24

something for everyone by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.

This morning I awoke with a start saying the words, "something for everyone." Huh? Something for everyone? What could that mean? The previous evening I'd watched an episode of 24 (2:00 to 3:00 pm) just before retiring, apparently forgetting that the week before the 1:00 to 2:00 pm episode of 24 had given me a nightmare that included at least one child abduction, torture, gunplay, and a broken leg. Somehow I don't think 24 is something for everyone.

And then I remembered. I'd forgotten to participate in the free Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast from 6-10 am. Life if full of choices and sometimes we just can't get to them all, even if they are for everyone.

48 days, week 2 by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.

Week 2
Sunday. 3:00 A.M.
Jack Bauer, imprisoned in the Glendale City Jail, tosses in the upper bunk, mutters what sounds like "chicken, watch out for the chicken" then bolts upright. "Jack?" his cellmate Vincent calls out. "You OK brother? It's been a week man, the feel for the hard stuff ought to be outta you."

"No, it's not that. I saw something last night that troubles me."

"You still ragging on that man-in-the-chicken-suit jazz? Give it up brother. Ain't nothing you can do about it here. And the warden, he thought you'd lost your mind, he was ready to put you in the padded room."

"Fuck the warden."

"Amen to that. But watch out, he likes to be on top."

"I'm telling you Vincent, that chicken suit is bad news. I've got to get out of here. Now!"

"Don't we all, Jack, don't we all."

Sunday. 14:00 PM.
"Yeah", Tony Almeda picks up the phone at this desk in CTU headquarters.

"Tony, shhh!it's me," he hears Nina on the other end. "Listen, I've got news from Jack."

"Jack? How? No one from CTY is supposed to talk to him."

"I didn't. Jeff Green, he got picked up last night near Malibu for being an ass, spent the night in the drunk tank, then got transferred to Glendale, before his Larry David kicked him free this morning."

"Green? the writer? the fat-fuck?"

"Yeah that's him. Apparently, when he's been drinking he's not so funny. And since the strike started that's all he's done. Last night, he and Nikki Finke got a little carried away at BooRah, Malibu's latest buzz restaurant. Apparently they were having a little too much fun at Brad Grey's expense who was across the room."

"What's this got to do with Jack?"

While Green was at Glendale, he overheard the desk sargeant going on and on about a stink that Jack was raising the night before; said Jack almost got committed he was acting so crazy."

"What about?"

"Apparently it had something to do with a man in a chicken suit."

Monday. 10:00 AM.
David Pouffe, aid to Senator Barack Obama, bangs on the door of the charter bus. The door opens, he steps inside, greets a few members of the volunteer staff, motions to Obama who listening to his iPod.
"
"Listen, Barack, we got word that the man-in-the-chicken-suit may be showing up at some more events later today."

"No, we're cool. I talked to HRC. It's an old joke between us. A dude in beaver coat and raccoon hat will be filming her today."

"Problem is, this FogHorn Leghorn wasn't Hillary's joke. The man she hired was found this morning at the Hampton Inn just off I-29 near Des Moines. He was hanging from shower rod, still in costume, his entrails going down the drain. This dude that greeted you, we're not real sure who he is, but we think he's dangerous."

"What's his beef?"

"He knows you don't eat chicken."

"I always knew Colonel Sanders was a racist."

Monday. 10:00 AM.
A car pulls into the Sonic in Dubuque, Iowa. Inside is a woman named Bridgit. She orders a Breakfast Toaster sandwich and a large coffee. Then asks if they have whole wheat bread and turbinado sugar. When her order comes she pays with a $20 dollar bill, says "Merry Christmas! Keep the change." to the young carhop, then rolls up the window. Her cells phone rings.

"You got it?"

Bridget opens the Sonic bag and looks inside. "Got it."

