First, allow us to apologize for the absence of the last 2 hours of the 4-hour marathon of Jack last week. It was actually pretty much done when a technical glitch (His Imperial Majesty’s fat fingers hit the wrong button) caused it to disappear into the ether. Maybe that Stevens character from Alaska will locate it for us the next time he cleans the InterTubes.
At any rate, you didn’t really miss that much. Achhhhmed will never again criticize anybody for mispronouncing his name, and the All-American Suburban Family won’t be bothering us with their tepid, inane presence anymore either. Well, All-American Daddy won’t, that’s for sure, seeing as how he’s now a glowing puff of plasma somewhere in Valencia, which is a fitting end to some twit managing to make Anakin Skywalker’s “NOOOOOOOO!” sound even more retarded than the original.
As you know, Curtis isn’t among us anymore, since Jack ended up shooting him in order to save a terrorist. Oh yes, something’s seriously wrong with Jack these days but, then again, perhaps a couple of years in a ChiCom gulag will do things to your mind. We all know what the Hanoi Hilton did to the rotting lump of goo in McCain’s skull.
Oh, and a nuke blew up in L.A. What a waste of a perfectly good nuke. What, with Hollywood so tantalizingly close and all that. Then again, not even terrorists would be crazy enough to blow up their truest allies.
The episode opens at the White House, where President Allstate Jr is busy being concerned about all of the core voters he just lost. 12,000 at least, we’re told, which is a fair chunk to have to replace in time for the next election, even if you remember to dig up all the dead people and bus all of the illegal immigrants to the voting booths.
“I want a meeting with the Joint Chiefs. Oh, and shut down all civilian air traffic.”
“Civilian air traffic?”, Karl Rove asks.
“Well, it’s right here in What to do When Attacked by Terrorists, the 2001 edition”, President Allstate Jr replies.
“Er, there weren’t any planes involved in this one.”
“Damn you, man! Must you question EVERYTHING I do?”
“No, Mr President. Only the obviously cretinous stuff.”
“Right, Mr President. Of course.”
The Secret Service arrives to shuffle off President Allstate Jr to the Bat Cave. Hopefully so that they can bind him, gag him and throw him in a closet.
At the CTU, everybody is watching the news, where a reporter is saying that the FBI asserts that no ties to Islamic fanatics are in evidence, and that the mushroom cloud over Valencia is actually the result of a herd of flatulent cows passing by an open fire. The reporter is then interrupted by a glowing zombie with flesh falling off his face grabbing his microphone and beating him senseless with it.
Bill Buchanan wants to know what happened to his field agents and, before somebody with half a brain can explain elementary nuclear physics to him, Frat Boy Wonder tells him that they’re all dead, vaporized red shirts flying everywhere. Fortunately, as we’ve learned from previous seasons, all the CTU has to do is to drag in another 50 homeless people from off the streets and put red shirts on them. Judging by their efficiency, that’s what they’ve been doing since the Unit was established.
“Al Bundy, what was the last thing you heard from them?”, Bill asks.
“No, before that.”
“Say, do those pants make my butt look fat?”
“Oh. They were closing in on Fayed. I thought you already knew that, seeing as how they live-streamed the whole thing into the room and you were standing right next to me. My bad, Boss.”
Back at the Fuhrerbunker, the Secret Service is going over standard emergency government safety procedures with President Allstate Jr, for the benefit of viewers who haven’t crawled out from under their rock since the day they were born. Presumably for the benefit of President Allstate Jr as well, since we already know that he is slightly thicker than a prehistoric layer of granite.
Karen Reno is on the phone with her hubby Bill, trying to find out if he knows anything new.
“Do you think the tac team’s presence prompted the detonation of the bomb?”
Bill, for the seventh time this season, wonders just what it was that prompted him to marry the dumbest sack of wet hair in the known Universe, then resists the strong urge to say “no dear, it’s highly unlikely that the sudden presence of several armed federal agents might have caused them to panic and set off the bomb before we could take it away from them.”
Instead, he just answers “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that yes, it’s possible.”
“Good. That means we can blame it on the tac team instead of having to actually do something against the enemies of this country. We both know how the State Dept. would hate it if we were to bomb the Middle East and dry up their, er, ‘retirement accounts’.”
Al Bundy and Chloe are sharing a bit of angst and despair, and Chloe finally notices that something is weird in her life:
“Why do people I know keep dying?”
