March 3, 2004

Girlfriends and manpals, it's been far, far too long since we sat around the java and had a good conflab.  Events have conspired to keep me away from the computer, but I'm glad to be back now.  Grab your favorite hot bevvie and let's talk GH!

Cataclysmic event MY FINE TAUT ASS!!  More like same ol' GH with only one set instead of 2-3.  Oh, by the way!  I found some missing footage from the CE.

I'll set up the scene for you:

Time index:  2.5 minutes after Jax banged away at Sam while Rome, I mean the hotel, burned.  (I guess she was his metaphoric fiddle and he played her well). 

Location:  Bathroom of Jax's penthouse

Breakdown:  Jax goes into the bathroom to brush the pubes out of his teeth and looks at himself in the mirror. 

VO (Jax voice):  "I can't bear it any more, always and forever passing my leavings back and forth to Sonny via some dark, sultry leavings receptacle."  Jax cringes as he recalls that when he'd plunged into her murky depths, Sam was still warm from the friction of her last sharpening of Sonny's tiny pencil "I mean," Jax VO continues, "just look at how small Sonny's fingers are!"

Jax spreads his long, firm, generously-sized fingers and admires them fondly.  He looks up into the mirror again, thinking of the splashing sounds their lovemaking had made and how Sam had whispered, "Son... I mean... Jaaaxxxx,"  just as "The B Word" had done in days past.  He felt his bile rising as he splashed cool water onto his face with his generously sized, longish, firm fingers and again, looked at his own reflection.  He wondered what his suave brother, Jerry, would do, then realized that Jerry would never take anyone's leftovers.  It would be like eating food someone else had already chewed. 

The imagery caused his stomach to reject its contents and he vomited heartily into his gilded toilet.  He promptly reached for the Scope to rinse away the foul taste in his mouth left by Sam that even vomit could not subdue.  Reconsidering, he bypassed the Scope and desperately clutched a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.  He downed it like a man possessed, then forced himself to vomit it up as well (by violating his throat with one of his long, firm, generously-sized fingers), so it could work its cleansing, bubbly magic in both directions. 

Feeling no cleaner, inside or out, in his body, mind or spirit, he knew there was only one freedom from his misery:

Oh my!  It looks as though Sam is ready to burst into song!  We should create "GH, The Musical!"

Why yes you are, Sam, and God bless the ignorance of anyone who thinks that banging Sonny, banging Jax and banging Sonny some more without bothering to douche out or take a shower doesn't make you a ho.  I'm quite sure webster.com defines a ho as: "One who engages in sexual intercourse with more than one man in a 24 hour period without washing out the nasty leavings."   You know, why don't we just go with, "Whore."  Let's get the other three letters in there to play:  "Mr W, Ms R and Mr E, we bid you welcome.  Get in there and flesh out that innocuous little word, 'ho' and give it some real substance."  I've always admired the colloquial pronunciation my mother used of "Hoo-wah."  "If it looks like a hoo-wah and it acts like a hoo-wah and it smells like a hoo-wah and it screws indiscriminately and rampantly like a hoo-wah, it's a hoo-wah!!"  

Awww.  Let's give Sam a little Greek Chorus to accompany her solo:

After all, if one is going to point a finger, one should do it with style and class (and it should be very, very well manicured).

Not everyone on General Hospital is a whore and in fact, Sam is pretty much the resident whore, taking the dusty torch from Bobbie, who set it on the shelf after Roy the Hottie fell from grace in her eyes.  I can see her now, reluctantly taking off the sash, gentle tears streaming down her face, and hanging it in the secret back section of her closet, where all of the plunging necklines and super tight sweaters now live, shunned in favor of a more matronly wardrobe, heralded in by her relegation to "rest of the cast."  She turns away, only to see Sam in the doorway.  "I believe you have something that belongs to me," Sam mumbles in a husky voice.  Bobbie regards her with big eyes brimmed with tears. 

"Can't I just keep it for the memories?"

