There are times I wish I had his sense of humor.
C’mon, admit it.
We all have a little Jack in us.
All of us.
Me. You. Your husband /wife/ significant other.
Barack, Boehner, Betty White. Bieber. Beyonce.
We all have those buttons that get pushed, either accidentally or intentionally, that just set us off big time.
It’s just a matter of defining “big time”.
It’s like when a doctor asks you to describe the amount of pain you’re experiencing:
“On a scale of one to ten, with one being the least and ten being the most ….”
A lot of good that does us. It has a bit to do with pain tolerance and experience.
How about “on a scale of a mosquito bite to passing a bowling ball …” or “on a scale of plucking your eyebrows to giving birth to triplets without the aid of an epidural or pills or a quart of Stolichnaya ….”
Give us something to work with that anyone can relate to.
Now with Jack, it’s largely a matter of anger management. Impulse control. Not just maiming someone ’cause the urge hits you.
“On a scale of someone having already heard the joke you just told them to someone removing your Pomeranian’s eyeballs with a melon ball scoop …?”
“On a scale of some more Jehovah’s Witnesses knocking on your door eight o’clock on a Saturday morning to having your daughter marry one of them …?”
“On a scale of another out-of-sequence re-run of ‘Scandal’ to someone cutting AND flipping you off doing ninety on the Interstate …?”
Would you really want to bring on Jack’s road rage?
He’d follow you to work and dangle your boss’s DD-cupped bimbo of a secretary out a thirtieth floor window by her nipples till the guy fired your ass and zeroed out your pension.
Dude would follow you to your home and terrorize your entire family AND water-board your Pomeranian till you signed over your Deed of Trust.
This guy would even follow you into church and Holy Water-board your Parish Priest till you told him who sent you to cut him off.
It would not be a pleasant experience.
I don’t know that Jack would necessarily like it either, because even though he hasn’t taken a shit that any of us know of for eight solid days, there’s a touch of human frailty somewhere in there.
He loved his daughter, even if mostly everybody who watched the show really hoped she would be the next “shocking, inexplicable death of the hour” guaranteed in almost every episode of “24”.
But he got to vent. No holds barred, and even if some of some of his methods had him with one foot over the line of full blown sociopathic behavior and the other on a greased flounder, Jack didn’t give a shit.
He shot a former close friend’s wife’s kneecap out just to make a point, okay?
THAT is out of control.
We’ve all got something that drives us to the point of no return, the point at which you
So when we watch Jack Bauer do his little dance, it repulses us at times, it disgusts us at times, it horrifies us at times, and might that just be because we envision ourselves ever wanting to do the same to somebody?
Jack has to save the country, the world, the galaxy, the universe as only he can, and we get our bowels in an uproar if someone even smacks our Pomeranian. We don’t carry around the weight that Jack has on his shoulders.
And most of us don’t get shot at with any degree of regularity, so you can see where Jack could be a little uptight.
On a bad day, he might really, really, really think there’s justification in disemboweling anyone and / or everyone who gives him a sideways glance.
Or cuts AND flips him off doing ninety on the Interstate, and we’ve all had somebody do that to us. Or we’ve done it to them.
So while Jack might be a lot of fun to watch, it could just be a vicariously cathartic experience, the differences being:
A) He’s got far more intense things on his plate than any of us mere mortals;
B) He might actually have more justification in all of his actions than we have in even a two-thirds majority of ours, or even a simple majority;
C) Who has ever gone through all the trials and the pain that this mythical hero has gone through and even lived through one day of it all, much less insisted on doing it again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again because it’s the only life he has come to know;
and D) He’s JACK, motherfucker, and while it’s not like there’s a chance in hell you’ll ever be like him …
… there are times we all come too close.
And maybe we don’t know ourselves as well as we think we do.
We certainly can relate to the anger, maybe not to such a degree, and we might even cave in to fantasizing about “going Bauer” on the brother-in-law who molested our wife when she was eight years old or the slutty ho’ who dosed our fiance with chlamydia.
But I’d like to think most of us would react accordingly and responsibly in our most trying times.
Then again, everyone has their limits, their breaking point.
So on a scale of one to ten ….