Strict Standards: Redefining already defined constructor for class wpdb in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/wp-db.php on line 57

Strict Standards: Redefining already defined constructor for class WP_Object_Cache in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/cache.php on line 384

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Page::start_lvl() should be compatible with Walker::start_lvl($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 541

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Page::end_lvl() should be compatible with Walker::end_lvl($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 541

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Page::start_el() should be compatible with Walker::start_el($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 541

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Page::end_el() should be compatible with Walker::end_el($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 541

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_PageDropdown::start_el() should be compatible with Walker::start_el($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 560

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Category::start_lvl() should be compatible with Walker::start_lvl($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 659

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Category::end_lvl() should be compatible with Walker::end_lvl($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 659

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Category::start_el() should be compatible with Walker::start_el($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 659

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_Category::end_el() should be compatible with Walker::end_el($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 659

Strict Standards: Declaration of Walker_CategoryDropdown::start_el() should be compatible with Walker::start_el($output) in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/classes.php on line 684

Strict Standards: Non-static method sem_admin_menu::init() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-content/plugins/sem-admin-menu/sem-admin-menu.php on line 358

Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method sem_admin_menu::ob_add_menu() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 164

Warning: ob_start(): non-static method sem_admin_menu::ob_add_menu_callback() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-content/plugins/sem-admin-menu/sem-admin-menu.php on line 86

Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method sem_admin_menu::kill_gzip() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 59
Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler » Why Family Reunions Should Be Avoided at All Costs
Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::add_css() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 164

Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::add_js() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 164
You are viewing the Archives for 2007.......If you want the current page, CLICK HERE.......

…at least if your family has the last name of “Bauer.”

(WARNING: This week’s recap may contain numerous geek references. If you don’t get them, congratulate yourself on the fact that you have a life, which we, evidently, do not. If you DO get the references, do yourselves a favor and pretend that you don’t. You might have sex at least once more in your lives before you die if you follow this advice. Also, if any part(s) of this recap make you laugh like crazy and/or groan loudly, please let us know in the comments. Not that we’re likely to give a shit about your opinions, we’re the Jack Bauer of the Blogosphere after all, but at least you’ll have a chance to vent. Not to mention that, whereas we really don’t give an Imperial Bowel Movement about what you plebes think and it’s not like we’re looking for adulation, we already know that we’re G-d’s Gift to Writing, there’s a slight off-chance that we might pick up a few tricks by listening to your advice. Advice for which we’ll pay absolutely nothing, of course, seeing as how we’re acting with Divine Mandate, but you get the drift. You can either put up with our drivel “as is” or offer helpful suggestions).

Last week, we left Bauer as he was introducing his brother, Cue Ball, to the delights of “dry waterboarding.”

Instead of taking us immediately back to that scene this week, the show’s writers obviously decided that it was the audience’s turn to suffer through indescribable torture, so they treat us to the tail end of President Allstate Jr’s interminable, vapid, useless speech to the American people, in which he promises that everything is going to be alright, as long as he doesn’t have to actually do anything meaningful in response to a nuclear attack on American soil.

At the end, Karl Rove is angry that President Allstate Jr has promised to “keep our American values”, since he already has the Gulags up and ready to go. Karen Reno, true to her irritating form, immediately marches into the room and declares that there will be no violation of the civil liberties of terrorists on her watch, no matter how many millions of actual Americans have their civil liberties permanently revoked by being turned into a radioactive cloud of plasma.

“Sure, so maybe setting off another four nukes all over America might be a bad thing, but if ONE SINGLE INNOCENT is unfairly and un-Constitutionally profiled, then America will surely perish overnight!”, she preaches.

“You mean, like Caucasian grandmothers from Minnesota getting full body cavity searches in order to keep CAIR’s quotas?”, Karl asks.

“I know what you think. You think that I’m just some bleeding heart liberal…”, she continues.

“I wouldn’t insult bleeding heart liberals like that, actually…”, Karl interrupts.

“…but I too will do everything it takes to…”

“No. You won’t. Now go bother somebody else for a second, will you?” Karl walks off, exasperated, while Karen Reno carries on regardless and oblivious of the fact that he stopped listening to her monologue quite a while ago.

