Jack Bauer, Lunch, and Other Things

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Once the polls closed on the 2006 “Jack Bauer of the Blogosphere” decision, I sat down to lunch to think about who should win the title.

From the final voting came this result:

The Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler – 81.0%
Ace (from Polipundit’s Comments) – 12.1%
Michael Yon – 06.9%


There were just three problems, though. Bauer does a lot of things that are not real popular with the CTU guys or the suits, so popularity cannot be everything. Second, one of Rottie’s own minions referenced his service as a Danish. I can’t see a flaky breakfast pastry in the role of a no-compromise counter-terrorist agent. And third, as anyone who has watched ‘24’ knows, you can’t just come out and say something straightaway. The truth has to come out in some unexpected, violent, testosterone-affirming way.

Paula and Randy came by to thank me for remembering them in the comments of the voting section, and to suggest that Simon Cowell is actually a Chechyan spy who needs to be roughly interrogated. Paula seemed a bit enthusiastic about that idea, and supplied a pair of handcuffs and a gag for that purpose. Randy also tried to throw in a late vote for the Rottweiler, saying ‘I gotta support my peeps, Dawg.’

At this mention, the Rottie himself showed up, grabbed the waiter and knocked the entrée from his hands, dropping a pistol and a letter from the Al Kerry terrorist organization demanding that I name Jacques “Souffle” Chirac as Europe’s “Jack Bauer”. Rottie twisted the waiter’s head off neatly, tossing the noggin towards a table of ‘Earth Or Else' vegans, who scattered like rats.

“I need you to trust me”, said Rottie, “You have to name the Jack Bauer of the Blogosphere in the next five minutes, or a lot of innocent people are going to be hurt.”

“OK, so we’ll make this quick,” I replied. “Why should you be ‘Jack Bauer’?”

“Because there’s no time,” answered Rottie, “and don’t forget DJ – I don’t work for you. I’m doing this my way.”

“What about Ace and Yon?” I asked.

“Good men, but they’re needed somewhere else,” replied Rottie. “I can’t tell you more right now. Hang on-“

Rottie tossed a pair of grenades at an approaching black van in the street, and we ran for the back exit.

Out in the alley, Rottie munched on a cannoli he grabbed from the kitchen, while checking his pockets for remaining weapons. He then sprinted down the sidewalk, stopping as he stared at a kiosk.

“There’s no time!” shouted Rottie.

“Hey, you already said that!” I retorted.

“No, I mean there’s no TIME” said Rottie, pointing to an empty bin at the news stand. “Rove was going to send me secret instructions in the ‘McHitler’ section of the next TIME edition, but there’s no – wait a sec”

Rottie grabbed a TIME magazine from a passing pedestrian, who turned out to be wanted serial bomber Abu BuuBuu. Rottie tied the man’s hands behind him with a coil of wire he was carrying.

“OK DJ, I need you to do three things for me” demanded Rottie as he got up and checked the magazine in his semi-auto cell phone, counting rounds as he spoke.

“One – I gotta be Jack. No one else can do the job.

“Two – I was never here.

“Three – the security of the free world depends on everyone tuning in to Fox for every episode of ‘24’, and regular visits to TAR for briefings.

“And it wouldn’t hurt for them to visit Polipundit a few times every week as well. And don’t forget, kids, killing terrorists is not only fun, it’s good for the environment and leads to cleaner elections.

“Thanks for lunch!”

And with that, the Anti-Idiotarian Rottweiler, the new “Jack Bauer of the Blogosphere” dashed off, stopping only to throw BuuBuu face-first into passing traffic and to reload his cell phone.