Tuesday. 11:00 A.M.
Hillary Clinton, wearing a green pantsuit stands on a makeshift stage constructed of hay bales and some old John Deere signs. There are combines parked strategically to her left and right and in the cabin of one sits a Secret Service agent and in the other, Tony Almeda. They are furtively scanning the crowd. It's a brisk fall day, perfect for football, so even though the man they are looking for stands out amid the Carharts and seed caps, most in the crowd don't bother to look his way. However, pay give much thought although one farmer nudges his wife when the man in the raccoon coat and coonskin hat brushes past them and says, "Look Merle, I bet that's one of those Times writers".

Tuesday. 11:02 P.M.
Tony Almeda says into his lapel. "Nina, he's behind you, 5-O'clock."
Nina turns and moves toward the man. He's approaching the stage both hands in his pockets. Nina abruptly slams into the side of him, knocking him to the ground. She falls on top of him. She pulls the man to his feet by the lapels holding them so he can't raise his arms. "I'm so sorry. Clumsy me." she says to the perplexed onlookers. To the man she whispers, "See those guys in the combines. One wrong move and they'll blow your fucking brains out. Now turn around and come with me."

The man opens his coat and tries to put his hand inside. Nina grabs his wrist, there is audible 'crack', the man winches but does not cry out.

Wednesday. 3:06 A.M.
Tony Almeda walks out of the interrogation room, sweat runs down his forehead. CTU Director George Mason confronts him, "anything?"

"Nothing yet."

"Keep it up. We've got to get something, and soon. Obama is scheduled to make another appearance in a few hours."

Wednesday, 10:45 A.M.
Mason looks over Nina's shoulder as she works on a computer, "what have you got on this guy we picked up yesterday?"

"Jason Park, former envoy to South Korea under the Carter Administration. Hasn't worked in politics since. Spent some time on K-street aftwards...pharmacueticals...tobacco industry...farm lobby, usual stuff. Grew up on a cattle ranch near Omaha. Disappeared for a few years in the early 90's though. That's all we got on him for now."

"Keep working. We've got to get something from him."

Wednesday, 5:15 P.M.
Jack Bauer, sits in the canteen with his cellmate Vincent, they are eating dinner. An greasy Mexican, tattoos covering his neck, walks behind them. Jack pushes back from the table, knocking the man, causing him to spill the contents of his tray.

"You're going to lick those eggs off my boots Pussy, and then you're going to bring me your food. I like 2 sugars in my coffee." He smiles at Jack.

"I'm sorry," Jack says, turns away briefly then wheels and clocks the man.

A huge melee ensues. Guards quickly surround them, pull them apart, restrain them, the drag Jack away. "You're a dead man, Bauer!" the Mexican spits at him. Jack stares back.

Wednesday, 6:45 P.M.
The door opens on a solitary cell. Jack Bauer, bruised and bleeding is drug into cell and dumped. He slowly opens his eyes, then reaches into his waistband and removes a cellphone.

Wednesday, 7:15 P.M.

Nina's cell phone rings.

"Nina, it's Jack."

"OH My God! Jack!"

Thursday, 9:45 A.M.
Nina, Tony, and Director Mason are looking through a see-through window onto an interrogation room. Inside a man, wearing a coonskin cap and raccoon coat is slumped over the desk.

Thursday, 10:00 A.M.
Mason looks at Tony. "Are you sure about this? Is this legal?"

"Doesn't matter." Almeda replies, "The future of the Presidency may hang in the balance."

"This man is the key." Nina says to them both. "You have to do it. That's what Jack said."

Thursday, 11:00 A.M.

The Obama entourage pulls into the parking lot of the Centerville High School. David Pouffe looks over at Obama. "You sure about this? We could cancel. Say you've got the flu."

Obama looks up from the latest issue of Maxim, "what, and have people say I'm black, AND a pussy? No way. I'm in this till the end."

A high school band begins to play, America the Beautiful, the bus doors open, and Obama smiling broadly steps into the crowd.

