And no, this is not to suggest that the season finale of “24″ was in any way “slow.”
Not that it made up for the incredible nonsense that the MoveOn.org writers have burdened us with this season, but it certainly made sure that the show ended on a suitably high note, which we can only applaud. Maybe this is a sign of things to come? Michael Moore and Cindy Sheehan have been fired from the team of writers?
Maybe the terrorists that Jack will be hunting next season will actually have something in common with the terrorists of the real world? Maybe they won’t be Aryan Supremacists, Russian Rebels Without a Clue or Amish Anarchists? Maybe they’ll be — *gasp!* — Islamofascists?
OK, let’s not get carried away here. ‘Tis one thing to harbor reasonable hope, quite another to retire into a fantasy world where “up” is “up”, “black” is “black” and “right” is the direct opposite of “wrong”.
FOX would have to apologize to CAIR for airing anything remotely resembling the truth AGAIN and that would never do.
On to the finale:
As we already know, Crazy Ivan has now taken over the Russian sub and has managed to clear it completely of the dangerous nerve gas in a matter of seconds. The “deadly” nerve gas that somehow, unlike any other nerve gas that we know of, doesn’t absorb through the skin and can be disposed of completely and securely by simply turning on the A/C for a minute or two.
He is now busy calling out target co-ordinates from Google Maps™ and cackling maniacally. “Ha! They will all DIE! Oh, and be sure to use three missiles on the Streisand compound. That motherfucker is HUGE!”
Ilse is on the phone with Admiral Itchy Triggerfinger whom we recall from his aborted attempt to shoot down Jack’s plane earlier.
“So how soon can you have your F-18s blow the sub out of the water, Admiral?”
“Well, I can do it in… How long ’till the terrorists launch the missiles?”
“How long, Chloe?”, Ilse demands.
“20 minutes”, Chloe responds while scowling furiously at her screen as if she’s trying to crack a top secret government code with a proprietary hacking routine downloaded from warezrus.org.
“They’ll launch in 20 minutes”, Ilse informs the Admiral.
“In that case, I can have my planes take out the sub in — 22 minutes!”
Ilse curses the screenwriters for their obvious ploys and tells the Admiral to scramble the jets anyway.
Down by the docks, Jack is told that he’ll have to take care of business personally. He finishes kicking the prostitute he was beating up for saying “Hello sailor” in the wrong tone of voice and turns to his associates, Henderson and some other agent who’s not central to the plot. We shall call him Agent Expendable. Oddly enough, he’s not wearing a red shirt.
“OK, so how do we get inside the sub?”, he asks.
“Obviously by having a lone survivor inside the sub open a hatch”, Henderson answers.
“What survivor? They’re all dead!”
“Not all of them”, Henderson says and points to an emergency buoy that just popped out of the sub.
Jack has Chloe scan all frequencies to see if the totally unexpected lone survivor just happens to be totally unexpectedly broadcasting on a radio that he just so happened to have in the pocket of his pants and, surprise surprise, that’s exactly what Petty Officer Rooney Doodle is doing.
Jack gets on the radio and instructs Rooney Doodle to make his way to the hatch without being seen. Meanwhile, Henderson wants a gun.
“Right. And then you’ll shoot me”, Jack answers.
“I’m not going in there without something to defend myself with.”
“I’ll cover your worthless ass, Henderson.”
“Right. Cover it in dime-sized holes, I’m sure.”
“I’m telling you: You’re NOT getting a gun!”
“Well… I’ll just… I’ll just stay out here and pout, then.”
“Listen, you whiny baby, THERE’S NO TIME!”
“Quit holding your breath, it’s freaking me out.”
“Alright, you big baby, take this one then”, Jack says and hands him a .45 from his man-purse.
Meanwhile, Rooney Doodle is back on the radio, informing Jack that he’s made it to the hatch but that there’s this big nasty Russian blocking his access.
“What am I supposed to do?”, Rooney asks anxiously.
“Well, for starters you could kill him. That always works for me. Got a hacksaw handy?”, Jack replies.
“Er… No… But I got this Swiss Army Knife?”