“Er, because you’re on ‘24′ and the ratings would plummet if people QUIT dying? Or are you saying that you’d like to be written out of the script?”
“I just have a really bad feeling about everything.”
“Yes, dear. Having a thermonuclear device go off and incinerate 12,000 people in your neighborhood can do that to you. Or so I’ve heard. Almost as bad as having the satellite dish start acting wonky 10 minutes before your favorite show is coming on. Dreadful business, I know, but we’ll just have to cope.”
“Did you hear that Jack quit? I think it’s because he was forced to kill Curtis.”
“He killed CURTIS??? The BASTARD!!! Er, sorry hon. Wrong script.”
Outside in L.A., people are running frantically through the streets, traffic is congested and emergency vehicles are going here, there and everywhere. In other words, if it wasn’t for the mushroom cloud on the horizon, it’d be just another day in L.A.
Fayed is on the phone with some guy with an Aussie accent from “Terrorists’R'Us” who is a mite pissed off that a nuke was set off in his city. Obviously he’s a member of the ever-present (on ‘24′ anyway) international group of terrorist go-to guys that always happen to be able to conjure up whatever an enterprising Evil Mastermind needs within minutes. For a price, of course. Fayed wants another nuke tech guy, since the one he had sort of turned into radioactive dust a bit ago and he’s still sort of stuck with 4 more bombs that he has to at least be ABLE to set off, lest the ratings for the rest of the season plummet to Keith Olbermannian depths.
“Bugger off, mate, I’m going to Vegas.”
“I’ll pay you twice what I paid for the last job.”
“Interesting. So, you’re saying that you need a replacement nuke programming gizmo that some geek spent months building for you, as well as a nuclear weapons specialist to replace the guy that you spent 6 months springing out of
“That’s it, yes.”
“Fine. I’ll get back to you in an hour.”
Back in suburbia, Jack is done hugging trees and vomiting and is now beholding the sweet sight of chaos when somebody runs up to him and says that he needs somebody to help get a guy out of a helicopter that fell on his house.
“I mean, if that guy dies up there, I’ll be facing liability suits the likes of which would scare Be’elzebub himself! Not to mention that we need some action in this episode, and a ‘Jack Bauer rescues downed pilot from burning wreck in the nick of time’ moment would do the trick, I think.”
“Gotcha”, Jack says, and runs to the rescue, climbing the roof and yanking the pilot from his seat exactly six nanoseconds before the chopper falls down and explodes in a ball of fire.
His contractual obligations seen to, Jack calls Bill to let him know that he was just kidding when he said that he quit, right after having shot Curtis.
At the White House, President Allstate Jr is trying to find out which country is behind Fayed.
“We have a short list of possibles on your screen, Mr President.”
“Have they been contacted?”, Allstate McNoodleSpine asks.
“Yes sir. They all extend their condolences, saying that ‘their hearts are filled with sorrow at watching the blood of infidel pigs run through the streets at the command of Allah, most Merciful’.”
“Well, that’s nice. Notice how they worked in religious sentiment? Didn’t I TELL you guys that Islam is a religion of peace?”
“Oh, and they of course all deny having anything to do with the attack.”
“Well”, President Allstate McLimpwrist says, “that settles it. Since none of them have provided us with a full confession in the presence of 4 witnesses, we’ll just have to sit on our hands and do nothing.”
“With all due respect, Mr President”, the Naval Chief of Staff interrupts, “but are you out of your freaking gourd? Those yallas just set off a flipping nuke in a major metropolitan area and you want to do NOTHING?”
“You heard the man, Admiral”, President Allstate Jr replies, “they said they didn’t do it and they would NEVER lie. Besides, we haven’t asked France yet.”
With any luck, the next nuke on the show will be set off in the Fuhrerbunker before President Allstate Jr manages to sit on his hands for long enough for the entire nation to be wiped out.
The Admiral gets up and leaves the room in disgust, thus leaving the area completely ball-less.
“We WILL retaliate”, President
Clinton Allstate Jr continues, “we just need to consult with a focus group first, followed by the UN and my pet canary Squawk. Then we’ll send those people a sternly worded resolution the likes of which the world has NEVER seen. You have my word.”
At CTU, Bill Buchanan is introduced to the terrorist-turned-good-guy, Assad.
“I realize that, due to the multiple beheadings of Americans carried out on my orders, not to mention the piffling matter of a few thousand murdered civilians in the past, you probably see me as an enemy…”, he starts, extending his hand.