Thursday, 11:10 A.M.
Eddie Salazaar stands beside his car on a gravel road, hood up, steam pouring from beneath the hood, talking into a cell phone. An elderly, farm couple driving a pick-up truck pulls up along side him asks if he needs help. The man goes into a long story, he's in town covering the primaries, has to be Centerville at 11 cover this event, he's already late, got lost, then his car overheats. Of all the luck. The couple says, "we're headed that way, we could give you a lift."

"Really? Folks in Iowa are so kind. Just let me get my camera gear." The man pops the trunk and pulls a heavy duffle bag and sets it on the ground. The farmer, steps from the truck, "here let me help you" and he moves toward the bag.

As the farmer approaches, Eddie Salazaar pulls a 45 with a silencer and shots the man in the forehead, then opens the passenger door and pulls the man's wife out. She screams at the sight of her husband laying face down, blood seeping into the gravel. "I'm not going to hurt you." Eddie says.

Eddie walks her to the shoulder. "Turn around. Get down on knees!" he shoves her toward the ditch.

She sobs, "don't shoot me. What do you want from us?"

The truck pulls away revealing two prone bodies.

Friday, 7:00 A.M.
A man is strapped to board, his hands and feet bound, his face covered with a cloth. The table is slanted so the man's feet are above his head. The tail of a coonskin cap can be seen trailing off the table. Water is dripping from the end of the tail. The man is gasping is air.

Tony Almeda emerges from the room. CTU Director Mason confronts him. "Well? Did he talk?"

"Yeah, he talked. After he shat himself."

Saturday 5:00 P.M.
A slot opens in the center of Jack Bauer's cell door. He slides his uneaten food back to the guard. "You gotta eat something" the guard says.

"Not hungry." Jack grunts. When the slot closes, Jack slides down into a fetal position, begins to sob. Then he takes out his cell phone, punches in some numbers. A woman answers.

"Kim?"

"Dad? is that you? Where are you?"

"Merry Christmas, baby, I love you."

see also:
m.o.i.: 48 days, week 1
m.o.i.: Damn it! I just can't do this anymore.

48 days, week 1 by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.


Week 1

Sunday. 17:00 P.M.
Two blue Suburbans, windows heavily tinted, screech to a halt in front of the Glendale City jail. Three men in dark clothes and even darker sunglasses emerge from the vehicle where they are met by three uniformed officers. The vehicle is quickly surrounded by a throng of onlookers, television reporters, and paparazzi. One of the men in dark clothes turns his back on the crowd and speaks quietly into a cell phone, then motions to the other two and they all move to the rear of the vehicle. When the crowd begins to surge forward, the uniformed officers push them back with a fierce intensity.

The rear doors are opened to reveal a cuffed and shrouded figure. The man is pulled from the vehicle, and because his feet are also shackled is forced to shuffle his way forward. Guards hold him upright, drag his feet when he lingers to sounds of "Jack, Jack, look this way!", and brusquely pull him up the steps. A young boy, no older than 15 rushes to get a close-up photo of the shrouded figure. One of the sun-glassed guards shoves the boy to the ground. "Get the fuck out of here!" he spits at the boy. Someone at the back of the crowd screams, "Hey, you can't do that to him." The man wheels, glares, and begins to move toward the voice. "Victor! Victor!" a voice shouts. The man stops. "Leave it." Victor turns away, moves to the boy, picks him up by the elbow, and leans in where only the boy can hear him. "Next time I break your fuckin' leg."

Within the hour TMZ has footage of the incidence on its web site. It becomes the lead story for Entertainment Tonight, even Katie Couric makes mention of it on the Nightly News.

Sunday. 17:05 PM.
A white 4-door Ford Escort with a dent in the front quarter-panel pulls into the underground parking lot of the jail and parks in the sole handicapped parking space. Jack Bauer, accompanied by his attorney, emerge from the car whereupon they enter the building and Jack surrenders himself to the desk sergeant who after taking his personal effects, asks him for an autograph. Jack's attorney produces a photo from his briefcase, which Jack signs and hands to the officer. "Let's go," the officer says.