“That’ll do. What you need to do is to sneak up on the bastard, grab his head from behind pulling backwards and then, simultaneously, jam the knife into his neck, blocking his trachea and severing the carotid arteries and… Hello? HELLO?”
“Er… Yes. I’m here”, Rooney Doodle answers, wiping puke from his mouth. “I don’t suppose I could just walk up and ask him politely to leave?”
“You could. And then watch as he politely sprays your body with bullets. Not quite the standard approach, but if you feel up to it…”
Rooney Doodle spots one of his dead shipmates on the floor and suddenly gets a determined look on his face. “No, sir. I can do it. The bastards killed Joe!”
“Sorry to hear that, but trust me, I understand your anger. I’ve lost quite a few friends myself today.”
“I don’t think you do, sir. Joe still owed me ten bucks on a wager!”, Rooney Doodle answers and sneaks up on the Russian guard who never knew what hit him as our intrepid youngster starts hacking away at his throat like a neurotic housewife attacking a displeasing ice sculpture with a steak thermometer.
Jack, Henderson and Agent Expendable move in on the sub. “Shouldn’t we do something about the guard?”, Henderson asks. Jack fires twice and something falls off the sub into the water. “What guard?” They head for the hatch that Rooney Doodle has just opened.
“Oh no! The missile hatches just opened”, Chloe says on the radio after having seen a big red graphic saying “Missile Hatches Opened.”
“You don’t say?”, Jack answers, jumping to the side to avoid being thrown overboard by the hatches opening right next to him. “Is there by any chance something useful on that screen that you could tell me about instead? Something that I can’t see with my own two eyes?”
“Less than seven minutes ’till launch?”, Chloe suggests.
“Well, let’s see. You told me that there was less than nine minutes left about, say, TWO MINUTES AGO so no, that wouldn’t qualify either. I’ll let you know if my watch breaks down or I suddenly and selectively forget all about basic mathematics, OK?”
They jump into the boat.
“Which way is the control room?”, Jack asks Rooney Doodle as they stand at one end of a corridor leading in only one direction.
“Er… THAT way?”, Doodle says, pointing down the corridor.
“Good. Just checking if you hit your head during the fight. You lead, we follow.”
“OK, and try not to get lost along the way, alright?”, Doodle answers and starts down the corridor. When they’re almost there, Jack sends off Doodle to create a diversion by bypassing the control room and making a lot of noise on the other side. “But won’t that get me killed when I suddenly find myself being chased by all of the terrorists?”, he asks. “Look at your shirt”, Jack answers, “does it look red to you?” Rooney Doodle nods and heads off.
Safely arrived on the other side, he finds a boom box, turns the volume to “11″ and hits “play.”
“A la tuhuelpa legria macarena
Que tuhuelce paralla legria cosabuena
A la tuhuelpa legria macarena
EEEH, MACARENA, A-HAI!!!”
“What the fuck is THAT?”, Crazy Ivan shouts while desperately trying to find something to plug his ears with. “Everybody, come with me before my ears start bleeding!”
They head off, leaving the missile launch programmer dude alone to finish the job.
Jack and the rest enter the control room and Jack sneaks up on Launch Dude, crouching down behind the control panel until he’s right above him, then he stands up and performs an extremely messy tracheotomy on him. “We’re all clear!”, Jack says as Launch Dude bleeds all over his hand.
Henderson gets to work manually disarming the missiles while Jack and Agent Expendable set out to deal with Crazy Ivan and his thugs who have, thankfully, managed to turn off the boom box.
“Why am I wearing this?”, Agent Expendable whispers, pointing to the piece of cardboard with a crudely painted bull’s eye hanging around his neck.
One of Ivan’s thugs jumps out and paints a nice grouping on it with his automatic weapon.