“…and would it kill you to leave the toilet seat down every once in a while. Oh, and my mother always warned about your ty…”, she shouts at the door closing behind him.

Outside, Karl meets up with one of his secret henchmen who, even as we speak, is working on a fiendish plot to get rid of Karen Reno. Loud, spontaneous cheers erupt in front of TV screens all over the nation as we learn of this.

Back at CTU, Token Arab Chick (and obvious mole) Nadia Yasir is whining to Bill Buchanan about a silly new rule requiring agents of Middle Eastern descent to actually log in to their workstations and quit streaming al-Jazeera continuously. The latter mainly because it’s driving people trying to work batshit insane.

“Racial Profiling! No Blood For Oil!”, she cries, while Bill patiently tries to explain to her that men of Middle Eastern descent just blew up 12,000 (and counting) Americans and that, therefore, some added security and precautions might be in order.

“I know that, and it’s OK with me, but this really is a bad time for me to have limited access to top secret files and a live GoToMyPC connection to Osa, er, my cousin in Pakistan!”, she protests.

“Yeah, well, whatever…”, Bill mumbles, desperately trying to get away from her nagging. It’s almost as if there’s some unspoken reason why she’s so upset about it, isn’t there?

“So you’ll give me an exemption? Break every rule on the book, violate security protocol while the United States in under threat of nuclear attack and guarantee yourself a one-way trip to Leavenworth?”, she asks.

“No”, Bill answers, “I’ll take it up with the attorney general. You should have an answer in, say, three to six months. Now go away.”

Finally we go back to Jack, whose brother by now holds the world record for holding his breath. He also holds the world record for grown men trying to sound like a four-year-old, complete with crying and snot all over the place.

“Tell me where dad is, or the bag goes back on!”, Jack yells.

“But, but, I don’t know”, Cue Ball sniffles.

“Very well then. Say hello to Mr Bag again. And this time you’re getting a wedgie too!”

“Noooooo!”, Cue Ball screams while composing himself in record time, ending the crying and sniffling like flicking a switch, “not the wedgie! He went to see a guy who works for us, name of Darren McCarthy.”

So now we know that Fayed’s Aussie friend is working with Cue Ball as well, which is hardly surprising, considering his past plots to gas all of LA to death and numerous attempts to have his brother killed. All in the line of business for the BlueTooth Gangsta.

“We were working with Gredenko to disarm and recycle the suitcase nukes for peaceful purposes. Energy production and all that. We even had a buyer for them, name of Mahmoud Ahma… Arma… something or other. So when the nukes got here, we handed them over to McCarthy so he could keep them for us while we, er, made room in the garage for them.”

“You hire this complete nobody and hand over the nukes to him?”

“Hey! He had great credentials. He even had a business card saying ‘Nuclear Weapons Disposal and Recycling’ and everything!”

“OK, so then what?”

“Well, McCarthy lost them. Told us he’d misplaced them or something.”

“MISPLACED them?”

“Happens all the time, Jack. Anyway…”

“And you didn’t bother to tell anybody that five live nukes were floating around in the U.S. with nobody knowing where the fuck they were?”

“Hey! McCarthy told us he’d find them and get them back to us. What were we supposed to do? Damn, don’t tell me that YOU never misplaced anything in your life! We’re DEALING with it, Jack, and in a much more efficient manner than those clowns at CTU ever could.”

For once, we have to admit that Cue Ball has a valid point. If the CTU were running things, the terrorists would be stashing the nukes at CTU, walking in and out the doors with impunity, and CTU would probably have supplied them with a new nuke tech along with a complete set of triggers halfway through last week’s episode.

“So where’s dad now?”

“Staking out McCarthy’s office along with a, er, security team.”

“Alright. You and I are going for a field trip”, Jack says in that certain tone of voice that suggests that you’ll be pissing blood for a month if you don’t comply.

“I didn’t stain the floors this time, dear”, Jack says to Cue Ball’s wife as they leave, “and the plastic bag is as good as new if you wash it out once or twice. See you later.”