Monday. 10:00 PM.
Jack Bauer plays chess with his cellmate, Vincent. Before going to bed, Vincent tells him that he’s glad he's back in the house. Jack gives a nod and a cold stare but says nothing.

Tuesday. 8:00 AM.
Senator Barack Obama, an African-American running for President, writes his speech for the following day’s Iowa campaign event.

Tuesday. 12:00 P.M.
Carl Rovner transmits from Charleston, South Carolina that a man in a chicken outfit is coming to Iowa to heckle Senator Obama at tomorrow's event. Agent Richard Walsh, a high ranking Counter Terrorist Unit (CTU) officer, is alerted.

Tuesday. 12:05 P.M.
Walsh tries to reach Agent Bauer on his cell phone to no avail.

Tuesday. 12:06 A.M.
Agent Walsh phones CTU headquarters and asks to speak to Agent Bauer. Je is informed that Bauer has been placed on administrative leave for 48 days and is not to be contacted by any member of the staff. Walsh asks to speak with District Director George Mason but is told that he's unavailable. Agent Nina Myers gets on the phone and tells Walsh that she can't divulge Jack's whereabouts, or when he will be back on duty, but that Jack is OK and recovering.

Wednesday, 10:45 A.M.
Outside of Post 10 of the Fraternal Order of the Exalted Woodsmen, a man in a chicken suit clucks at Senator Obama as he enters the hall to deliver a short campaign speech. The passing is captured on film by a Iowa farmer with a newly purchased digital camera. He sells the film for $12,000, more profit than he made all of last on his cow-calf operation. The film becomes the lead story that evening on Entertainment Tonight.

Thursday, 2:45 A.M.
Jamey Farrell, sitting in his parent's basement in his boxer shorts and smoking a joint, posts a copy of the man-in-the-chicken-suit clucks at Senator Obama on YouTube. The video is 32 seconds in it's entirety. He gets paid nothing.

Thursday, 9:45 A.M.
A guard bangs on the cell of Jack Bauer. "Bauer, let's go. You have a visitor."

Thursday, 10:00 A.M.
Bauer is lead into a room and told "10 minutes, no touching". Bauer looks around the room and recognizes no one.

Thursday, 10:01 A.M.
A young woman arises and walks toward Jack. When she reaches him, she pulls back her hooded sweater. "Kimberly! My god, you're alive!"

Friday, 10:00 P.M.
Vincent, Jack's cellmate says "Checkmate. Again. Damn, are you trying to set me up, motherfucker, because if you think I'm a sucker for that bullshit, you are wrong." "No," Jack says, "I'm just a little distracted". Vincent says, "I don't who that was that paid you a visit, but whoever it was sure fucked with your head." For the first time Jack is afraid and realizes that he may not be in control of the situation. Jack and Vincent have a heart-to-heart talk before turning in.

Saturday, 7:00 A.M.
A cell phone buzzes on a kitchen counter. Senator Clinton, still in her pajamas, picks up the phone. "Hillary," Barack greets her, "Good Morning. I gotta tell you, the chicken suit, wow, that was clever."

Saturday, 8:00 A.M.
Agent Walsh replays the phone conversation between Obama and Hillary Rodham Clinton. Stops the tape. Rolls it again. Then picks up his phone and makes a call. "Tony Almeida please" he commands into the phone.

Saturday, 10:00 A.M.
District Director George Mason looks up from his desk, "What is it Tony?" Tony fills him in on the phone call between Obama and Clinton. "What do you think?" Mason asks Tony. Tony shakes his head. "Doesn't make sense."

Saturday 14:00 P.M.
Jack Bauer is walking through the common area of the jail. It is one of the few free moments the inmates have during the week. Jack walks past a man at a computer. The man is laughing out loud. "Wow. Check this shit out. Some dude in a chicken suit just dumped on that black dude Obama," the man guffaws. Jack stops. Grabs the mouse. Go back. Go back. He freezes the frame on a closeup of the man-in-a-chicken-suit's face. "Shit!" Jack exclaims, then yells "Guard! Guard! Guard! I have to speak to the warden. NOW!"

see also:
m.o.i.: Damn it! I just can't do this anymore.