“You had to ask, didn’t you?”, Jack sighs and shoots the thug. That gets Ivan’s and the remaining thug’s attention and we’re treated to a load of suspenseful music while they wander around aimlessly in the bowels of the boat. Finally, the thug jumps out and disarms Jack, but Jack grabs the thug’s gun hand and shoots Ivan in the shoulder. While Ivan is busy groaning with pain, Jack uses the thug’s gun to shoot a hole in a steam pipe, then broils the head of the thug. Ivan, meanwhile, has found a wrench which he prompty uses to knock Jack upside the head with a few times. Of course, being hit several times on the noggin with a steel wrench only serves to make Jack angry, and when Jack gets angry… He grabs Ivan around the neck with his Thighs of Doom™.
Ivan drops to the floor, looking down his own back.
Meanwhile, Henderson has disarmed all the missiles.
“Hooray!”, Ilse shouts back at CTU.
“Yay US!”, Buchanan yells, doing a victory jig.
“Weeeeee are the champions of the woooooorld…”, a few CTU staffers start singing, popping champagne corks.
“HOW ABOUT RECALLING THE FUCKING F-18s???”, Chloe shouts.
“Oh. Right. Sorry about that”, Ilse says, “would you mind calling back your jets, Admiral?”
Back on the sub, Jack makes his way back to the control room, only to find Henderson gone. Jack stops and looks thoughtful for a moment, then gets that ’special’ look on his face and complains to CTU about “getting a lot of feedback” and “could you guys take me off comm for a spell?” ‘Unless you enjoy listening to the maddening screams of somebody about to have his guts pulled out of his nostrils, that is’, he thinks to himself. CTU cut off his comms and he goes Henderson-hunting. Back on the deck of the sub, he suddenly hears a familiar voice behind him, yelling:
“Hold it, Jack!”
It’s Henderson, of course, pointing the gun Jack gave him at him. “Lower your arms and turn around reeeally slowly.” Jack turns around as asked. “You were never really going to let me go, were you?”, he asks.
“Let’s see… Hmmm… No”, Jack answers, “not until I was done killing you anyway.”
Henderson pulls the trigger. *Click!* Then he does something we’ve never seen anybody do with an empty 1911 before: He pulls the trigger AGAIN. *Click!* Must be one of those fancy double-action 1911s that we’ve never heard about anywhere. Ever. Not once. The things you can learn from watching movies made by idiots who know less about firearms than Jack Abramoff knows about ethics.
“You never said you wanted bullets as well”, Jack says. He then starts walking toward Henderson. “You were responsible for the deaths of the Allstate spokesman, Tony Almeida and Michelle Dessler. They were friends of mine…”
“That’s the way it works”, Henderson says.
“No. This is the way it works”, Jack answers and shoots the scumsucking weasel twice.
Rooney Doodle, who has been watching, makes a mental note to never piss off Jack Bauer. And to find a pair of clean pants.
The Navy, LAPD, Marine Corps, LA SWAT and a batallion of French Foreign Legionnaires arrive at the dock and demand that Jack identify himself. He does. “I’m Jack Bauer, and you do not need to see my papers.”
“I don’t need to see your papers”, the Petty Officer answers.
“I am not one of the terrorists you’re looking for.”
“You’re not one of the terrorists we’re looking for.”
“I can go about my business.”
“You can go about your business.”
“Oh, and you really want to give me one of your vehicles.”
“Oh, and I really would like for you to take one of our vehicles.”
Jack calls CTU.
“Bill. Henderson’s dead”, he says.
“WHAT?”, Ilse says.
“Why?”, Bill says.
“Fuckin’ A!”, everybody watching the show say.
“He, er, he fired on me. Yes, that’s it. He fired on me. Or at least he would have. Well, if he hadn’t been out of bullets for some strange reason”, Jack explains, “I’ll be back at CTU in a few. Oh, and Chloe? Could you get off speakerphone? The Navy needs some codes to access our logs.”
Chloe picks up. “OK, what codes do they need?”
“They don’t. But I need you to do something for me. You see, I’m not exactly going back to CTU. Well, I will eventually, of course. Once I’m done taking down President Limpwrist.” He then makes sure that she’s with him on this (which she obviously is, she’s not one to say ‘no’ when Jack asks), then tells her that he’s going to need a modification done to some transmitting equipment. Oh, and a turkey baster. And a hacksaw.