At CTU, everybody is doing what they do best, which is being utterly stumped. They’re debating ways of finding Fayed, who still manages to elude them. They ought to check the mens’ room at CTU.

“If Fayed is in the area, he’ll be moving away from the fallout”, Bill says. Gee, ya think?

“And he’ll be monitoring the radiation levels”, Al Bundy adds.

“Which means that he’ll have technology in the ‘on’ position”, Dumb Frat Boy Affirmative Hire suggests with a look on his face indicating that he’s hopeful that he might get a pat on the head and a cookie.

“You mean, such as a Geiger counter?”, Al Bundy asks, resisting a powerful urge to beat Frat Boy over the head with a chair, thus improving his IQ considerably.

“No need to get all technical and stuff, dude. I’m like, you know, tossing up ideas here…”

Token Arab Chick, who has otherwise mainly been occupied with looking suspicious whenever the camera is on her (the subtle addition of a cardboard sign around her neck saying “OBVIOUS MOLE” helps a great deal), suggests that they use the famed CTU “scan everything in the world that emits an electromagnetic impulse of any kind while still being able to pinpoint with great accuracy only those items of immediate interest” Device™ (or Lazy Writer’s Gizmo™ for short).

“Great”, Bill says, “set the Sekrit Bat Scanner to “geiger counter operated by Middle Eastern males” and get going!”

In the car, Cue Ball is desperately trying to convince Jack not to let a minor thing like a nuke going off in L.A. poison their deep and meaningful family relations, not to mention not getting CTU involved since he really doesn’t want to go to jail. Jack, meanwhile, is wondering where he can find a helicopter to drop on his irritating brother.

Don’t bother, Jack. It’s already been tried.

Jack calls Bill and tells him everything so far, including the bit about his brother doing business with the guy that handed the nukes to Fayed.

Cue Ball is pissed off, mumbling about Jack’s lack of family loyalty, after which his lips promptly fall off.

Elsewhere, McCarthy is busy trying to locate a nuclear tech expert, which isn’t quite as easy as he thought. He just can’t seem to find one anywhere in the Yellow Pages, which only goes to show just how useless they really are. Of course, we all know that he’ll succeed in time. His bimbo, meanwhile, is busy moping next to him in the car, demanding to go shoe shopping and telling him all about how he never listens to her needs, and how it would be nice if he, once in a while, would pay attention to her.

None of which he pays attention to, of course. Finally he has enough of her bitching and decides to throw her out of the car, which is when she notices that they’re nowhere near a mall and, on top of it, remembers something about $7 million. You can hear the rusty gears in her empty bleached head spinning as she tries to figure out just how many shoes you can buy with that kind of money. After an eternity, she comes up with the answer “a LOT” and decides that maybe she should stick with sugar daddy for a while longer.

Before she can unzip his pants, however, Fayed calls, demanding to know where his replacement nuke engineer is.

“Dammit, Fayed, it’s not like they’re panhandling on street corners, you know. I’m looking, I’m LOOKING”

“Curse you, infidel, I need him NOW!”

“Er, why? Might it not be a good idea to lay low for a while right now?”

“With only 18 hours left of the season? Are all of you infidels that stupid?”

“OK, no need to get all negative on my arse, mate. Listen, I checked with Terrorists’R'Us, that place where you guys always pick up new crews every time you run out of thugs and need replacements right quick, but they were fresh out of nuclear engineers. However, I’ve already put up a post on careerbuilder.com and monster.com, so I should have one for you any moment now, alright?”

“And bring me… A SECOND SHRUBBERY!”

McCarthy hangs up before Fayed can shout “NI!”

At Camp Wally-Wally, the FBI agent is busy explaining CTU procedure and how they’re sending the pictures of the detainees over to CTU for cross-checking to Cynthia McAllstate. Well, he’s explaining it to us viewers, there’s that exposition thing that the writers still haven’t quite gotten down to anything even resembling an artform again, but you know what we mean. Of course, there IS the possibility that he’s finally figured out that the only way to shut up a sermonizing bleeding heart is to use big words that she doesn’t understand. Such as “is” and any number higher than “three.”

Frat Boy gets the pictures and walks across the room to tell Al Bundy that he’s got them.