“Not really. I see you as a foul stain on my nice imitated marble floor, and I can’t wait for the janitor to clean it up. With a flamethrower. Oh, and get that filthy thing out of my face. If you want to keep it.”
Al Bundy, being unfamiliar with the quaint colonial custom of kissing the arses of terrorists and handing out immunity deals like they were going out of style, is wondering aloud to Chloe if there is any way the current Cabinet can possibly insert their tongues any further up Assad’s colon, instantly endearing our favorite shoe salesman to every single viewer out there who hasn’t been emasculated by decades of PC “feel your pain” shibboleths.
Buchanan, meanwhile, is interrogating Assad.
“I didn’t know he had any nukes, I swear! This must have been planned during the six months since Fayed betrayed me!”, Assad protests.
“But you knew he was in the United States, didn’t you?”
“I only learned about that a few days ago!”
“I am a well-informed man, infidel!”
“So well-informed that one of your underlings can plot a nuclear attack for six months without you even knowing where in the world he is? So, any other fairy tales you’d like to share?”
“How about this?: Fayed must be dealing with a well-known Soviet nuclear arms dealer that I sent him off to talk to years ago. To, you know, have a cup of tea and discuss the future of the Dinamo Kiev soccer team… Because obviously I’d never be planning to, you know, actually buy anything from him. Like, say, a nuclear bomb. Much. His name is Dmitri Gredenko.”
“I’ll check it out. In the meantime, the rest of you guys can continue the interrogation. Just don’t mess up the chair like you did the last time, will you?”
Chloe gets to work doing her magic, rolling her eyes and frowning furiously every minute or so while pulling up data, in spite of Frat Boy Wonder trying his level best to interrupt her with stupid questions.
“Look! Something just popped up on your screen, Chloe!”
“I know, dorkhead, it’s my Yahoo Messenger…”
“But… It made a sound too. Doesn’t that mean that it’s, like, important and stuff?”
“Listen, don’t you have something better to do? Like cutting your fingernails, trimming your pimp mustache or maybe calling your daddy who got your inbred ass this job in the first place? Some of us have work to do, you know”, she mumbles while secretly wondering how the heck he graduated from kindergarten without an exemption. “AND KEEP YOUR HAND OFF THE POWER BUTTON!”
Al Bundy comes to the rescue, handing Frat Boy Wonder a pacifier and a shiny rattle, which immediately distracts him and he begins to coo and ga-ga excitedly.
“Thanks, dear”, Chloe says.
“Not a problem, darling. But, in return, you get to change him the next time.” He points at the screen. “Why, look at that. Isn’t that interesting?”
“What? That Jack’s father met with Gredenko not too long ago?”
“That too, but I was referring to the message about the Star Trek convention that popped up on your RSS feed. Spock is coming out of the closet too?”
Chloe runs off to tell Bill what they found.
“Spock plays for the other team?”, Bill exclaims.
“Wrong window”, Chloe mutters, minimizing the window and maximizing another one.
“Jack’s daddy knows a Soviet nuke pusher?”
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
“How many seasons have you been with us now, Chloe? What’s incredible is that he still HAS a father. Imagine what life must’ve been like around the Bauer household the first time daddy tried to spank little Jack.”
Bill calls Jack, telling him about Gredenko. Oh, and the fact that his father knows him.
“Damn. What’s the old man been up to NOW? I TOLD him to quit doing business with former generals of communist countries.”
“That’s what we want to know. We’ll send somebody out to talk to him.”
“No, Bill, I’ll do it!”
“It’s alright. We can do it. We’re almost done putting red shirts on the new bunch we picked up down at the day laborers’ corner.”
“THERE’S NO TIME!”
Faced with the Ultimate Argument™, Bill caves in and lets Jack take care of the family business. Should prove interesting.
Elsewhere, Cynthia Allstate McKinney’s CAIR boyfriend, Wally-Wally, is still locked up in the detention facility, hanging out with the rest of the boys from the Umma, switching wife-beating tricks and learning how to say “Death to America” in Farsi.
Cynthia Allstate McKinney is hanging out in the lobby, working her cellphone and trying to get a hold of the New York Times, the ACLU, the DNC and al-Qaeda, all of whom she has on speed-dial. They use the same switchboard, after all. The FBI comes back, telling her that they know about the terrorists hanging out in the facility and that they’re going to use Wally-Wally as a spy, fitting a wire to him.