Back at the Funny Farm, Limpwrist is busy dislocating a shoulder patting himself on the back while Mike Novick is trying not to puke on the conference table.
“Man, am I good or WHAT? I’ve single-handedly saved civilization as we know it, so let’s get to writing speeches. I want one where I humbly praise myself for my heroic actions throughout the day. Do you think the Vatican would canonize me on short notice? I think they should. And then I’ll declare a national day of celebration in my honor and then… And THEN we invade Poland! But first, I want to make a speech hailing myself at the airport as they load the Allstate spokesman’s body into the plane. Would it be out of line if I were to open the casket and sodomize the corpse as well? I don’t think it would… DAMN, but I’m GOOD!”
Mike finally manages to slip out while Limpwrist is on the floor trying to fellate himself and Martha intercepts him in the hallway.
“Mike. You need to come with me. Right now.”
“Listen, if it’s about that time when I patted your butt, I was really only joking. I didn’t actually mean to imply that I’d…”
“No, it’s not that, although I’m sorry to hear that. It’s about my husband.”
“I’m not a marriage counselor either.”
“Listen. Mike. It’s not that. You know that something’s wrong, that there are things going on that you can’t quite put your finger on. Well, I can clear all that up for you, right now…”
“…and if you’re going to hook me up to a PlaySkool phone and measure how many Thetans are crawling around in my ass, I have to tell you right now that…”
“No, dammit! Will you LISTEN? Just come with me or I swear that I…”
“You’ll do what?”
“I’ll… I’ll tie you to a chair and force you to listen to my husband for three hours straight!”
“I’m coming, I’m COMING”, Mike replies and hurries after her.
Meanwhile, Limpwrist is on the phone with Chrome Dome of the EvilBushHitlerHalliburtonZionist Conspiracy™, gloating over the fact that Henderson is dead.
“Sure, but Jack Bauer isn’t”, Chrome Dome points out.
“Mr. Bauer will be taken care of, dong ma?“, Limpwrist replies.
Mike and Martha arrive at the stables, where Aaron the Terrorist Slayer is waiting for them.
“What happened to you, Aaron?”, Mike asks, “you look like shit.”
“The President had Agent Adams try to kill me.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense!”
“More sense than me beating myself bloody and meeting you behind the stables to tell you that Agent Adams did it.”
“Hmmm… Good point. So where’s Agent Adams?”
Aaron pops the trunk. Like I said, he tried to kill me.”
“That’s not Agent Adams”, Mike says.
“What?”, Aaron says, then goes “oops” as he frantically shoves aside the inflatable sheep, revealing Agent Adams’ very dead body. After Mike has expressed an appropriate amount of dismay at the mess made in a perfectly nice trunk, he demands an explanation, which he promptly gets. The rest of us take a break to go get another beer while the usual litany of charges is repeated along with a synopsis of everything that’s happened this season. For the 6,887th time.
He decides, once he learns that the recording has been destroyed, that they need to find another way of making a case against Limpwrist (no shit, Sherlock!), but first they need to get Aaron away from the Fuhrerbunker. He jumps in the car, telling Aaron to hide in the back while he drives out through the gate. A few tender moments pass between Aaron and Martha, and for once we’re grateful that THERE’S NO TIME!
Just as Mike and Aaron are busy unloading the dead body outside the Fuhrerbunker, Mike’s phone rings. It’s, surprise, Jack and, double-whammy surprise, he just happens to be looking for Aaron! Isn’t THAT convenient? He gets everybody up to date on his plans to get a confession out of the President…
“Jack, if you’re saying that you’re going to, er, ‘ask’ the President ‘nicely’ for a confession…”, Mike interrupts while trying his damndest to suppress the disturbing visuals popping up in his mind all of a sudden.
“Mike, I don’t need to remind you that the President is responsible for…”, Jack begins, then goes on to remind him anyway, “blah, blah, blah, Allstate spokesman, yadda, yadda, nerve gas, blather, blather, blather, …and then they lived happily ever after in the Magical Kingdom.” Or words to that effect, I fell asleep along the way.
