Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way

It is finally here. After 17 long and grueling years the season premier of 24 hit the airwaves. Wait, it hasn't been that long since the last episodes of 24. I apologize. 17 years ago was the last time I had sex. I remember that day fondly. It is almost as if it was 16 1/2 years ago but not quite. I was walking down a street when a woman in a Corvette convertible drove up along side me. She asked me if there was a gas station nearby. Remarkably, to me, that sounds very similar to, "Hey handsome, want to have sex?" We never really did, but I still count it.

The last thing I am going to do today is tell you what happened during the first 2 hours of the show. I leave that to the multi-talented and extremely witty Riss. She lays the storyline down like a master mason doing brick work on a million dollar house. She is just that good, yo.

I will say this, however. Jack comes back, he kills some people (bad people, they are ALWAYS bad people), some terrorists come around and do some stuff (bad stuff...terrorists ALWAYS do bad stuff...except for the Smiley Sun Shiny Terrorists...they leave flowers and a get well card), Jack saves the day but not without people thinking him to be a renegade who must be stopped. Those people eventually get shot or their cars blow up (stupid people ALWAYS must be shot or have their cars blown up).

Every day I think of how similar my life is to Jacks. It is almost like the writers have cameras pointed at me all day long then writing every detail of my day. I can take any 24 hour period of my life, match it up to a season of 24, then agonize how hard it is to tell the difference between the two. I just can't do it.

Maybe you can. Below you will find a typical hour of my day. The challenge is to find the differences between Jacks life and my own. Please comment on what you come up with. Maybe I will send some money your way for your help...or maybe I won't.

The following takes place between the hours of 12:00 PM and 1:00 PM
*ominous clock ticking sound...chink...chink...chink*

I sit staring at the computer screen. The previous episode of my life ended with me saving the day once again. I am tired, but ready for more work.

I begin to type a routine note to a colleague telling him that the font size in his interoffice memos must be 12-point type NOT 10-point. Damn these lazy people. What do they think we are running here, a clown bordello? I think not.

Suddenly an instant message comes from out of nowhere with a threatening, "ding". I try to look away, but that is NOT my duty. My orders are to accept the mission, no matter how dangerous.

I click the window to view the message and it reads, "hey". The sweat begins to appear on my forehead but I press on. "sup?" is my reply. I wait, for what seems like minutes yet it was only seconds. Finally, the sender replies. "linch?"

Gah! I am wounded. The bastard has no clue the implications of such a thing! Why the hell can he not spell it right? Is he in THAT much of a hurry? Can he not check his spelling before hitting 'send'? Before I can respond with a lashing he corrects his error, "lunch?" All is well and my pulse returns to normal...for now.

I think of an appropriate message. It must be clear, no misconceptions or the thin thread holding the world will break in an easy "snap". Like any genius, the correct thought comes, "k, subway?" How bold and direct I was. There can be no indecision on my part. Any action must be swift or the president’s child will fall to the hands of the kidnappers. Even with all that, I still add a final blow that knocks him off, "i'll buy, i found $20 in the parking lot". I smirked the smirk of a champion.

The shock was most likely too much for him. I bet he fell back off his chair and was holding his heart in stunned disbelief. Finally, after a long time, he comes back with, "k". Then followed by a shallow, "thx".

He knows I have won. America is safe again.