“Brilliant, Poindexter. Now do me a flipping favor and send them to my workstation instead of just standing around there exercising your gums about them”, Al answers. “Oh, and would you mind asking Token Arab Chick what the fuck is taking her so long about sending those files to me that she was supposed to attach to an email minutes ago?”

Frat Boy asks Token Arab Chick who is busy being on strike, pretending that there’s no way she can attach a file in Lotus Notes when she’s being oppressed by The Man™. She even throws in a pout for good measure. She doesn’t, however, helpfully point out what it is that’s bugging her, telling Frat Boy to go talk to Bill about it instead.

“What? You can’t tell me?”

“Of course I can, but I want you pestering the living shit out of him as well so I can get my preferential treatment RIGHT NOW!”

Frat Boy, who obviously doesn’t know the next thing about The Power of the Nag™ (which at least confirms that he’s got a Y chromosome, something that has been very much in doubt up until now), walks off to nag Bill to death. After Bill has explained the situation to him, Frat Boy works himself into a lather about how he needs a special exemption for Token Arab Chick, since she’s obviously the only analyst at CTU capable of attaching a simple file to an email.

Since trying to explain basic security measures as well as the situation the country is now in to Frat Boy is as impossible as explaining the Theory of Relativity to a tortoise, Bill tells him to go back to work and deal with it, which he promptly does. By logging Token Arab Chick in with his own ID, guaranteeing him that not only will this season’s most obvious mole have direct and unfettered access to everything in violation of security protocol, Frat Boy will be the one who’ll be blamed for it when she’s inevitably found out since it’ll have his UserID plastered all over everything she’s done.

Real bright move, Frat Boy, and you’re not even likely to get a blow job in the parking lot for your trouble.

Wally-Wally is busy inconspicuously getting information from the Islamic Rage Boys’ Club which, unfortunately for him, he truly sucks at. The Spanish Inquisition was the epitome of subtlety compared with poor Wally. He is so atrociously inept, as a matter of fact, that even the cerebrally challenged dorks that he is trying to squeeze notice. Fortunately, they then prompty UN-notice, being somewhat distracted by a particularly fetching goat walking by on the street outside.

Then they tell Wally (and, unwittingly, the FBI) that they have smuggled a cell phone inside. Cynthia McAllstate, suddenly completely unconcerned with precious civil liberties, suggest that they nick the phone and find out who they’ve been calling. Just wait until the ACLU finds out about that one, Cynthia. You’ll be thrown out of the club so quickly that your head will be spinning a month later.

At the White House Bunker, Karl Rove’s devious plan to rid of us that turbulent twit, Karen Reno, is coming to fruition. His henchman presents him with a list of people who’ve been ‘convinced’ to testify against her, along with a few pictures of her and Helen Thomas performing anatomically impossible acts. After having thrown up in his mouth a little, Karl heads off to talk to Karen.

“Listen, Karen, you’re getting to be a diversion around here. It’s one thing that you don’t like a single thing done to protect American citizens from being blown up by nukes, it’s quite another that you don’t seem to have one solitary suggestion as to what else we could do. In other words, the DNC and the New York Times called, and they want their talking points back.”

“Well, I’m not going to stop doing my job just because it irritates you, Karl…”, Karen Reno starts.

“Oh yes you are. As a matter of fact, you’ll tender your resignation within the hour or else I’m going to tell everybody about those parking tickets of yours that you never paid… Wait, that’s not it. How about this: I’ll tell everybody about how you and your hubby released a bunch of detainees for ‘lack of evidence’ not too long ago, and that one of those detainees happens to be one Abu Fayed.”

Karen Reno is stunned for a second, but then quickly recovers and starts defending herself with another screed about Life, Liberty and the non-Pursuit of Terrorists.

“Those releases were perfectly legitimate, and I filed all of the paperwork strictly according to procedure! You got nuttin’, NUTTIN’ I tells ya!”

“Oh? Is that so? Well why did I locate the files in a file cabinet named ‘Stapler Maintenance & Repair, 1945-57′ at the bottom of Cheyenne Mountain? It’s almost as if somebody didn’t WANT that file to be found, don’t you think? Not to mention that…”

“Honest filing mistake! You’re not going to…”

“…the files were laying next to the bones of Jimmy Hoffa…”

“…”

“Well?”

