Showing posts with label jack bauer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jack bauer. Show all posts

Ways They Should Have Tortured Jack Bauer

Jack Bauer, the never-dining, never-producing-bodily-fluids-besides-blood-and-strategically-issued-spit hero of 24 endured the whole line of today's favorite military torture techniques in his many seasons on television.

But in a Facebook conversation with fellow blogger Ron Wells, we began to realize that good ol' Jack never faced the truly realistic tortures of modern day society. Exposure to germ warfare? Radiation poisoning? Electrocution? Chinese prison? Bah! To gain real viewer sympathy and prove his steel, Jack should have dealt with these nail-biting tests of will and endurance...

  • Glasses smudge. Just try, Jack, try reading those critical secret code numbers discovered written on the bad guy's BVD waistband-- and typing them into your always properly-routering laptop-- when faced with the nefarious spectacles smudge that won't go away. Waste valuable non-commercial-break minutes trying to clean the smudge only to discover that it only smears further and scratches your lenses because you're not using an optically-approved shammy! (Alternate option, eyelash in contact lens.)
  • Too-short gas pump hose. You never need to fuel up, do you, Jack? Cars at your disposal always somehow have a full tank ready and waiting. Well, what if you had to stop for gas? And the jerk pulling in from the pumps on the other side parks his vehicle too far up for you to get your own pump's hose to reach? That's right, Jack-- mere inches keep you from fueling up, driving off and saving the world. Sure, you could plug the guy for being an inconsiderate wanker, but you'd still waste valuable time finding his keys and backing his car up.
  • Black ice. You run, don'tya, Jack? Almost everywhere you go. During summer hiatus, you must do the New York Marathon just to keep in shape for your autumn season anti-terrorism activities. But you never end up somewhere cold, making that dash on black ice, now do you, Jack? No, you always look so cool, so effortless. You never have had to cling to the handrail of somebody's front steps just to go three feet. You've never tried to make a getaway sliding on your patriotic posterior, your Jack Pack sliding out of your grasp and spilling national secrets to the high winds. It's easy to be efficient when it's always 70 degrees and sunny, isn't it, Jack?
  • High octane coffee setting off IBS. Since you rarely need to consume food or drink, you have never faced the driving need for clear-headed caffeination. And so, you have never known that $4 gourmet coffee poured down your gullet and how it can trigger the water-through-pipes warning sound that says you need the nearest restroom, fast. No, your bowels never require irrigation, because they only see nourishment from after May sweeps to September premieres. Try begging a bathroom key from a gas station attendant when the line for lottery tickets and Slurpees is out the door, and you'll know true torture.
  • Vital supplies delayed by elderly lady writing checks. You somehow always have what you need, don't you Jack? And grabbing it through whatever means you can has worked for you every time. If you did have to go to the store for some reason, I suspect you wouldn't feel that things like waiting in a checkout line would apply to you. But the rest of us, we have to wait in those lines, because we can't just taze store security. Try waiting in line behind the grandma with 60 items which she has to put onto the conveyor belt one. item. at. a time. Then see how you feel when she rummages in her purse only to produce... a checkbook. You'll want to taze her, Jack. Oh, yes you will.
So tell me, folks-- what everyday torture would you like to see Jack Bauer experience?

"Keep me posted."

Spamming with the Stars

Jack Bauer emailed me. Yep, he took time out of his busy 24-hour-working-day of saving the country from terrorists, head-butting baddies, and being tortured-- where every second counts-- to send little ol' me an important message about...

Male enhancement.

What a guy! I mean where, in his jam-packed schedule, would he even get the time to devote to this sort of public service? To care about the, er, little people out there?

I guess maybe in the eight minutes of commercial breaks each episode. Presumably when he also pees.

You'd just think this sort of online support could be delegated to a trusted friend at CTU, or something. Like Chloe. But not our Jack. Nope, it's so like him, isn't it? He just has to do everything himself.

Well, right as I was wondering how my purchasing male enhancement products from dodgy, semi-anonymous companies online could contribute to the greater good of America, and I considered delving beyond the mere subject line... get this:

Writer Jean Shepherd (A Christmas Story) emailed me, too! Which really impressed me, since not only didn't I envision him as being particularly tech-savvy, but he's also been dead for several years. I mean, now, I know the Internet is far-reaching, but this was absolutely astounding!

And what had our dear departed Mr. Shepherd come all the way from beyond the grave to say? What wisdom did he have to impart? His life's philosophy? The need to smoke fewer cigars? To share writing tips? Why, he came and created an email account to spread the word about...

Male enhancement!

I was starting to spot a trend.

Heh. It makes you sorta wonder what's in the spammers' minds, doesn't it? I mean, as far as marketing goes, perhaps we really are all self-absorbed enough to believe a famous person not only has our private email address but is going to take the time to send us a personalized note out of the blue.

But are we really out-of-touch enough to open and respond to email from fictional characters and dead celebs?

Maybe it's the spam equivalent of crank yanking. The email equivalent of calling and asking if Seymour Butz is there. The spammers are all at their computer terminals snickering and saying, "Let's see how they respond to... Bruce Wayne!"

And then they get this influx of payments from guys using their DC Comics special Dark Knight collector's edition Visa cards or something.

I don't know how it works, really.

And I guess I'll never find out, because my lack of response must have cut off my connection with the spirit world. Yes, indeedy, ol' Jean Shepherd never emailed me again. It's a shame, too, because I had a ton of questions about the writing process and--

Oh, wait: Charlotte Bronte just sent me a note! And it looks like she has an important message for me about timeshares in Nigeria.

I really hate to sidetrack her-- I mean, I don't get a lot of vacation time for a trip to Nigeria-- but while I have her attention, maybe I can ask her just a few questions about Jane Eyre...

What do you think? :)

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I wonder if Jack Bauer ever sends email to the folks at Humor-blogs?