Mike asks when Jack will be there and, when informed that it’ll be about 20 minutes, meaning that the Fuhrerbunker must be on a different planet, Jack’s time-space bending abilities taken into consideration, says that it’ll be too late. Limpwrist will have flown the coop by then. Jack tells him to delay him, Mike says that he doesn’t think that he can, and Jack tells him to do it anyway, not being used to getting ‘no’ for an answer.
Back at CTU, Chloe is asking for access to a Sooper Sekrit Double Probation workstation. Bill tells her that she already has one, and she tells him that she needs it for somebody else, somebody she’s bringing in to help with restoring the audio file of Limpwrist, said somebody being a guy named “Al Bundy” who used to work with CTU and now sells women’s shoes in Beverly Hills. Bill, realizing that Chloe must be desperate and, besides, she’s always been a bit loopy and that it’s never a good idea to be confrontational with that kind of people, signs off on the request.
“Who’s this ‘Al’ character?”, Ilse asks.
“It’s Chloe’s ex-husband”, Bill answers.
“Yes. They met at a Star Trek convention where they worked together on trying to find a way to reverse the polarization on a binary thrust modulator.”
“I know. Can’t be done. But they did.”
“Chloe was MARRIED????”
“Oh. Yes. That too.”
Al Bundy, meanwhile, has already materialized in the middle of CTU, those teleporters are really neat, where he’s trying to explain the subtleties of Freecell to a hot geek while asking her if she’s in the market for a pair of Blahniks. Chloe interrupts and drags him off, informing him that he won’t be working on digital recordings after all and filling him in on the real deal while sitting him down in front of a workstation and shoving a sock in his mouth to keep him from yakking constantly.
At the Fuhrerbunker, Mike returns and tells Martha that she needs to come up with a way of delaying Limpwrist until Jack can get there and come up with a cunning plan. Sensing where this is going, Martha pops a handful of anti-emetics and contemplates poking her eyes out with a red hot iron.
Outside, Jack arrives and learns from Aaron that there’s no way he’s going to get into the Fuhrerbunker with the increased security and all. Of course, he could, being Jack Bauer and all, but he’d probably have to kill every living thing in there. Jack decides to get on Limpwrist’s helicopter instead. Somehow.
Martha, meanwhile, seeks out her husband who is frantically packing up his stuff as if the Russians are at the gate and his German shepherd Blondi is already dead. She launches into a long speech about how she owes him an apology for being such a wonderful man, such a noble protector of the nation, such an outstanding defender of the faith, an unselfish… Blah, blah, blah. It’s a good thing she took those anti-emetics earlier. I just wish that she’d shared with the rest of us.
Limpwrist, being a self-obsessed egomaniac, of course buys every second of her obvious bullshit while fighting a strong urge to stroke himself. He still insists that he has to go, however. Martha, realizing that Jack will only need another five minutes or so, decides that it’s now safe to go to Phase II and pulls Limpwrist toward herself, sucking his face like she just popped out of an egg deep in the bowels of an alien spaceship.
“Come with me”, Limpwrist says when she finally lets go, putting on his best ‘come hither’ look which would scare even a sex-starved weasel away.
“I have a better idea”, Martha says, starting to undo his tie.
“There’s a chopper waiting for me.”
“Let them wait.”
“Yes you can”, Martha replies, adding the sentence that seals the deal and gives Limpwrist the first semblance of wood he’s had in 20 years, “you’re the President.”
Limpwrist picks up his phone.
“Tell the helicopter to stand by until I’m ready.”
“I’m having sex with my wife.”
“Oh. Alright. We’ll be ready for departure in two minutes, then.”
Two minutes later, Limpwrist is smoking a cigarette and congratulating himself on what a stud he is, having broken all of his previous records for stamina. Martha, on the other hand, is busy trying to keep her lunch down. The lunch she had last month.
Elsewhere, Chloe has figured out how to pull the co-pilot off the helicopter and replace him with Jack at the last minute, all without raising a single red flag anywhere. Obviously the President is enjoying the same level of security that the rest of us have come to know and love. G-d Bless the TSA.