“You’re a son of a bitch!”

“Thanks for noticing. Now go pack your bags, Cindy Sheehan.”

25 seconds later, Karen Reno shows up in the President’s office with her resignation. Either she is one heck of a typist, or every employee at the White House is required to have a ‘fill-in-the-blanks’ version laying around, just in case. Then again, if I were part of President Allstate McNoNuts’ Administration, I’d probably keep one around myself. For comfort.

President Allstate Jr delivers the obligatory protestations, claiming that he needs Karen around Karl Rove, if nothing else then because their constant bickering and mutual obstructionism provides him with a perfect excuse to avoid doing anything meaningful to stop the terrorists.

Karen isn’t having any of it, however, and President Allstate Jr resigns himself to the horror of most likely having to act like a Commander-in-Chief before long.

“Oh, and if it’s OK, Mr President, I’d like to be re-assigned to CTU in L.A. I feel that it’s the best place to make use of my finely honed skills in screwing up everything and making sure the terrorists don’t have too much trouble carrying out their plans.”

President Allstate Jr grants her her request. Hey, you knew he would, didn’t you?

Before she leaves, however, she delivers a passionate speech to President Allstate Jr, babbling about “following your own counsel” (understandable, considering that ‘his own counsel’ coincides perfectly with Karen Reno’s ‘do absolutely NOTHING while blathering endlessly about high-faluting principles that matter not one whit to people about to be incinerated’ philosophy) and what a marvelous President he is. In other words, she’s saying “I’m in a flank two position. FLANK TWO POSITION!” and “keep doing nothing and you’ll do well.”

President Allstate Jr, not being the sharpest bulb in the box of Palmers upon which our nation’s security obviously rests, at least according to the show, wonders what the Hell she’s carrying on about, which makes exactly one of him.

In L.A., Jack arrives with his brother in tow (and in cuffs) at McCarthy’s office. Personally, I liked him better with a plastic bag over his head, but that’s just me. Jack’s on the phone with Chloe, reading license plates aloud to her to see if any of them need to be towed or get a parking ticket. Also, he learns that none of the cars belong to McCarthy, which must surely be a huge surprise to everybody.

“What do you want me to do with the backup teams?”, Chloe asks as Jack and Cue Ball make their way to the office building.

“Just let them park outside and wait.”

“You don’t need them inside?”

“Not really. Besides, they’re my backup teams, which means that they’ll be dead in about five minutes anyway. Just make sure they’ve got their nicest red shirts on, will you? Look good for the coroner and all that.”

He then walks inside the abandoned office building, the front door of which has been left helpfully unlocked. Obviously they’re not too concerned about security with crowds running wild in the streets but, then again, this IS L.A. we’re talking about. It’s probably illegal to lock buildings anyway, since it might violate illegal aliens’ civil right to help themselves to anything that isn’t bolted down.

At Camp Wally, our unlikely hero is trying to figure out how to get the Head Badass of the Islamic Rage Boy Club’s cell phone. Unable to come up with anything original, he does the old “pretend to stumble while pickpocketing the victim trying to help you” trick that he learned while attending a Madrassah in Indonesia. Badass must have gone to a different Madrassah, because he falls for it hook, line and sinker. Or maybe he was just too busy looking really, really tough to notice.

Wally then dials the secret “upload all the information on the SIM to CTU” number, which takes all of five seconds. Chloe gives the FBI agent on the phone her usual “it’s going to take me a while to untangle all of this information”, but we know better. She’s already put on her patented Chloe Scowl™ against which all forms of encryption known to mankind are powerless, so she will have everything pulled out of there in approximately 7 and a half seconds.

Which gives Cynthia McAllstate just enough time to whine about letting Wally-Wally out of the detention center.

“Listen, Miss McAllstate, I’m going to tell you this one last time: We’re not letting your boyfriend go until we’re done, no matter what you say.”

“You mean, there is still more information he can get for you?”

