother’s birthday is coming up. I would be willing to take that velvet dog painting off your hands for a reasonable fee.

Dear Buttbiscuit;

What a great column! I just moved to Genoa City and wondered if you could give me a rundown on who the major players in town are. You have a remarkable perspective on things.

Signed;

Glare Brace

Dear Glare;

Welcome to Genoa City! Good to hear you weren’t put off by the Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here sign at the edge of town. The Newmans are serious players here, despite being a bizarre, nepotistic cult ruled by Victor Newman. No one knows if he’s a vampire, demon, lich or some eldritch entity dreamed up by Satan after a tequila bender. The Newmans are numerous compared to other families, to the point that Genoa City will eventually become a cousin fucking capital of the midwest. They’re dull, basic bitches who dominate the society pages despite being awful people. The Abbotts are the far superior family, but they’re regularly and ritually sacrificed whenever the Newmans need a body part.

There’s the Hamilton/Winters family, founders of the town’s spiritual traditions as embodied by the late and deeply missed Neil Winters, blessed be his name. Get thee to a gift shop and purchase a rubber What Would Neil Winters Do? bracelet. It will make socializing much easier. Devon, Neil’s adopted son, is the biological son of smirking meerkat Tucker McCall, who should be avoided at all costs. Devon’s sister Lily will tell you what’s what with great clarity and honesty. Their cousin Nate stabbed them all in the back and then had the stones to rock a side part. You don’t front with coiffure in this town.

Phyllis Summers is a condemned crack den of a person who should be left alone if you know what’s good for you. If you don’t? Well, play stupid games; win stupid prizes. Speaking of stupid prizes, her daughter Summer is an asshole and a disappointing lay. Phyllis recently faked her own death and Summer helped her cover it up. Neither one is in prison, which should tell you all you need to know about Genoa City justice.

We have a police chief and no other cops. There’s one doctor who specializes in everything, and the hospital is just one curtained space with a bed and no monitoring equipment. 95% of the workforce holds a corporate job. Sexual harassment laws are not recognized in Genoa City. Our green space is a park bench and some grass, possibly a bit of fencing and a tree. Roughly half of all residents live at the GCAC. If you see a devastatingly handsome man out and about, that’s probably Billy Abbott. Hope this helped!

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Boes, where can I download that rockin’ playlist? I really want that Buttbiscuit nostril mug because I drink a lot of coffee.

2 hours ago, Kemper said:

At this point, pairing Sally back up with Adam would have almost as much ick as Sally/Nick. Adam deserves better.

He does, yet I’m a sick puppy who wants Sally and Adam together. I really want Sally to frequently tell Nick how incredible the sex is and how refreshing it is to know it’s even happening. 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

17 minutes ago, Chatty Cake said:

What exactly is Tucker going to do to take down the Abbott’s? Snark them out of their company?

If anyone can do it, it’s Tucker McCall. I just wish he’d direct his ire toward Billy and away from Jack. 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Diane: I want names. No, I want blood. Has accounting traced the bastard who did this?

Billy: My name is going to be on that shell company. Tucker sent that money to Black Hole Nasal Therapeutics for a reason. And he had an assist from your biggest mistake, Jack.

Jack: I have two cement trucks on standby that will back up to and fill your sinus gullies. I swear to god I’m this close. It’s baffling that Tucker would focus his vengeance on you when you’re completely incapable of putting up a good fight.

Billy: It makes perfect sense, Jack. You might be the heart and soul and brain of Jabot, but I’m its swagger. Its big swinging dick. First he emasculates the family by taking me out, then it’s easy pickings.

Jack: Accounts have been frozen and all of our vendors have been notified. Tucker accomplished basically nothing with this attack, but we should punch him in the kidneys before he pulls some shit.

Billy: Speaking of dicks, did Adam ever spill the tea?

@@@@@@@@

Tucker: Esther! What a lovely day in every way. How are you, my dear lady?

Esther: The fuck you want?

Audra: Double espresso.

Tucker: That’s Italian for ‘twice the espresso’.

Esther: Two double espressos, no biscotti.

Audra: That went well.

Tucker: I thought so.

Audra: You know, Nikki warned me not to associate with you.

Tucker: Am I getting the Kyle Abbot treatment? I don’t know if I can tease my hair that high.

Audra: Of course not. She said it was for my own good. Nikki wants to mentor me.

Tucker: What does she know about business that you don’t? Wait a minute. Are you going to be moonlighting at the Spearmint Gyno, Genoa City’s premiere strip club? Live your truth, girlfriend.

Audra: Don’t be an ass. I actually think Nikki is sincere.