A Secret Service agent approaches the helicopter, telling the co-pilot that his ‘packet’ is messed up and that he needs to go to the SS outbuilding (where Jack is conveniently hanging out with Aaron) to clear it up. The co-pilot grumbles, but jumps out and walks toward the building, inspecting his ‘packet’ with his right hand and confirming that it’s all right where he left it this morning. All the necessary papers arrive at the outbuilding at the exact same time as the co-pilot.
“Aaron?”, he says as he sees Aaron inside.
“Yeah. Is there a problem with that?”, Aaron replies.
“No. It’s just that I was here to have my ‘packet’ inspected and I was hoping for, I dunno, maybe Carmen Diaz?”
Jack sneaks up from behind and puts the co-pilot to sleep with a choke hold, then suits up and gets the papers and ID badge, then wanders off to the helicopter and introduces himself as the new co-pilot. Limpwrist arrives at the same time and, after she learns that Jack’s on the chopper, Martha suddenly discovers that she forgot to close her Yahoo! Messenger. “Just go on without me, Charles”, she says, “I’ll be there shortly.”
Limpwrist gets on the chopper and they take off. Right after take-off, Jack points a gun at the pilot.
“I can fly this helicopter if I have to, so why don’t you just do as I tell you and I won’t have to waste a perfectly good bullet?”
“Oh, and just what are you going to do about flying it when the two SS agents in the back hear the shot and decide that you’re interrupting the flight plan?”
“I’m warning you. I WILL shoot you if you don’t do as I say!”
“And if you can fly the chopper on your own and don’t really need me for whatever plan you have to succeed, why don’t you just get it over with?”
“Dammit! You’re supposed to immediately forget that you’re tasked with transporting your Commander-in-Chief and that his safety is your primary responsibility! It’s right here in the script! So quit using logic on me!”
“Oh. Sorry. I was just trying to act like an actual professional here as opposed to a fantasy version that only exists in an amateurish screenwriter’s fevered imaginations. Won’t happen again. Of course, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir.”
The pilot dutifully disconnects his comms gear while Jack gets out of his seat and crawls back to where Limpwrist is sitting with his SS escort.
“Drinks? Magazines? Salted nuts? Tasers?”, he says and puts the agents out of commission, then takes off his helmet.
“You?!?”, Limpwrist says.
“Who were you expecting? Monica Lewinsky?”, Jack answers and instructs Limpwrist to cuff himself. He then gets the vector to an abandoned printing press facility from Chloe and instructs the pilot to head there while he catches up on stuff with his old buddy Limpwrist, none of which seems to involve any actual talking on Jack’s part. Instead, he just stares while Limpwrist babbles like a crack whore trying to get a fix from her pimp.
Truly one of the more satisfying sequences this season. Limpwrist begging, pleading and trying to justify himself while Jack just… Sits there. And stares.
Finally they arrive at the abandoned plant and Jack makes off with Limpwrist after having tased the pilot as well. Inside, he strips Limpwrist of his personal belongings: His cell phone, his wallet, his little black book, his pen, his golf club membership card, his buttplug, autographed photo of Adolf Hitler, you get the picture… Then he cuffs him to a pole and goes to pick up the transmitting gear from Al Bundy who has just arrived from CompUSA where he picked it all up for a song.
Jack sets up his vlogging rig and gets Limpwrist ready for the camera.
“Are you going to assassinate me?”, Limpwrist asks.
“Of course I am. That’s why I flew you all the way here and set up cameras and microphones instead of just whacking you in the chopper. Dumbass. Try ‘confession’ instead.”
“Ha! I’ll never confess to you! Oh sure, I know all about your interrogation methods, but I think you’ll find that I’m made of sterner stuff than your usual suspects”, Limpwrist says, sticking out his chest and putting on a look that we suppose is meant to be ‘defiant’ but instead comes off looking rather a lot like that of a wet poodle trying to stare down a starved Pitbull. A starved Pitbull on steroids.
“Boo!”, Jack says and Limpwrist suddenly finds himself standing in warm puddle.