“Are you stupid or something? Of COURSE there isn’t, but you and I both know that we have to hold back for just long enough that the Islamic Rage Boy Club can figure out what’s going on and beat him to within an inch of his life, which will provide you with material to whine and screech about violated civil liberties for the rest of the season while all the viewers try to jam icepicks in their ears to quit having to listen to it. I mean, how do you think the MoveOn.org writers will look if we don’t create a martyr who, although heroically defending his country that treated him like shit, was left to be beaten senseless for no good reason?”

“Oh, I see.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tell Wally that he can go screw up while trying to hand the phone back to Badass McRageBoy”, the FBI agent says and contacts Wally on the ear mic: “Put the phone back, Wally.”

“How?”

“Who am I? Your mother? You took it, now find a way of giving it back without anybody noticing. Try your pickpocket stunt in reverse, who gives a fuck?”

At CTU, seven and a half seconds have passed and Chloe is currently pulling up information about Badass McRageBoy’s first blowjob, where he went to school and what color underwear his mother used to wear under her burqa. Oh, and she finds a link to a website with a lot of Arabic text and some really, really kewl and badass-looking graphics of skulls and shit. Something that must have looked really interesting on a 100×100 pixel cellphone screen, but who are we to ask silly questions?

Chloe calls up BabelFish™ to translate the Arabic, but soon realizes what everybody else in the universe already knows, which is that BabelFish™ is the single most useless piece of crap ever invented since the French decided to include forward-going gears in the transmissions of their main battle tanks. Or main armaments, for that matter, but we digress.

Thankfully, she has a backup: The Proprietary CTU Universal Instant Translator Software™ that she hadn’t thought about using since that time when she found the website of a Malaysian Nude Star Trek Conference, the subject of which we shan’t mention any further. Not only does it instantly translate any language, including Klingon, into grammar-perfect English, it also helpfully reads the user’s mind and highlights the exact sentence they’re looking for, which in this case is the now famous mention of “the four visitors”, which is Muj for “nuclear bomb.” Or “my favorite goat is surfing the crimson tide, so no nookie tonight”, depending on the context.

At least they update their sites regularly, since there used to be five of them.

She calls the FBI agent back and tells him that she doesn’t think that the Islamic Rage Boy Club have any connections to the terrorists.

“What? How did they know about the four other bombs then?”

“They found it on a website, a MySpace page belonging to Osama bin Laden.”

“Why didn’t they report this to authorities?”, the FBI agent asks, failing to ask the more pertinent question as to why nobody is checking those websites on a regular basis.

“Because you’ve violated their civil liberties, oppressed them brutally, racially profiled them and, oh, THE CRUSADES!”, Cynthia McAllstate shouts.

“Oh, so you’re saying they’re on the other side?”, the FBI agent replies, “I already knew that.”

“Thanks, Chloe”, he adds and hangs up, then radios the guards and tells them that it’s time for Wally to go home.

Outside, and just in time for the obligatory Beating up of the Moderate Muslim Who Tried to Help and Gets Nothing but Suffering for his Trouble™ scene, Badass McRageBoy finally takes enough time out from sticking out his chin and trying to look intimidating to notice that his cellphone is gone. He promptly asserts that Wally is the culprit and, after having retrieved the cellphone from Wally, proceeds to beat the everloving snot out of him. The other detainees, noticing that somebody is being beaten and kicked, suddenly feel like they’re back in Gaza and proceed to join the festivities, no questions asked.

Off the set, CAIR files their 265th complaint with FOX.

For some reason, the three dozen armed National Guardsmen on the scene fail to do anything whatsoever, and it isn’t until the FBI agent and Cynthia McAllstate arrives that the fight is broken up. Unfortunately for Wally, so is he. But hey, at least he’s breathing, and once his girlfriend is done suing the federal government with the help of the ACLU, he’ll be able to buy a small European country. Not that he’d need to. They’ve pretty much handed themselves over for free already.

At McCarthy’s office, Jack finally finds a door with an electronic lock on it, which he then proceeds to bypass using a paper clip and a wad of gum.

“Amazing”, Jack mumbles.

“What? The incredibly high tech security system that McCarthy’s company uses?”, Cue Ball asks.

