From: jgacker@news.gsfc.nasa.gov (James G. Acker)
Subject: B&B:  I'm B&Back
Organization: Goddard Space Flight Center
X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.1 PL6]
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1992 20:30:49 GMT


     Gosh, you take a couple of weeks off and nothing
happens.  Brooke is STILL PREGNANT.  (Day 456 of Brooke's
pregnancy has passed and still no sign of labor.  Back to
you, Chet.)
     She must have the gestation period of an elephant.  Or
a blue whale.  Which is what her pillows looked like
yesterday.

     Speaking of killer whales, Sally and Stephanie had a
heart-to-heart yesterday, too.  Showed some teeth.

     And Sheila the Candy Striper is volunteering at the
hospital.  How cozy.   You heard it here first, folks.

     On to the events of Monday, January 21, on

     "The Bad and the Dubious"  aka "The Bold and the
Beautiful"

     WORLD'S MOST FRUSTRATED PSYCHOLOGIST

     Sheila is spilling the beans (ha, never) to Dr. Joe
Garchin, the most inept and frustrated shrink in Lala-land.
Sheila says she fears "backsliding".  Backsliding to where
she's been is saying something, Momma.  She fears that if
the baby is Eric's it'll ruin all that she and Eric have
built in the past few months.  Garchin asks if she's
confided her fears to Eric.  No, because you always told me
I'm the one responsible for my own happiness.  And that
means taking action!  Garchin asks what action she might
take?  An action that will insure the proper outcome for all
concerned, she says as leaves a befuddled Garchin in his
office.

     YOU'VE ALREADY GOT SOME NICE ORNAMENTS

     Taylor is helping Stephanie decorate the Tannenbaum in
preparation for some holiday friskiness around the hearth.
Stephanie tells her she's happy the guest list doesn't
include Brooke and Fetus Forrester (I think they should just
go ahead and name the kid "Cletus" and admit they love my
stuff), but sad that she didn't want to see Taylor's poppa's
face or derriere within eyeshot of the party.  Taylor says
it's your prerawgitive, er, perjurative, er, decision.
Stephanie confides that holidays should be spent with loved
buns, and Steph had once had her eye on Jack's.  You could
still have romantic moon-light, Taylor says.  NO!  Steph
shrieks.  Too much has gone through the door and under the
bridge, or something like that.  Just then, the phone rings.
MamamiaMaria answers and it's Eric -- for Taylor.  Eric
tells Taylor to git her fine self over to the pronto condo,
er, condo pronto.   Does this mean you've got my special
lingerie order ready, the lace nightie with the underwire
bra from Golden Gate of San Francisco?  You'll find out when
e'er you get 'ere, Eric says.  Taylor tells Steph she's
going to pop out for some studmuffins.

     WHAT'S UP, TIGER RIDGEY?

     Brooke looks in on Ridge and asks what he's thinking
'bout.  Ridge is highly suspicious -- looks like last week's
reversal/confession of undying love has unnerved the boy.
Why the h*ll did you tell me?  he asks Brooke.  Suddenly, we
hear Whitney Houston (another pregnant one) singing in the
background, "And I-e-I will alwa-aaaa-aays love you!"  What
about you, Ridge?  What do you think now?  Ridge sets his
jaw.  "I...", and then gets saved by the BRRRIIIINNNNG!
It's Dad.  He orders son over to the condo and tells him to
drag that slut Brooke along with him.  Dad, she's pretty
heavy, I may have to use a car.  Fine, son, just get here.

     SELFLESS VOLUNTEER OF THE MONTH AWARD

     Sheila pops in on Tracy the genetic gynecologist (I
ain't kidding), and says let's talk turkey.  Oh, you know
Thorne Forrester, too?  Tracy asks.  No, I mean let's get
down to business.  You switch babies, right?  No, we test
for paternity.  Oh, I forgot, Sheila said, switching babies
is on MY resume.  Tracy shows her a diagram of the entire
wing, the gynecology lab, the obstetrics lab, the birthing
rooms, the post-partum depression padded cells... and of
course, the genetics lab.  No one here gets in there without
a coded magnetic card key, Tracy tells Sheila.  Sheila is
bummed that her tour of the facility doesn't include the
impregnable  (HA!) genetics lab.  And Tracy also tells
Sheila that you need cardkey plus code to get in the lab.
You'll get the code to log onto our highly-secure computer
system, and check on lab results and the like.  While Tracy
explains,  Sheila is fixating on the cardkey, on the metal
chain, hanging down in the provocative division between the
doctor's fine pair of... buttons on her lab coat.  (You
should've seen THIS camera angle.)  Tracy confirms that
Sheila will be on call a LOT, but they won't overwhelm her
tough workload at Forrester.  They look forward to a highly
reproductive relationship.

