Think back to long, long ago. I’m not sure how far back it was and can never really be sure (this is a lie, I could tell you the exact day, the fact is I’m too lazy to check). At any point I wrote a compelling argument for the foundation of a new religion, 24ism. Then, in a drastic power-play, those crazies in the Church of Scientology name Tom Cruise as their new Christ figure.
I thought it would stop there; that that was the end. They had done all they could and their personal attacks on my new religion would cease; we could live in peace – me with my gun-toting terrorist-killers and them with their crazy mind-reading light-sabers. Then, coming home from work the next day on the subway, I saw the following:
If you look closely, you can see that the man on the right is holding the light-saber handles and is having his “stress level” being evaluated by the machine on the table in front of him. Can’t really tell? Luckily, I have below-average Photoshop skills:
This was taking place at the Union Square subway station. It was at this moment I realized that I was the only true follower of 24ism in the area, and I didn’t have my gun. I looked around for a fellow follower who could draw on the power of Bauer, but alas, I was alone…alone like Jack is always alone. Then I felt it coursing through my veins.
It was like ice water. The world seemed to slow down while my own actions sped up. A gust wind blew from somewhere and although it had the head-turning stink of the subway I paid it no heed. Quickly, my hands shot out from sides as I grabbed a passerby in either arm, tossing them ridiculously at the table.
“Heathens!” I shouted at the heathens. “Have you no common decency! Don’t you know your target alarm-clock-radios with crazy lightsaber handles do nothing but eat souls?!”
Then I saw something I never thought I’d see. The two people conducting the experiments’ skin melted and their eyes turned to embers. Voices sprang out from their vocal chords so unnatural that all those walking (faster now) by who had Whole Foods bags burst into flames.
“Let’s do this,” pounding my first into my opposite palm.
They both sprang at me at once but I was ready. Watching TV every Monday night does that to a man. It hardens him. Makes him more than what he is. Stronger.
A throat chop to one, an eye-gouge to another, while myself suffering a blow a fist a piece from each assailant. I stumble backwards a little but am more unless unscathed. I manage to flip between the two of them and start hurling copies of Dianetics about like throwing-stars.
This enrages the mindless zombies as I am basically desecrating their bible. They flew at me, mindlessly babbling about not seeing psychiatrists. All I could do was react. I grabbed one handle from each brain-washing machine and rammed it into the foreheads of the oncoming goons.
They shook violently, spewing bile and, strangely enough, reading maximum levels of stress on either of the Target alarm-clock-radios. I had done my job.
Let this be an inspiration to all you other 24ists out there, let no one stand in your way. Fight terrorist in any form wherever you go. So say the teachings of Jack Bauer.
You have far to much time on your hands my good friend. I don’t even know how to make those circle bubbles on pictures. Maybe you teach me day one.