“OK, so maybe you CAN make me confess, but a confession made under torture is never going to work for you. Everybody will understand that I’m just saying anything you tell me to say, and…”
“You’ll say anything anybody wants you to say, you limp noodle, no torture needed.”
“Give it up, Jack. My men can’t be far behind now…”
Jack sighs. “OK, let’s try this instead”, he says and points a gun at Limpwrist’s head. “On the count of ‘three’ I’ll ventilate your skull.”
Limpwrist suddenly discovers that he seems to be sitting on a load of hot fudge as well.
“You can’t do this!”
“I won’t talk!”
“Unless you really want me to, of course.”
Unfortunately, Jack decides not to pull the trigger. Bullets aren’t cheap and, besides, the stench from Limpwrist’s pants must be overwhelming by now. He puts down the gun and places his hands on his head as the SWAT team and Secret Service storm into the room.
Limpwrist is freed by an agent who has some trouble unlocking the cuffs with one hand, the other hand being needed to hold his nose. He gets up and starts putting his personal belongings back in his pockets.
“Have this poor man taken care of. He’s delusional. Send him to one of those nice secret camps that the HalliburtonCheneyIlluminati operate in Alaska, will you? Oh, and you wouldn’t happen to have a pair of pants in my size by any chance?”, he says to the agents.
Later, as he’s arriving at the airport, Mike gets a phone call informing him that the confession part of the plan didn’t quite work out and he passes the info on to Martha who gets a look on her face as if somebody just told her that her prescriptions hadn’t been renewed. The Allstate spokesman’s casket arrives and is carried to the plane while Martha has a nervous breakdown and starts screaming “you killed him! Murderer! NO BLOOD FOR OILLLL!” at Limpwrist.
“Oh dear. She’s having one of her Cindy Sheehan episodes again”, Limpwrist says to the Secret Service agents, “would you mind escorting her to that conveniently empty hangar over there?”
Once she’s been taken away and he’s made sure that the hangar is empty, Limpwrist follows her in there and starts smacking her around while clawing at her clothes.
“Stop it, you crazed sex-fiend!”, Martha screams.
“Oh cut it out. We’ve already had sex once this month, I’m just making sure that you’re not wearing a wire.”
Having made sure that she’s not bugged, he then goes on to confess everything he’s done for no apparent reason other than the fact that it’s in the script. Being the Evil Villain™ he has to, you see. Having fulfilled his contractual obligations, he finishes off by telling her that if she ever speaks another word about his dealings with Chrome Dome and the Secret Halliburton Cabal, he’ll have her shipped off to a nuthouse with nothing but Michael Moore “documentaries” running on continuous loop in her room for. All. Eternity!
He then walks off to deliver his eulogy to himself over the Allstate spokesman’s corpse, making the Allstate spokesman the luckiest man in the crowd, being dead as well as deaf. The rest of us have to make do with our barf bags.
Back at the CTU, Chloe has summoned Ilse and Bill for a conference call with the Attorney General. You see, Martha wasn’t bugged, but Limpwrist’s autographed picture of Adolf Hitler was. Mheh. While the Attorney General is protesting the un-Constitutionality of listening in on a traitor President’s private confessions of guilt and the ACLU and New York Times are getting ready to wax hysterical about violations of rights, Chloe hits “play” and shuts them all up, thank Heavens.
A little later, at the airport, Limpwrist’s security detail get a call from the A.G. and they start moving toward the podium where Limpwrist has just reached the point where he’s beating back the Islamic hordes at the battle of Tours. He looks up and sees them and realizes that the gig is up.
“…and then I single-handedly eliminated their armies and we all lived happily ever after. The end”, he says and starts trying to figure out an escape route without any success whatsoever. A federal marshal walks up to him and asks him to “come with me, please.”
“What’s this all about?”, Limpwrist asks.
The marshal leans over and whispers in his ear, immediately making him regret that he asked.
“But that’s preposterous!”, he whines.
The marshal pulls Limpwrist’s autographed picture out and shows him the tiny micro-transmitter taped to the back of it.