Sam spies the sash in the back of the closet and snatches it away, pauses, then throws the whore clothes over her arm as well.  "You won't be needing THESE, you... you... rest of the cast has been!"  She turns on her heel and stomps away.  Bobbie braces herself against the wall and slides to the floor into a weeping heap of recurring character sadness and regret.

Now Michael, I need to talk to you.  You remember
your mom? 

Leticia?

No, the whore, your mom. 

Mr Guza said that Sam is our whore.

Nah, Bob don't know. It's your mom who's
a whore.  We hate her.

But I kind of miss her being around.  She's my
mom and all.

Well, she's not your mom any more. 

Sure she is!

No, she's not! Are you named after her?  No.
You're named after me and that makes you
my son, not hers.  Do you live with her?  No.
You live with me.  That makes you MY son.
Do *I* have sex with criminals?  No, I do not...

But Jason said she'd always be my mom, no
matter what!

Jason lied.  See?  Do your friends lie to you?
No.  Ergo, Jason is not your friend, got it?

But Jason...

NOT your friend.  Liar... not friend.

Carly is not your mother any more. She's a
whore.  Sam is not a whore, she's my girlfriend.
Jason is not your friend, he's a liar.  I am not
a mobster, I'm a businessman.  Got it?

Am I still a boy?  Nothing seems assured any more.

Only the best little boy in the whole world.  Now
get your butt upstairs and disappear with Felicia,
I mean Leticia or whatever.  Find somebody
to take care of you so I can go be your father
somewhere else.  I've got to make your mother,
I mean 'the whore' regret ever being born...and
shut that baby up while you're up there.

OK, daddy.

Now there's a good boy.  

Um, can I get in on this custody issue?

HELL NO!  GET BACK ON YOUR
HOOK, A-JAY!

Doing my happy dance over that wonderful February 13th episode where we saw so many members of the cast and some really, really dynamite acting!  It was like the old days again!

Although it was pretty choice watching the building explode and collapse around Nikolas, about the hottest thing I've seen in a long time was that kiss between Luke and Skye. Between that and yesterday's moment when Luke showed up to help Skye sneak Edward into a new habit, I'm totally convinced that da man has still got it.  Ol' Felicia had better hold onto her hormones!!

YUM!

I know about a hundred other columnists have already asked this, but was Nikolas' zombie-like lumbering back to Wyndemere ("*sniff* The railing burned my hannnnds!") instead of going, I dunno, to the hospital he owns, some nod toward the whole "ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no bay wide enough" luvvv thing or what?  I'm surprised Emily didn't scream when she saw him, thinking his charred and beaten corpse had wretched itself up from its smoldering grave to hant the hallowed and dreary halls of Wyndemere.  I mean, the guy was still smoking, fer Chrissakes and I'm not talking about a Marlboro.

Blaze on, Nik... Blaze on.

Cause when we kisss... mmmm
Fiiiire.

So Brian is really, really dead, not from the fire, but from being shot by another cop, who is also dead.  Scott was really dead, but now he's not.  He's drinking pastel drinks and sunning on a beach.  Zander was dead, but he's still sending mail, accusing everyone listed in the PC phone book of killing him.  All of them probably had motive.  Cameron is really, really dead from getting beaned by a beam.  *moment of silence for one of my favorite character, never sufficiently even given a chance*  Edward didn't die, but isn't quite himself (*smirk*).  Lucky is shocked to get screen time.  Carly died her hair the same color as all of Sonny's other wimmin.  Jason fancies himself a foster dad and has forgotten that whole "I kill people on a regular basis" business that social workers tend to frown upon in an adoptive parent dossier.  If he would just bitch slap Sonny when le mobster petite starts screaming at him, I think his pants would likely burst apart at the zipper.

I like Courtney as a rich woman.  Money:  it does a body good.

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I still love this show, but lord, it's fun to laugh at it!

If we weren't all crazy, we'd all go insane.

See you next time!

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