Cynthia McKinney protests loudly, it being the only thing she knows how to do. “Wally-Wally isn’t trained for this sort of thing, not to mention that you’re violating the Constitutional rights of these peaceful, innocent terro… members of the Religion of Peace, shredding the Constitution, peeing on the grave of Jefferson, creating a rip in the time-space continuum and making the Baby Jesus cr…”
“Would you shut UP for a second? Sheesh, don’t you EVER pause to breathe?”, the FBI agent interrupts, “anyway, we’re going to make sure that the other detainees don’t know what we’re up to by pretending to be typical Evil KKKapitalist Zionist thugs conforming to every single stereotype on al-Jazeera who are out to get Wally-Wally, thus making them trust him and confide in him.” He turns around toward one of his agents. “Hey, Agent Smith, put on your damn yarmulka before you go out there. And don’t forget the fake plastic fangs either!”
“But why are you telling ME all of this?”, Cynthia Allstate McKinney sensibly inquires.
“It’s called ‘exposition.’ The new writers this season suck at it, but with a bit of luck they’ll learn eventually. Anyway, now that the audience, er, you know exactly what is about to happen, let’s sit back and enjoy the show.”
Outside, Wally-Wally (who hasn’t been too good at getting information from the Obvious Terrorists™ who obviously don’t trust him up until now) is grabbed by the FBI agents who drag him off to the mens’ room, making sure that the door is open so the dozen or so Obvious Terrorists™ gathered outside won’t miss a single word of their performance.
“Listen, you raghead bastard, we’re gonna cut you GOOD!”, they shout while roughing up Wally-Wally and taping a wire to him.
“Hava nagila, hava nagila…” Agent Smith sings while beating Wally-Wally over the head with the Torah.
“Death to Amerika!”, Wally-Wally shouts.
“You will never stop the Zionist Conspiracy from controlling the entire world, you Arab pig!”, another agent shouts while making sure that his jacket with ‘MOSSAD’ written on the back is in clear view of the assembled Obvious Terrorists™.
“Allah-u-Akbar!”, Wally-Wally cries out as somebody pokes him in the eye with a dreidel.
“Ah, forget about it. He’s not going to talk”, one of the agents say when the wire is in place, “let’s go make some matzo balls. Did you remember to bring the blood, Moishe?”
The agents leave. Meanwhile, Cynthia McKinney is going ballistic, protesting like crazy and, through the heroic self-restraint of the FBI agent in charge, manages to not get pistol-whipped.
Jack calls the family butler, asking about his dad.
“Jack? Is it really you?”, Jeeves asks.
“Just thought I’d check in.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in L.A., don’t worry.”
“Oh, good. Because the long distance charges from China would be horrible.”
“So, do you know where dad is?”
“No. It’s a bit strange, really. Maybe your brother knows.”
Oh great. Jack has a brother too. ‘24′ is fast turning into ‘Days of Our Lives’.
Another one of the Bauer staff calls Jack’s brother on the phone, telling him that Jack isn’t rotting around in a Chinese prison anymore. Oh, and his brother turns out to be, you’ll never guess it, Cue Ball from last season, the fugly dude with the Bluetooth earpiece. A large CRASH can be heard as the disbelief of the audience breaks free of the suspension and plummets to the depths below.
Next on Cue Ball’s phone is, of course, Jack. Poor Cue Ball is going to use up all of his minutes before this show is over the way his phone keeps ringing. Hopefully he still has Jack on the Friends & Family Plan™. Or, rather, the Friends and Family I Tried My Damndest to Have Killed Last Season Plan™.
“Wow! Is that really you, Jack?”
“How many other people with ‘Jack Bauer’ on their Caller ID do you know, dear brother?”
“Damn. It just blew my mind hearing from you like this. I mean, surprised. Not that I would know anything about ‘blowing minds’, you know. Just a manner of speech. Oh, and before you kill me, please know that dad and I tried very hard to get you out of China, but we don’t really know Bill Clinton all that well, so couldn’t come up with any really good connections over there.”
“Listen, Gray, I need you to find dad for me and, when you do, call me back at this number.”
“Alright. Will do.”
Jack hangs up and calls Chloe.
“I just talked to my brother, and I need you to find his address for me.”
“But… If you just talked to him, why didn’t you just ask?”
“Oh, of course. Haha. Silly me.”
She gives Jack the address of Brother Dearest and we all get the feeling that there’s a family reunion about to take place. Somehow, however, we also get the feeling that no cake or champagne will be involved.