Damn it! I just can't do this anymore. by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.


Fox has announced that it will not be airing new episodes of the hit series 24 beginning in January, 2008 as expected due to the lingering writer's strike in Hollywood. In it's place, Fox will air 48, a new reality show that follows the exploits of former CTU operative Jack Bauer as he negiotiates the rough and tumble world of the Glendale city jail.

In a related story, the Alliance of Motion Picture and Televison Producers (AMPTP) and striking writers agreed to suspend talks for the entire period of Bauer's time in jail so that tv fans would not have to miss any episodes of 24 without Agent Bauer.

quiz answers by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.

Here are the answers to yesterday's algebra quiz.

First. Indulge my confession. I'm not a substitute teacher and I don't write for television although I've been accused of doing both. Poorly, I might add. You know what they say. Those who don't teach....do. And those who don't write for television.....watch.

Except me. I gave them up. First the teaching. Then the television. The teaching was easier. You think you're reaching them, the rapt attention, those doleful looks, like a meeting with producers but then you realize it's all a feint. They just want to go back to the iPod, the re-runs, the dvds. You want to change the world.

I've quit them all - the smokes, the drink, the drugs. Losing tv was the most difficult. More painful than you can imagine but ultimately just another step in the recovery. And yes, the first step was the hardest.

The 27-inch monitor was wrestled from the mantle and somehow I managed to get it out the door without wrenching the back, dropped it just once on the way to the curb. The corner of the case cracked, but the guts held. Those analogs, they don't make em like that anymore. Once on the curb, I walked back inside and in 15 minutes, 15 MINUTES, it had disappeared from the curb and I stepped into a new life, a new medium.

Life's been simpler since then. The house rarely, if ever, quiet. The radio, always on. It's presence like your dog or the neighbor's child, interrupting only occasionally for a treat, content to be steadfast, inquisitive, and unobtrusive. None of that talk-radio-sports-junkie bullshit either. No. Music. Or NPR. Something that will hold a conversation together during dinner. "What's the true meaning of Lost?", works fine for a luncheon salad, but for the 3-course prix fixe dinner you'll need something with more substance, like deconstructing the New Pornographers latest effort or the solution to the Weekend Edition Puzzle.

True, I'd embraced the old medium WHOLE-HEARTED. So then, "how could I leave it?" Funny to hear that term, isn't it - the OLD medium. It still appears to be everywhere. The ads, the intimate chats. Our friends. We loved them like family. More so, they were less critical and better looking than family. Who can live with silence these days? Without stars? Without the season finale, the all-new episode? Life without hope. Without television. Please. Please. Don't make me read.

But I did. I turned to books for solace. And read. In reading, I found a bit of hope that had seemed to have gone from the world. I read everything. Pulp to history to poetry and back again. It was like going to the theater after a long absence. At first it seems a construct. Too many words. Too much space between them. Soon though, the words begin to spill into the room, past the coffee, turning Noah Adams into a songbird in the backyard. That life, remember it? It's out there. Just turn the page.

Key code to ALGEBRA: ALMOST LIKE AN EPISODE OF 24.
----------------------------------------
The answer is simple, just like the debates, like a reality show. You'll kick yourself when you realize how easy it is.

First. Hillary and Barack cross the stage.
Barack, in second, stays. Hillary, the front-runner returns. 3 minutes have passed.
Next. John Edwards and Kucinich cross. Ten minutes pass. Like an eternity.
Four minutes before the world ends. The tension rises. Cut to close-up of bomb. 13:00, 13:01, 13:02...Wolf can be seen smirking in the wings. He'll make himself a martyr to this cause.

