The Price of Addiction

1 p.m. to 2 p.m.
2.6.06

Edgar's dreams are coming true. The competition (Spencer, the last boy scout) was played, dumped, and the fired from his job all in a matter of minutes. That's pretty impressive for Chloe, a girl who has finally found out that no man can ever replace the seductive binary code. Why she thought she a man could replace those luscious zeroes and ones is beyond me.

"Binary code, I wish I knew how to quit you."

Spencer isn't the only one that got kicked to the curb. Cummings was in bed with the terrorists and due to messing with the trigger before the big explosion of gas (talking about terrorism and sex here), he's being kicked out of bed. Screwing with the trigger is an inexcusable offense in the rules of engagement of "getting it on." Like so many politicians before him (Bush, Delay), he's brought much shame to his porn star name.

But he did it for us and swears he was thinking about the American people the entire time.

"I'm a patriot. It was all for oil. I did it for the best interest of the American people."

I ain't gonna lie. I told him to do it. I made him do it. He's my pusherman and I need that sweet thick oil to make me feel right. Don't look away. We're all addicted. I'm eventually gonna start a group called OMA (Oil Mongers Anonymous) to get myself right. But for now, I need that precious syrup to calm the demons.

Jack wants to leave? To where, the Gap? He dissed Curly Sue, he wants to kill Hanson, Sheryl Crow can't deal that he's alive, his best friend is in a coma, and he's unemployed. Unless there's a Chuck Norris convention in town, he's got nowhere else to go.

Luckily Logan (Bug-Eyes) convinces him to stick around, but this will expose Bauer to the public. And like most men, unless there's a stripper or a toilet in the room, we don't like being exposed.

This brings up the problem of Kim, BauerGirl, since she still thinks he's dead. And because she didn't show up in this episode, we are forced to speculate about where she is.

-working as a Hooters girl (she ran around in tight clothing in season 1 & 2 for a reason)
-a dirty hippie that's trying to get enough signatures to make torture illegal
-is in training to be like her dad. She tracks homeless people and kills them with a plastic knife. Then takes their cans.
-Hollywood actress that stars in atrocious movies (oh wait…)

I like the head terrorist so far (Yellow Tie) because he seems like a ball of rage, which is the same thing people turn into after a couple of bottles of yellow tail wine. Actually, that only happens to Americans and Europeans. Yellow tail is Australian for water.
The two types of Yellow Tie rage.
Obvious:

"Dude, why are you bothering with the US? They can't even put on a decent Superbowl anymore."
Yellow Tie looks at his subordinate before pulling his gun and screams "You die now!" in a blind fury.

Subtle:

Yellow Tie: "Why would I kill you? The US is my enemy. You are just a man with a metal machine."
Metal Man: "Right on man. Metal is cool. So are my goggles."
Yellow Tie smiles, pates Metal Man on the shoulder, thinks "You die now!" and shoots him. Then takes the goggles.

Both types are effective, refreshing and perfect with a meat or fish dish. Once he takes that yellow tie out and ties it around his head like Rambo, he'll be the best 24 villain ever.

I didn't like Sean Connery impersonator (they couldn't get Donald Sutherland to spare 15 minutes?) who was helping Yellow Tie reconfigure the trigger. And did he just know? Maybe he was reading the How Stuff Works website. That site rules. I know how a toilet works. I'm better than you.

The 15-year-old Corpse Bride was cute, especially with her big eyeballs and dead aim. Happiness really is a warm gun (bang, bang, shoot, shoot). At least Connery got what he deserved for touching her no-no-bad-things and telling Bauer to go to hell. It's a shame she'll be back on the black market or (worse) sold as a mail-order bride to the next bored CEO who's sick or money laundering and just wants to use a human being as a piñata.

Random thought from the other side of the brain:
I don't care if she is hot. Don't start repeating shit from past seasons. If Kim shows up next week riding a jaguar into CTU I'm gonna be pissed. Stop thinking brain. Here's some oil and yellow tail wine. Take your medicine.

Crazytown has calmed down and is starting to make-up with her husband, Bug-Eyes. Don't take that slap as a bad thing. That's how crazy people flirt.

She said they used to be a good team. It must have been a couple of Easter's ago when they won that three-legged race together. They say it's one of the hardest races humans can participate in, even harder than the Ironman and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey combined.

And already she's going head-to-head with Novack who doesn't care what you did or who you did it to. He just wants to cover it up with a nice, warm, unassuming blanket. You can buy them at Brookstone and they come in three colors. Mine is red, white, and blue and I use it every time I spill beer on the floor. It soaks it up and yells "woo hoo!" when it's done.

For a woman who has displayed signs of insanity the past couple of hours, she came off with some sound advice.

"The public doesn't like being lied to. Especially Oprah. She will bitch-slap you and make you cry on live television. I'd rather visit Sudan than Oprah."

Not bad advice from Crazytown. But in terms of the future, Bug-Eyes can do whatever he wants. Sure he'll be humiliated by Oprah, but in the end, people are still going to buy his book, along with the other two he'll write.

And as if being kicked out of the terrorist bed of love wasn't bad enough, Cummings commits suicide, saving himself from public humiliation and garnering a proper nickname from this blog. So in his passing, I deem him Broccoli, the most hated and feared vegetable on the planet. He could have been "Big Head" or "One-Eyed Walt" or even "T-bone." But he wanted to leave the party early, so he gets Broccoli. I hope he's choking in hell.

Besides you don't hang yourself if you mess up in politics. You only do that if you mess up at a daycare center ("Your baby's allergic to WHAT?"). If you mess up in politics, you write a book about it and then take the proceeds to buy crack. Soon you'll be calling up your crack-whore friends and stealing money and library cards from people.

It's the price of addiction, be it to drugs or sweet, sweet oil, and it must be paid. It can be done with money or with a box of t-shirts that read "Arizona Cardinals! Superbowl Champions!" (they're collector's items).

But sometimes, if the planets and stars are aligned correctly and you printed out the e-coupon in time, the price can be paid by finding a hobbit in a parking lot and beating the shit out of him.

Shh! I think I see one now. Soon, I'll be covered in that thick black oil again…yes, that black goo…my precious.