Cue Ball arrives home and greets his wife and son, then sends sonny boy off as he delivers another ham-fisted attempt at exposition, letting us all know that his wife apparently had a thing for Jack. Not that we can blame her. Being married to Cue Ball and all. Frankly, we’re still wondering how on earth they managed to procreate. Unless it involved drugs, rope and artificial insemination, that is.
At the White House, President Allstate Jr’s speech writer and assorted other toadies are busy trying to sugarcoat the day’s events, so as not to give the people the idea that something demanding an actual response had happened.
“The latest terrorist incident?“, Karl Rove exclaims.
“Well, we tried ‘temporary background radiation anomaly’, but it was too long and, besides, ixnay on the adiationray, if you know what I mean.”
“Could you squeeze in a few more mentions of ‘a Religion of Peace’, please? Say, about three dozen?”, Karen Pelosi asks.
“Listen, am I the ONLY one in this room who noticed a nuclear bomb going off in a U.S. city today, a nuclear bomb set off by Islamist fanatics?”, Karl Rove interrupts.
“There you go again, jumping to conclusions and trying to create an Environment of Fear and Bigotry™, shredding the Constitution, peeing on the grave of Thomas Jeff…”, Karen Pelosi starts.
“The kind of fear that reasonable people might feel when they see a suburb of a major American city turned to glowing plasma, perhaps?”
“Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to the Dark Side…”, Karen Pelosi mumbles.
“You mean, fear leads to anger, anger at having the elected President sitting around on his dick doing absolutely NOTHING about it leads to piss-poor polls, right?”
President Allstate Jr pulls his thumb out of his mouth for a moment:
“Listen, we don’t have any idea who did this. Sure, we know who did it, we know he’s an Islamic terrorist, we know the names of all of the nations backing him, but… Oh wait, I’ll just stick my thumb back into my mouth and shut up now. Or should I practice my lip-quivering a bit before going on air?”
“Stick it up your ass, you weenie fucknozzle”, Karl Rove mumbles under his breath, then goes on to try to convince the rest that maybe, just MAYBE the fact that 12,000 Americans, minimum, just got incinerated in nuclear blast might be sufficient reason to perhaps start taking some sort of aggressive measures. At least maybe wiretap known terrorists, do background checks on known Islamist sympathizers, that sort of thing.
Karen Pelosi shakes her head. “Listen, the only one allowed to be bloodthirsty here is me, and I’m only bloodthirsty when I know, beyond a reasonable doubt, that no actual guilty parties are in danger of getting hurt. You RethugliKKKan Proto-Nazi Halliburton Illuminati Troglodyte.”
President Allstate Jr jumps in again: “OK, so we’ll admit it was a nuke. But absolute ixnay on olicypay. I don’t want to be caught promising to actually do something, only to be quoted on it later when it turns out that all I did was bang interns, airbrush my legacy and ‘feel your pain’, OK? I want this announcement to be heavy on emotion and ‘everything’s gonna be alright’, assuring the American people that we’ll do anything in our power to restore order and make the streets safe again. As long as no actual proposals as to how to bring this about are mentioned, of course.”
Back in L.A., the Aussie connection is picking up his, er, girlfriend, informing her that they’re not going to Vegas after all.
“What? A fucking nuke just went off in the city and you told me to pack everything so that we could get the Hell out.”
“Oh shut up. Somebody just cut me in on some business. What? You think those boob jobs were paid for by Medicare?”
He calls Fayed, informing him that he has already managed to get together what Fayed spent the last six months trying to dig up. Somewhere in the bottomless depths, the audience’s disbelief, long since crashed into the ground, is being stomped on by a thousand incompetent screenwriters wearing cleats.
At the CTU, Bill Buchanan is shipping Assad to Washington DC, seeing as how it’s just as well to have all of the turds in the same place. He offers his hand to Assad who, having been snubbed earlier, looks at it in disbelief, then reaches out and shakes.
Bill turns around, chuckling to himself. “If he only knew where that hand had been, and that I’m a southpaw.”
At the detention facility, Wally-Wally is fast gaining the confidence of his fellow inmates. One of them approaches him, trying to get him to talk about why he’s been beat up fifteen times already. Within the last three minutes.
“So what do the infidels want from you, my brother?”
“Oh, nothing. Just something they found in my wallet.”
“Oh? What was it?”