“No. That he managed to hand off the nukes to Fayed before some random teenage crackhead simply walked into the building and took them.”

They reach McCarthy’s office, only to learn that he’s already erased all of his personal files with one of those new-fangled hard disk wipers that, while meticulously overwriting sectors with random number sequences 89 times, helpfully leaves behind the directory structure along with the names and types of the files that have been erased. Oh, and a time stamp too. Just in case the federal investigators need to produce a timeline for the court proceedings.

Jack hears a sound and decides to leave his brother behind, cuffed to a bookshelf. Those incredibly sturdy Office Depot shelves made out of thin pipes and laminated wood that a bunny rabbit with muscular dystrophy can take apart in three seconds. Which I always found strangely fascinating, seeing as how the damn things take about three weeks to put together, thanks to the missing tools, parts and the instructions written in an unknown dialect of Hungarian, but we digress…

He then goes off in search of whatever it was that went “bump” in the night middle of the day.

After a somewhat tedious bout of obligatory walking about hearing the weird noises that the Movie Thugs Association of America requires goons to make when they’re trying to be inconspicuous, Jack is finally jumped by a thug with “obvious diversion” tattooed on his forehead. He swiftly disposes of him with a fist to the kisser, then carefully turns his back so he can be pistol-whipped from behind.

The pistol-whipping thug, after demonstrating his observance of gun safety by racking the slide of his gun after the whipping, prepares to shoot Jack in the head, but is interrupted by a “Stop!” from a third guy.

“You know this guy?”, thug #2 asks while thug #1 is busy bitching about how he always has to be the Obvious Diversion™, and the camera pans to the third guy who answers: “Yes, he’s my son.”

Which is when we learn that Jack’s dad is Dr Zefram Cochrane.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Jack”, he says to his son who is getting off the floor. What, you thought that Jack Bauer would be out cold from being hit over the back of the head with a mere pistol? Ye of little faith indeed.

“Not as surprised as I am to see you, dad. I thought you were busy fiddling around in that Titan silo in Montana.”

“Well, the damn prototype isn’t working out quite the way I’d planned, and then this weird cat Fayed ran off with my fuel.”

“Try dilithium crystals, dad.”

“What’s that?”, his dad says while scribbling down a note.

“Something I saw on a stupid sci-fi show once”, Jack answers. “At any rate, could I have my gun back? I already ate today, and I’d rather not have to do it again.”

Jack gets back his gun and his dad asks him what he’s doing there.

“Well, it’s like this, dad. I’m a CTU agent, or at least I used to be, I thought you might know about that. Anyway, this thing called a nuclear bomb went off a little while ago, and it turns out that your buddy McCarthy happens to be the only Yellow Pages entry under ‘Nuclear Devices, Dealers’ in this area. This is the office building where he works. Beginning to get the idea, dad?”

“I know nothing abo…”

“Ferchrissakes, daddy, I didn’t even bring a plastic bag and a car battery, so cut it out. Besides, Gray already told me everything.”

“Oh. And where is Gray?”

“In McCarthy’s office, cuffed to a shelf.”

Dr Cochrane-Bauer tells one of his goons to go fetch brother dearest.

“Here, you’ll need this”, Jack says, tossing the keys to the thug. “Or an Allen wrench, but I don’t have one handy. Heck, just look at the shelf angrily or place something of value on it and it’ll come apart like a Clinton testimony. You get the idea.”

Jack and Dr Cochrane-Bauer walk into an adjoining office while waiting for Cue Ball to arrive.

“What the Hell did you think you were doing, doing business with Russian nuclear arms dealers like that?”, Jack demands.

“Do you have any IDEA how difficult it is to get delivery of a halfway decent cheese pirog in Montana, Jack? Not to mention that I need something to power the drive of the Phoenix. Speaking of which, what was it again about dilithium crystals?”

“Never mind. You’re in some serious shit right now, so why didn’t you come forward and tell somebody what was going on?”

“And land Gray in prison?”

“Well, there’s this trifling matter of 12,000 dead Californians now, thanks to your diligent efforts to cover up Gray’s stupidity.”

