What is it about the eggs that burst from Lauren’s ovary each month with the anticipation of being fertilized that seem to drive Sheila Carter positively batty? It’s as though Sheila is the Tony Montana of Lauren’s uterus; wreaking havoc and carnage in dogged pursuit of the American Dream—Lauren’s eggs. Instead of a cocaine empire, Sheila is amassing a fortune rich with Lauren’s stolen offspring. First she kidnaps Scotty, Lauren’s first son, and more than twenty years later she does it again with her second child, Fenmore. I picture Sheila standing at the top of the staircase of a huge mansion—M16 in one hand and baby in the other—observing the police swarm the foyer and shouting shrilly, “Say hello to my little son,” before opening fire on the whole lot. Take that, haters!
Before the barn caved in on her I wonder if Sheila managed to insert a GPS device into Lauren’s womb that would tell her exactly when Lauren would conceive? Sheila is a nurse after all and anything in soap land is possible. But, perhaps I’m over thinking things here. It could be as simple as the fact that after more than two decades, Sheila is certainly by now an expert on all things Lauren. Any deranged stalker worth her salt would be so in tune with her prey by now that it wouldn’t be far-fetched to imagine Sheila’s spidey sense tingling in the South American jungle at the precise moment a fertilized egg successfully implanted itself into the lining of Lauren’s, uterus thus enabling Sheila to set in motion a serious of events to bring to life this ridiculous story line.
Ahh, I love the smell of crazy in the morning, and, apparently so does Paul Williams. The repugnant odor of Sheila’s unwashed and now festering body must be burning the nose hair of anyone who comes within ten feet of the warehouse where she’s being held captive. Gawd, but Sheila must stink to high heaven. Perhaps it’s out of the camera’s line of sight but when Sheila designed the nursery from hell did she have the foresight to include restroom facilities? Probably not since Michael had to fetch a chamber pot for her to pee in. Earlier in the week when Paul asked if she was cold and offered a blanket I instinctively knew he was only trying to muffle the stench rather than act out of kindness. His loyalty to Lauren truly astounds me.
Just so we’re all clear here, folks, Cane is from Australia. How do I know this you ask? All the benchmark Australian clichés are present: hiked the outback in a single bound, check; scuba dived in the Great Barrier Reef, check. You know what’s coming next, right? Cane will eventually dump Amber for Colleen and head to New York to navigate the murky tunnels of the subway system, all while looking hilariously out of place wearing a hat with shark’s teeth around the brim and a half open shirt tucked into very tight khaki shorts. Crikey! Throw another shrimp on the barbie!
So, this week I learned that not only was Carmen a public-relations-executive-in-heat, but a saint as well. Oh snap! Carmen supported her family?! Is this by chance the same family that couldn’t bother to fly in from Texas to ID her dead body? Perfectly understandable I suppose. They were probably so distraught that the funds from her salary suddenly dried up that they couldn’t afford the costly plane ticket. Carmen volunteered off hours to help kids?! Which off hours might these have been? Could they possibly be the ones she spent whoring it up in the break room, or her Newman Tower suite, or the Athletic Club, or Neil’s apartment or… well, you get the idea.
Quite frankly, I’m more than a little surprised it took this long for Carmen’s “ghost” to start haunting Dru, and, since I don’t recall Carmen having a funeral, her body was probably shipped back to the Newman maintenance department after the D.A. was done with the autopsy. Everyone knows that a ghost who is not at peace with his/her death is bound to come back for unfinished business—we’ve all seen Ghost Whisperer. But isn’t it sad that after all the brouhaha she ended up at the very place where no one wanted her to be? See children, this is what happens when you make your life all about your work.
Once again, Genoa City’s elite prove their obsession with scandal and intrigue by showing up at the god-awful Indigo for a night of “Dru-tertainment”. Who cares about Aaron Neville when on any given night, when the club is open, one can sit at a table and watch alleged murderess and co-Indigo proprietor, Dru Winters, fall apart at the seams over their cocktails.
It’s so easy to provoke Dru isn’t it? The woman has less than zero self-control. I can’t wait to see what Carmen’s “ghost” has in store for her. One thing’s for sure, Carmen won’t have to try very hard. Just last week Dru had the misfortune of parking her car in the security camera’s blind spot, thus allowing the paranormal free reign to slash her car tires. And yet on Monday she parked her car in the same exact spot before going into the elevator. Sharon must be rubbing off on her.
At first glance, the plot of the Grugeon Reliquary is every bit as scintillating as watching, say, food particles harden on my cookware, so you can imagine my delight when TPTB decided to throw in the aging but always ageless Victor Newman into the mix. Why didn’t Brad think of this eons ago? Doesn’t he know that the Black Knight can fix anything? DOESN’T HE KNOW WHO HE’S DEALING WITH FOR CHRISSAKES? Praise the gods; the bloodthirsty Victor didn’t have to crack the skulls of the Grugeon owner’s goons during this latest mission. We’ve all seen him when he’s angry and it ain’t pretty.
I’m disappointed though that Victor didn’t ask to see the Grugeon more closely before agreeing to exchange his two pieces as collateral. From what I saw it didn’t look like much, but at least we got out of Genoa City for while. I love it when TPTB pull out all the stops for location shoots. You can tell they spared no expense for that Den of Antiquities set.
