Dear Mr. Bauer

Dear Mr. Bauer,

I recently got engaged and the first thing I told my new fiancé was that in the event she and I were protecting the “nuclear football” from international terrorists and I was captured and being mercilessly tortured as to ascertain the football’s location, under no circumstances was she to come to my rescue and turn over the device to the terrorists. She thought that I must have been kidding and for a moment, I was starting to wonder whether or not I had a Nina-type situation on my hands, but she eventually realized that I was completely serious. And maybe just a little crazy. But at least we already have one of our vows prepared for the wedding.

This season, Mr. Bauer, you have set a new bar for saving America from certain annihilation and I am most grateful. Our television landscape has been carpet-bombed by fundamentalist and family-first groups who believe that television shows like Seventh Heaven are a little too risqué. Thankfully, those of us who prefer our entertainment with a little more wanton violence and no-holds-barred interrogation techniques savor our Monday nights with you.

Rarely, do I get to see something on television that I don’t want any part of. Everything on television nowadays is about enticing the viewer- pretty women, nice clothes, fast cars, luxurious homes. But you are no sheep, Mr. Bauer. You saw the women, clothes, cars and homes and said I’ll raise you one “I’m breaking the bones in your fingers one by one until you tell me what I want to know.” You have single-handedly turned torture into a staple of Monday night television. No wonder, Monday Night Football is moving to Sunday- torture is what America wants on Monday night, not some mamby-pamby men in pads playing grab-ass for a few hours.

Quite frankly, at this point, if you don’t torture someone, I am genuinely surprised. Edgar isn’t fast enough reconfiguring his protocols- cattle prod to the testes. Michelle doesn’t want Tony to go out into the field- bamboo under the toenails. Audrey doesn’t stop showing feelings for her critically injured husband- hobble her.

When newly sworn-in President Logan dared to tell you not to torture someone, I was aghast. Would the Medici have dared tried to stop Michelangelo from painting the Sistine Chapel? Torture is your art form. Painters use oils, sculptors clay, you- a bullet to the knee, a stun gun to the genitals. I figured you would hop on the next plane, drop in on the White House and knock Logan silly until he realized that you are America’s best, and apparently, only weapon against international terrorism.

Which is why I am left to wonder- is there anyone else in our government who is trained to fight terrorism? I realize that you are the best- you’re the Wayne Gretzky of anti-terrorism, the undeniably greatest at what you do. But where is your Mario Lemieux? Chase, your son-in-law, looked like he was the heir apparent, until he lost that arm and was saddled with Kim. Tony is your right-hand man but the guy went on a bender because Michelle Dessler took off. If you have made anything clear, it is that women make fighting terrorism like playing Madden Football at the All-Madden level when you’re drunk- you can still win, but it’s a lot uglier than it should be.

Which has me a little worried. You lead an incredibly hectic life. Your wife has been killed. Numerous girlfriends have ended up on a coroner’s slab. You have been addicted to heroin. You saved a Presidential candidate, a President, a Secretary of Defense and numerous other people in the line of duty. You have been fired, rehired, shot at, tortured, arrested, detained, assumed dead and promoted an amazing number of times. And you have a daughter who has survived a mountain lion attack, a homicidal boss, Johnny Drama and seems to collect kidnappers like other people collect souvenir spoons.

At some point, you are going to have to take a break. Up to this point, every time you have so much as walked outside of CTU, terrorists have swarmed into our country from every conceivable direction.

So far, unless you are directly involved in the planning and execution of an anti-terrorist takedown, the terrorists are romping. Habib Marwan is the freakishly big Taiwanese Little League pitcher mowing down the American champs. I have no doubt that you know what you are doing- but unfortunately I don’t have nearly the same confidence in some of CTU brethren. Even you must have wondered why some F-16’s, helicopters and soldiers weren’t scrambled to secure the nuclear football. Instead, it was basically just you and some other agent, who lasted about four seconds before catching a bullet, riding in on a news helicopter. I would have hoped that our national security procedures were a little more flushed out.

But, I’m not too worried. I have seen you in action before and have no doubt that now that you are officially a wanted man, that you’ll truly kick it into high, sadistic gear. The frequent torturing of potential witnesses and people who annoy you notwithstanding, now that you are officially “off the reservation,” I’m expecting you to only get more physically persuasive and viciously focused.

In closing, let me thank you for protecting us from terrorists who seem hell-bent on destroying Los Angeles and leaving the rest of America safe and sound. It is very reassuring for us in the Northeast to realize that international terrorists have decided that Los Angeles, with its movie stars, mudslides and Kobe Bryant, is a far more suitable terrorist target than New York or Washington D.C. Keep up the good work, never let an answer get in the way of a good torture session and always remember that I am only a phone call away.

All the best,

Jamie Chisholm