Tucker: Sincere or not, don’t stick your hand in that jar of scorpions.

@@@@@@@@@

Danny: I mean it. You look like shit. Like a woman whose been caught and curb stomped by her own terrible decisions.

Phyllis: What are you doing in Genoa City? Does Daniel know you’re here?

Danny: Duh. I had a couple of years off my tour of abandoned shopping malls and had some business to take care of in town. Daniel’s meeting me here.

Phyllis: I sense hostility.

Danny: Oh it’s beyond hostility. Somehow you’ve become an even worse person since dropping your narcissistic napalm on my life decades ago. But, hey, at least you’re alive. Last time I saw you, you were faking death by poison.

Phyllis: You know, you know Jeremy Stark coerced me into that. He threatened me and my family.

Danny: First of all, you cut down a beautiful piece of gray velour in the prime of its life. Second, Stark coercing you into doing anything is about as likely as him teaching a bull shark to crochet.

Phyllis: You don’t believe me? You don’t believe me.

Danny: Pull the other one. It’s got bells on.

Phyllis: Woe is me! Why is life so cruel? Everywhere I go, people gaze hatefully upon my poor self, judging and whispering, pointing and shunning. They might as well brand my chest with a scarlet P for Pariah.

Danny: Beats the tube socks with lemons you’ve got there now.

@@@@@@@@@

Jack: I was so busy this afternoon trying to untangle Kyle’s pompadour strays from the ceiling fan that I forgot to check my emails.

Billy: Fuckin’ Kyle.

Jack: Got something from Adam right here. Well, well, well, this is quite the email.

Billy: Did he, uh, say anything about me?

Jack: He sure did. Huh, I never considered what would happen if scientists put the Hadron Collider inside a nasal gravitational anomaly.

Billy: I’m not surprised he’s thinking about me and colliding hard ons. Did he have any dirt on Tucker?

Jack: He sent me a fucking landfill.

Billy: What concessions did you have to make? I hope you realize I’ll only give handies to protect our father’s legacy.

Jack: It was free. I think he gave it to me for the lulz.

Billy: Nothing is free when it comes to Adam Newman. Just tell me what sick, depraved acts you signed me up for so I can prepare myself.

Jack: Having no friends, you may be unaware that people do favors for those they like and respect. One day, Adam may need a favor from me.

Billy: That’s when you show me your pimp hand and force me to work off your debt to Adam. I get it. So give me the deets on the dirt.

Jack: Tucker and Audra covered up a cover up of a singer’s sex scandal. The singer preyed on underage girls and was eventually arrested for it. Gross.

Billy: I’ll drop a smug bomb on Tucker and leave the hackasaurus to you. I do have one question though.

Jack: You’re not dropping into Tucker’s room Mission Impossible style, so stop asking. His ceiling doesn’t even have an opening.

Billy: I’m planning on crawling through the ventilation system anyway. What I wanted to know is if there was a moment you believed I embezzled that money.

Jack: Duh?

Billy: whistles the Mission Impossible theme song.

@@@@@@@@

Daniel: What’s going on here? From the demonic glow in your eyes, Mom, I’d say Dad is roasting you so hard that you regret not putting on your asbestos underwear this morning.

Danny: I hadn’t even got to the part where I wrote a suck ass song for her memorial as an everlasting middle finger to her memory.

Daniel: Fatality! Noice.

Phyllis: I get it. I really get it. You guys are skeptical. You haven’t seen any changes yet.

Danny: You should have seen her playing the victim, son. She could jump down off that cross and use the wood to build a bridge for getting over herself. We all know she won’t.

Phyllis: You guys know I’m still recovering from the horrific trauma of Stark ruining my lucky scissors. You also know the judge showed me grace and compassion and thought I deserved a second chance. In your face.

Daniel: Have you thought any more about the job I offered you at Omegasphere? You must need the money.

Phyllis: Actually I found the account Jeremy hid my money in. Isn’t that convenient?

Daniel: Reeeeally. Last week, you said you were, and I quote, “cooked like a batch of meth.”

Phyllis: That’s before Michael put a team of investigators on it. He’s very modest about it, to the point of pretending he doesn’t know what you’re talking about if you ask him about it.

Daniel: I’m happy the burden has been lifted. Now you can focus on being a burden to others.

Phyllis: Tell you what. If Nick can’t wheedle Sharon into hiring me, I’ll join your company and be on my best behavior. My very best behavior.

Jack: Scram, kids. Shit’s about to get real here.

Phyllis: I thought I was dead to you.

Jack: I’m zombie hunting now.

@@@@@@@@

Tucker: I was serious about you working at Jabot after I punk Jack Abbot. The plan is already in motion.