     CAN'T HELP LOVING THAT MAN OF YOURS

     The doorbell on the Forrester Facade rings.  Outside,
it's Sally with a big green-foil wrapped box.  MamamiaMaria
answers, and Sally says she's there to see Stephanie.
She'll take the box, Maria says.  If it's all the same to
you, Sally sweeps by, I'll deliver it myself.  Sally, with
Maria clinging desperately to her dress sleeve, enters the
living room.  Maria apologizes for not keeping Sally
outside.  Stephanie says that's O.K., she always comes in
like that.  Sally delivers the package, and Stephanie
listens to it.  It's ticking!  It's a clock!  Sally says.
Sally deftly turns the conversation to the subject of Jack.
The subtle one inquires as to the state of Steph and Jack's
romantic entanglements, as she had found Jack gambling
heavily, er, drinking to excess a few nights ago.  I would
never tell you anything about my personal life, Stephanie
says.  Well, it's part of my business, too, Sally says,
stating succinctly that she and Jack schussed the slopes
yesterday.  He's a fine man with a fine set of buns and and
I'm going to keep his buns warm!  Sally says.  I haven't
crossed Jack Hamilton off my Christmas list yet, and the
best woman will win!  Sally sweeps out triumphantly.  The
alarm clock in the package goes off, and Stephanie doesn't
even bother unwrapping it before smashing it on the floor.

     What ya wanta bet Jack gets an invitation to sample
some eggnog?

     JUST HAVE THE KID HERE, WE'LL TOSS HIM OFF THE BALCONY,
GET ERIC CLAPTON TO WRITE A SONG, AND BE DONE WITH IT

     (Now that is really tasteless.  Shame on me.)

     At the condo, Ridge comes in, and Eric asks where
Brooke is.  Hauling her carcass up the steps.  You didn't
use the elevator?  If I did, Dad, she'd think I had feelings
for her.  Taylor is there.  Brooke comes in and expects the
Spanish Inquisition ("no one expects the Spanish
Inquisition!"  Hi, Lance.)  She asks what they're there for.
Eric explains that they've never really talked about the
PROBLEM before, and before it becomes a PROBLEM, they should
discuss how they're going to handle the PROBLEM.   You think
my baby is a PROBLEM?  Brooke shrieks.  That's not what he
meant, Brooke, Ridge says soothingly.  We want to discuss
the SITUATION.  You think my baby is a SITUATION?  Brooke
shrieks.  No, no, we just want to get prepared to handle the
ramifications, Eric says.  You think my baby is a
RAMIFICATION?  A SITUATION, maybe, but not a RAMIFICATION!
Taylor says I've had enough, Brooke, stop your whining --
it's demeaning how you're using your baby to wheedle
attention and sympathy.  Eric tells Taylor to stifle.
Taylor huffs and puffs (yum), but backs off.  Brooke says
she came back to Eric (looking at Eric) so the baby could be
near his father (looking at Ridge).  But she can see how
welcome the tyke is going to be, and if you don't mind, I'll
just check out the manger space down at the stables!
(Brooke forgets that her Virgins Anonymous membership
expired in high school.)  Brooke exits in heated anger,
leaving Taylor, Ridge, and Eric to wonder just what they're
going to do with that poor, downtrodden, innocent (ha!)
slut, er, woman.

     Tune into tomorrow, when we might hear Brooke ask the
travel agent:
     "Do you have a non-stop to Bethlehem?
     "Pennsylvania?"
     "No, idiot!  Israel!"

     Jim "I hope that measured up to my usual low standards"
Acker
     jgacker@neptune.gsfc.nasa.gov