I had scooped out my small dish of ice cream wife brought home the other day and started scooping hers when I hit a depression and a hemisphere of ice cream sailed through the air and hit the floor. One thousand one…one thousand two… what the hell, I just vacuumed the house Saturday.
Guilt got the better of me and I took the corrupted ice cream myself, at least I think I picked the right dish. By the time I got downstairs I took my best guess. We were watching “24” and my mind was consumed with worry whether Jack Bauer was going to die from exposure to the bio-weapon. Surely the writers wouldn’t kill off Jack Bauer, would they? I handed wife the dish in my left hand, hoping it was the un-weaponized ice cream.
I like “24” but Kiefer Sutherland couldn’t act his way out of a wet paper bag. He can’t even get suffering right. If I had to act like I was infected with bio-weapon
goo, I’d like to think I’d do a better job; chew on furniture and foam at the mouth. Kiefer Sutherland just does his funny blink and sweats fake sweat.
I sneak a peek at wife after she had finished her ice cream. No sweat on her forehead or hand tremors. I guess I gave her the right ice cream. By the same token, there weren’t any floory notes on my palate. I guess we were going to be okay. The same can’t be said for Jack Bauer. At the end of “24” Jack Bauer was reduced to a bug eyed, sweating, and trembling mass of a man who still needs to save the United States of America from certain doom.
Kiefer Sutherland looked like he might have eaten some bad ice cream.