“I really can’t tell. It’s very secret, and I swore upon my favorite goat’s grave that I’d never reveal it to anyone.”
“Alright then. I underst…”
“But since you’re pushing so hard, they want to know how I know Abu Fayed. That’s A-B-U, F-A-Y-E-D. A as in ‘Alpha’, B as in ‘Bravo’, U as in ‘Uniform’, F as in ‘Foxtrot’… Are you writing this down?”
Having delivered, completely inconspicuously, the Code Word for inclusion in the Islamic Rage Boy Society™, he’s now a full-fledged member.
Inside, Cynthia McAllstate is flipping out again, realizing that she hasn’t been filing a complaint or screeching about violations of civil liberties for over three minutes.
“Listen”, the FBI agent says while popping his wax ear plugs back in, “if this works, Wally-Wally will have done a heroic thing for his country.”
“Don’t you be making speeches here. That’s MY job! What if they find out about the wire?”
“Ma’am, I know that you’re probably not too terribly used to using that thing uselessly taking up space between your ears, but did you notice the three dozen heavily armed guards and agents out there? They’re not LAPD, so they’re actually allowed to use their sidearms without first obtaining written permission in triplicate from their supervisor.”
“Listen, ma’am, let’s be honest here. The only reason you’re even wasting perfectly good oxygen in my presence is that you’re President Allstate Jr’s sister.”
“And don’t you FORGET it, white boy!”
“Trust me, no danger of that ever happening. Believe me, I’ve tried, but there is no way that two different families who could’ve bred for stupidity with that kind of success”, the FBI agent sighs, praying that his next assignment involves doing background checks. Of caribou. In Alaska.
At Casa del Cue Ball, Jack shows up, making Cue Ball’s sphincter involuntarily pucker up with fear.
“Ah! Jack! How, er, delightful”, he fakes. “Damn. When was the last time we saw each other?”
“I don’t remember, but I remember that the waistband of your speedos was hooked around your ears and you were mumbling something that sounded vaguely like ‘uncle’ through the tennis ball I’d jammed in your pie hole.”
“Ah yes. Good times, gooood times.”
Cue Ball’s son, Josh, appears and shakes hands with Uncle Jack, after which Improbably Hot Wife of Cue Ball™ appears, asking her son to give daddy and Uncle Jack some privacy. She obviously doesn’t want the kid to be traumatized by the traditional Bauer family rituals.
“I’m sorry to come barging in like this, Marilyn”, Jack says, “I just need a bit of information and I’ll be out of here.”
“Well, in that case, why don’t you go into Gray’s office. We just got the rug replaced with linoleum there.”
Jack and Cue Ball enter the office.
“Please, not in the face this time”, Cue Ball says as he closes the door. “There’s a lamp over there that you can rip the cord out of, in case you need to tie me up.”
“What do you know about Gredenko?”, Jack asks.
“Could we skip that part today, please? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Aw, c’mon. That’s the part I enjoy.”
“Well, not today”, Jack says, punching Cue Ball in the jaw.
“DAMMIT, Jack, NOT IN THE FACE!”, Cue Ball yells as he drops to the ground.
Jack picks up his brother, ties him to the chair and resumes questioning.
“OK, now tell me what you know. Are you going to tell me, or do I have to hurt you?”
“You’re hurting me already, Jack”, Cue Ball gasps.
“No. That was just my way of saying ‘hello’. Surely it hasn’t been THAT long since I last saw you?”
At the White House, President Allstate Jr is ready to read his carefully prepared, totally vapid and utterly cowardly declaration of spinelessness. Thankfully, we only get to listen to the first few sentences, both of which are about as convincing as a speech by Ted Kennedy and as full of vigor and resolve as a tobacconist wooden Indian.
Cue Ball is still refusing to speak. Truth is, he’s been missing those ’sessions’ of his with Jack. Oh well, every family has one of those, no?
“Alright then, brother dearest, why don’t we try THIS then?”, Jack asks as he pulls a plastic bag over Cue Ball’s head and starts asphyxiating him.
Until you’ve seen the Bauer family version of sibling rivalry, you truly don’t know Jack.
Tune in next week as we find out what Cue Ball knows and just how much pain he can stand.
Also, find out just how many minutes it takes for an angry mob to string President Allstate Jr up from the neck after his nutless, useless, cowardly speech. Because if they don’t, then the show has truly jumped the shark and surrendered any sort of credibility and realism it might still have.