Audra: This again? Amuse me. Tell me your grand plan.

Tucker: I’ve made it look like Billy is embezzling from Jabot. Ha ha!

Audra: That’s totally mid. Jack’s not stupid. Billy’s a clown shoe, but even he could figure out it was you.

Tucker: Yeah, it’s great. I want them to know it was me. See, it’s a feint, a distraction. When they zig, I zag.

Audra: What are you distracting them from?

Tucker: Oh, nothing special. Just the atomic wedgie they’ll never see coming. I’ll pull Billy’s thong so far up over his head, he’ll be able to gargle his balls.

Audra: Do you even want Jabot? What are you going to do with a cosmetics company?

Tucker: Do I want Jabot is not the right question. Do Jack and Billy want Jabot is the proper question. They wants it, so I must takes it.

Audra: So we’re back on the revenge bullshit?

Tucker: You have no idea.

@@@@@@@@@@

Diane: May I sit down and watch you drink?

Billy: If you must. I’m imbibing some liquid courage before I go one on one with my nemesis.

Diane: How is a ginger ale going to help you get the drop on a box of Kleenex?

Billy: I’m talking Tucker McCall, the biggest piece of shit to ever be plopped down in dairy country. I’ve tangled with some real deviants in my time. I’ve seen things, man. He’s the worst of them all.

Diane: Did you and Jack come up with a plan?

Billy: Maybe your husband will tell you. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.

Diane: I’ve been in jail, Billy. You don’t want any of this smoke. I’m guessing you still don’t trust me because Tucker filled your head with garbage.

Billy: I have magnanimously given you the benefit of the doubt. Would that you could do the same for me.

Diane: It’s just that you’re a delusional dick who hilariously thinks he’s the most rational, levelheaded person in the family.

Billy: Look, we need to get past all this petty nonsense and be prepared to attack McCall as a well-oiled machine. I’m in the driver’s seat, okay? You and Jack can ride shotgun or eat exhaust fumes.

Diane: You listen to me, asshole.  If you’re good, we might let you ride in the trunk.

@@@@@@@@@

Jack: Do you ever get tired of fucking with me?

Phyllis: Eh, I can take it or leave it.

Jack: I know what you did. You hacked into Jabot’s accounts and transferred money to make it look like Billy was embezzling again.

Phyllis: Did not. Did not.

Jack: You did it for Tucker McCall. Why else would you be caught hanging out with that slime mold?

Phyllis: Sex?

Jack: I think very little of Tucker, but even I wouldn’t put that evil on him. What I don’t get is why you’d do this to the one fool dumb enough to show you a lick of kindness.

Phyllis: I do what I want to who I want, but I didn’t do what you think I did.

Jack: I just don’t understand you. If you’d played it straight, asked for help… admittedly I would have laughed in your face and presented my buttocks for you to kiss.

Phyllis: Fuck you and your accusations, Jack Abbott! This is all your fault. You got the ball rolling the day you treated me like a respectable member of society and put a ring on it. You unleashed me on Genoa City! Every act of violence, skankery and manipulation is on your head, asshole. Now I’m paying the price for your bullshit. A felony is committed, someone’s husband gets humped, an ambulance explodes and all the pitches and torchforks come out. Torches and pitchforks. You and the rest of the judgmental hypocrites can go poop pineapples!

Jack: …

@@@@@@@@@

Daniel: I can only imagine what that’s about.

Danny: Jack? Whatever his beef is, I’m sure it’s legit. He and I are members of a very special, very exclusive club. The dues we paid is valuable years of our life being touched by an asshole.

Daniel: Is Nick in the club?

Danny: He crashed a meeting once, shirtless, nips bouncing like they were on trampolines. Crop dusted the clubhouse and took off in a huff.

Daniel: Do you believe Mom?

Danny: Nope. Do you?

Daniel: You didn’t raise an idiot.

@@@@@@@@

Tucker: See, the Abbott family shattered any chance I had to build a life with Ashley.

Audra: Do you want my opinion?

Tucker: Depends. Does it match mine?

Audra: You’re not going to like it. 

Tucker: You can’t pierce my armor of self regard. Come at me.

Audra: You’re acting like a whiny emo bitch because your marriage fell apart. Jabot means nothing to you. You’re lashing out in pain and anger.

Tucker: I can get better analysis from Sharon.

Audra: I would bet cash money that if Ashley came crawling back, apologized and jumped back into your new business venture, you’d call off this cheap revenge ploy.

Tucker: You couldn’t be more wrong, my little chickadee. I sold McCall in order to fund this exciting new life with Ashley. It was like selling a piece of my soul. Basically the Abbotts stole my soul.

