Jack Bauer is in trouble again. Again or still? I have idly sat by for years. Eyes bulging and neck veins pulsating, I have been glued to each episode. I sit spellbound and in an excruciatingly high state of anxiety I inhale an entire bag of microwave popcorn without chewing a single bite. Every Monday night from 8:00-9:00 p.m. I consistently prove a person can hold his breath for an hour. But all of this has been in the capacity of a mere spectator.
I can sit and observe no longer. This last episode of 24 has catapulted me into action. Jack Bauer needs my help! I am presently deliberating whether to attempt to make contact via CTU (Central Terrorist Unit, for the uninitiated), or whether to make direct contact. There are still some remaining slimeballs within CTU who are compromising our national security and I don't know if I can slip under their radar if I go through CTU. Putting those concerns on paper just now made the decison for me. I have to contact Jack directly. This is too important to entrust to mere mortals.
Jack, I'm coming! You won't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders any longer. I will be there for you and with you, man.
To my friends and colleagues and readers, I am informing you now because any minute, any day now I may have to drop what I'm doing and leave immediately. It will have been Jack calling me and in that raspy, cool voice saying, "Steve. . . meet me at Taco Bell. . . we need to talk."
Or it could be Renee Walker calling me. As long as I know she's not packin' I'll do anything, go anywhere for her, too.
(Just kidding, Honey. No, really. Renee, Schmenee. This is all about Jack and me saving the world, of which Renee Schmenee is just one infinitesimal minute speck on the planet.)
No, really.