“No fucking wonder I moved off to Montana”, Dr Cochrane-Bauer mumbles. “At any rate, we’ll find this McCarthy fellow together and that’ll be the end of it. Nobody will have to go to jail.”

“Dammit, dad. Covering up for my crummy brother when he was driving drunk, at the age of 12, is ONE thing. This is a whole different ballgame. Not to mention that HE did it, so let him deal with the mess he’s made for once.”

Cue Ball, who has finally made it back, protests: “You heard that, dad? You see what his idea of ‘family loyalty’ is? 12,000 incinerated civilians and he’s all high and mighty about ‘responsibility’ and ‘facing the consequences of your actions.’”

Jack picks up his cellphone and starts calling the CTU.

“Listen, Jack, work with me”, his father starts, “could you at least give me a chance to work things out here? I mean, we’re talking about landing your brother in PRISON here.”

“At least it’s not a Chinese one”, Jack answers.

“Always obsessing about details. Could you at least TRY to get over your petty grudges for once?”, Cue Ball shouts.

“Oh? Would it be too fucking much to expect you to simply report the fact that some Islamofascist lunatic was at large with five fucking nuclear bombs, asswipe?”, Jack shouts.

“Like YOU’VE never made an honest mistake”, his brother sneers, “how about that time when you forgot to hang up the phone and dad had to pay for six hours of talking to the speaking clock of Kuala Lumpur?”

“Give it a rest, fucknozzle. You know as well as I do that it was a 1-900 number and that YOU were the one who made it! I only fudged the record and covered it up because I knew that that and your old tennis sock was the only way you’d ever get close to getting laid”, Jack retorts.

“What? Gray was the one who did that? OK, call the CTU”, Dr Cochrane-Bauer says.

“I don’t think so”, Cue Ball says and makes a signal to thug #1 and thug #2, who promptly train their guns on Jack and his dad. “There is no WAY you’re making me pay for those calls.”

“Put the guns down”, daddy yells, “you work for ME!”

“I don’t think so, Daddy dearest. What? You think they’re happy to rely on some fudgy old fart fiddling around with silly gadgets in a missile silo in Montana?”, Gray asks.

Cue Ball then leads his brother and daddy out of the building at gunpoint. On the way, they pass the CTU away team who have, predictably, been gunned down the way that every single away team working with Jack has been for the last five seasons.

“Hmmm… Red shirts”, Dr Cochrane-Bauer says as they pass the vehicle, “I’ve got to make a note of that.”

Jack and daddy-o are loaded into a waiting van, and somehow we’re left with the idea that there’s another plastic bag in Cue Ball’s future.

Tune in next week as we discover whether dad ever lives to discover the Warp Drive or if William Shatner will have to find another job.

….

5 Responses to “Why Family Reunions Should Be Avoided at All Costs”
  1. MoMinuteMan Comment by MoMinuteMan

    Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::filter_text() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 59

    (In best Slim Pickens voice…)

    Goldarn Mr. Emperor, you use your keyboard prettier than a twenty dollar whore…

    Based on what I’ve read, I ain’t missing much by not watching “24″… except maybe some “HOW FUCKING STUPID ARE THE WRITERS ON THIS SHOW??” aggravation… and I can live with that…

  2. HDW Comment by HDW

    Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::filter_text() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 59

    As a rule, my family reunions go slightly better than that… but not always. Back in 96 the weekend ended with death threats, one disowning, and one person institutionalized. Now that’s a family reunion!

  3. Unregistered Comment by jewells52

    Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::filter_text() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 59

    Now thats some funny shit! And to all who don’t or won’t watch 24 because it’s not, well, believable, well neither is much else on TV. At least on 24 we can see some terrorists get their ass kicked once in awhile. That’s more than any other show will do. Works for me.

  4. Unregistered Comment by TheRoyalFamily

    Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::filter_text() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 59

    Why do I get the feeling that this is a whole lot more entertaining than actually watching the show would be?

  5. sig94 Comment by sig94

    Strict Standards: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, non-static method emotions::filter_text() should not be called statically in /home/misha/public_html/2007/wp-includes/plugin.php on line 59

    I like shubberies.
    I like them alot.