Wait. Bararck seizes the moment, attempts to take the FLICKERING CANDLE OF HOPE from Edwards. They struggle. Kuncinich shouts, "Peace!". Hillary, "stop the in-fighting!" The struggle continues. The candle slips and begins it SLOW MOTION fall to the floor. Barack lunges and catches it midair. Looks down at his hand. The flame has gone out! the wick is smodering. No! NO! Slowly Barack begins to breath on it, gently at first, then deeper, and yes, YES, the FLICKERING CANDLE OF HOPE comes back to life. Again it burns.

Barack hurries back across the stage, Hillary throws her arms around him and they triumphantly march onto the stage and take their places just before the clock hits 17:00. The lights go up, Wolf, dejected, turns to the camera and says stoically, "Tonight's debate is coming to you live from....

elsewhere:
m.o.i.algebraic word problem spells world doom

algebraic word problem spells world doom by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.

The Israeil cryptographer, Adi Shamir, has predicted that the end of world could be the result of an undetected algebra problem. Damm! Will al Queda stop at nothing? Must we now learn math? Vigilance forever or as I like to say:
which translated means that you have to pay the bank a whole shitload of money if you ever need to borrow some.

Anyway all this math stuff got me to thinking, with all the writer's on strike, who writes the word problems? This could be the saving grace for many who are flunking algebra and could provide you, gentle reader, respite from having to watch the same episode of Dexter for 5 nights running. So enjoy this problem, I like to call:

Alegbra: ALMOST LIKE AN EPISODE OF 24.
There are 4 politicians who want to go on stage and take their rightful place at the podium before the debate begins. They all begin in the audience (think young and diverse!) shaking hands and smoozing. You have 17 minutes to get all of the candidates on stage before the show goes live or else the terrorist (played by Wolf Blitzer) will set off a canister of nerve gas killing everyone inside, including the diverse, innocent (did I say beautiful and mostly blond?) college students invited by youtube to watch this disaster unfold.

The stage is completely dark and the candidates must cross the stage carrying a lighted candle (this represents ETERNAL HOPE and flickers constantly). There is but one FLICKERING CANDLE of HOPE. A maximum of two candidates can cross at one time. Any candidate who crosses, either 1 or 2 people, must have the FLICKERING CANDLE of HOPE with them. The FLICKERING CANDLE of HOPE must be walked back and forth, it cannot be thrown, or rolled on the ground. Each candidate walks at a different speed. A pair must walk together at the rate of the slower candidate's pace.

Hillary Clinton: takes 1 minute to cross
Barack Obama: takes 2 minutes to cross
John Edwards: takes 5 minutes to cross
Dennis Kucinich: takes 10 minutes to cross

For example, if Hillary Clinton and Dennis Kucinich walk across first, 10 minutes have elapsed when they get to the other side of the stage. If Dennis Kucinich then returns with the flashlight, a total of 20 minutes have passed and you have failed the mission and the once and future President is DEAD, as are many, many innocent, beautiful college students, and Anderson Cooper is covering the story 24/7/365.

What is the order required to get all candidates across in 17 minutes?

Answers tomorrow.
elsewhere:
m.o.i.quiz answers

Papal Edict. This means war! by Warrior Ant Press Worldwide Anthill Headquarters in Kansas City, Missouri, USA.



Brasilia--Today the Pope declared war on contemporary art and vowed to raise an army of Cardinals against Puppet Opera, Richard Serra retrospectives, and bananas on buildings. Pope Benedict suggested that contemporary art practitioners silently longed for realism although conceeded that the Church offered little in that regard.

The pope's declaration added to a growing list of prohibited catholic activities. These now include, but are certainly not limited to: marxism, capitalism, socialism, drugs, sex, rock and roll, popsicles, the television show 24, reruns of Friends, Law and Order, and PeeWee's Playhouse, and anything to do with Nascar, the National Hockey League, and Dancing with the Stars.

Pope Benedict suggested that those who disagreed with the edict should kiss his ring. His army of Cardinals were quick to oblige.