“Curses, foiled again!”, Limpwrist mutters and does the perp walk all the way to the waiting limo, surrounded by agents wondering if it would be OK for them to just shoot him in the back of the head and get it over with. Unfortunately, they decide not to, which means that we all know that nothing of any real consequence will happen to Limpwrist. Well, he might be disbarred in Arkansas for a year or two and have to pay a fine, but that’s about all the “justice” he can expect to face.
Back at the abandoned printing facility, Jack is set free and spots St. Audrey of the Nose. He makes a bee-line for her and we all put on our welding glasses and ear plugs in anticipation of some seriously nausea-inducing moments of tenderness. Fortunately they’re interrupted by an agent telling Jack that Kim is on the phone inside the abandoned factory (how nice of PacBell to keep the line alive in spite of the bills not having been paid for a decade).
“Oh shit! Not another cougar!”, Jack mutters and rushes off to pick up the phone.
We never find out because, imagine our surprise!, Kim hasn’t actually managed to locate the number of a phone in an abandoned factory building and she hasn’t actually broken off screwing her grandaddy shrink boyfriend in order to, maybe, give her actual father a few minutes of her precious time. Instead, Jack is attacked by a bunch of ninjas and rendered unconscious by holding one of Michael Moore’s discarded jock straps over his nose.
Back at CTU, Ilse and Bill are saying their goodbyes. She’s on her way to be debriefed and then she’s shipping out.
“Well, I guess this’ll be the last I ever see of this place”, Buchanan says.
“Not if I have anything to do with it, which I do”, Ilse answers.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you and make sure that you resume your duties as chief of CTU.”
“What? You’re quitting?”
“Yep. I want to get back to Homeland Security. Too much actual work going on here.”
They exchange a few pleasantries heavily laden with innuendo, innuendo of the sort that, considering the actors, makes me want to run screaming for the bleach and an ice pick to poke out my mind’s eye, then bid each other adieu. Bill spots Chloe and walks over to her.
“I found this in Edgar’s belongings. I thought you should have it”, he says and hands Chloe a folded piece of paper.
Chloe unfolds it and discovers that it’s a picture with her on it. Then she unfolds it some more. And some more. And then some more until, at long last, we discover that Edgar is on it as well. Chloe starts crying, realizing that there’s no way she’s ever going to be able to fold all of that paper back up again, and her ex-hubby Al Bundy comes over, wondering what’s the matter and would she, by any chance, be interested in a pair of pumps that are simply to DIE for? Special price, only for you?
So where’s Jack?
Jack’s laying on the floor of a cargo hold, looking like he just went ten rounds with his face between Helen Thomas’ thighs, surrounded by a bunch of Jackie Chan lookalikes. Actually, they probably all ARE Jackie Chan, digitally edited in multiple times. Saves in production costs, you know.
“You thought you could get away with invading our embassy?”, Jackie #1 asks.
“Oh great. You again”, Jack mumbles while spitting out a tooth or two.
“Now you will suffer the consequences of your actions!”, Jackie #1 continues.
“Alright. Whatever. Listen, could we cut to the chase here? Just let me have one phone call and then you can get on with business.”
“You killed our consul, and for that, you must pay”, Jackie #1 drones on, ignoring Jack completely.
“Alright already! Just let me have that damn phone call, will you?”
“You will suffer torture so unspeakable, that…”
“I don’t suppose I could get you to say ‘fried rice’ for me? Just once?”
“…that will make you long for the merciful embrace of death.”
“Already there, man. Could you just kill me and have it over with? Anything to avoid having to listen to your drivel for another second.”
“Kill you?”, Jackie #1 says, “oh no, Mr. Bauer, we have much better plans for you.”
The camera cuts to an outside view revealing, of course, that Jack’s on a ship bound for Shanghai.
And with that we end this season. It’s been fun and we hope you have enjoyed our drivel half as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it.
Join us next year as Jack finds himself in a ChiCom concentration camp (the kind that the MSM pretend don’t exist while screaming, whining and tearing their hair out over the U.S. secret prisons that exist nowhere outside of their fevered, deranged imaginations) as a Wal*Mart “employee” while trying to avoid having his organs harvested.