Audra: You sold McCall because it tanked during your journey of self-discovery.

Tucker: Don’t interrupt my flow. Ashley played me like I was her own personal diddle fiddle. It was a masterpiece of manipulation, the push and pull, the teasing me with her lady favors. I actually believed she fell in love with me again. Then, in Paris, she showed me her true colors.

Audra: You mean you showed your true colors by throwing a shit fit because your new bride wouldn’t tell her family to piss off.

Tucker: Whose side are you on?

Audra: Believe it or not, yours. Ashley is in love with you. But you’ll never get her back if you keep up this vendetta.

Tucker: You ever been in love?

Audra: Nah. I kinda thought I was with Noah, but it turns out I was just blissfully half asleep.

@@@@@@@@

Diane leaves Billy at the bar with an “I do freaky nose stuff” sign taped stealthily to his back. She spots Jack sitting at a table with Phyllis. She hovers at a discreet distance.

Jack: Do you see a motherfucking flute in my hands? Do your hear music? Then why are you undulating and spitting venom like a cobra?

Phyllis: I resent your accusations, Jack. Your accusations. She looks up to see Diane watching them converse in a bright red dress. I’m a changed woman. I’m making amends for the horrible THINGS DIANE MADE ME DO THAT’S RIGHT IT IS 50% HER FAULT!

Jack: Oh yeah? Stop writing checks your bony maroney ass can’t cash. Make a gesture of good faith. Hack Tucker McCall.

@@@@@@@@@@

Danny: Despite your mother being a hissing succubus and your sister being an asshole, you seem pretty chill. I’m happy to see it.

Daniel: It’s true. Mom’s like an asshole tree and her little cheek fruit didn’t fall too far away. But I’ve got a good job and I don’t mind when the boss rides me.

Danny: I’m so proud of you.

Daniel: What the hell are you going to do with two years off your tour? You gonna hang out and do drive by roasts of Mom? That would be epic.

Danny: I was hoping to see Christine. We had a really good talk when I was here to sing in memory of numbnuts.

Daniel: She’s in Lisbon with Paul. I guess they’re trying to work things out? He called and asked her to come over, so she hopped on a plane to Portugal.

Danny: Oh. I thought they were getting a divorce. Irreconcilable differences and irremovable jeans.

Daniel: Pretty weird to be cock blocked by another man’s tight pants, huh?

@@@@@@@@@@

Tucker: Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

Billy: Yeah, well, talk to this fly. Billy aggressively grabs his own junk.

Tucker: I hope that never shows up in one of those artsy fartsy flashbacks.

Billy: It’s time to throw down, Tucker. I’m putting all my cards on the table, except for the ones I’m going to shove sideways up your ass. You’re going to step off Jabot, bro.

Tucker: You’re dressed like a burglar yet you knocked on my door. I don’t buy your commitment to the bit. Sorry.

Billy: I’m not here to suck my own dick, Tucker. I mean business. Jack and I know about you and Audra and the perv you had signed to your record label. What was that sound? Was it your sphincter slamming shut in defeat?

Tucker: You dropped your phone. Dumbass.

 

 

 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Wasn’t it exciting how Buttbiscuit and Jack figured out that Phyllis was the culprit almost immediately? And after she was so subtle about it too! Tucker’s dastardly first blow against Jabot might be over before it began, not unlike sex with Nick. Corporate intrigue without a modicum of suspense is a bold new narrative device, I must say.

 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

1 hour ago, SweePea59 said:

I watched today. This show is no fun anymore. It's just tedious and illogical.

Right? I started a recap, but then Phyllis started caping for Billy and I completely lost interest. Shitheads caring about other shitheads just doesn’t do it for me.

Viewers could find better corporate intrigue watching pigeons play Monopoly.

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

I can’t. I won’t. Do not revisit, recall, or even hint at the abomination that was Philly. Let sleeping dog turds lie. I love Tucker, but he can catch a bullet train to hell for even bringing it up. Phyllis once stole her daughter’s trust fund; she would not give a flying fuck on a turnip truck about setting Billy up for embezzlement charges. I know I don’t feel sorry for that whiny ass titty baby. This will all somehow end with Jack shouting an apology into the cavern system on Billy’s dumb face so we have to listen to it echo for eternity.

We’re back to Adam trying too hard and Sally not wanting any part of it. Here I was worried they were moving in a new direction. Sally can’t wait for Nick to return so she can keep it in her pants - sounds about right.

Tucker finds a way to have fun with everyone he meets. 

[Getting to Genoa You All Over Again: Y&R Daily Chat]

Happy birthday! May the nostrils of despair overlook your house!