In Tribute To Last Tuesday's Finale of "24"

CONTESTANT 2: "Marsupials for $600."
ALEX TREBEK: "This is the largest type of marsupial."
CONTESTANT 2: "What is…I know this one. What is...um, what is--"
TREBEK: "YOU'RE OUT OF TIME, MAURCIE! YOU'RE OUT OF TIME!"


CUSTOMER TELEMARKETER: "Hello, is Mr. Henry Pittington in?"
MR. PITTINGTON: "Speaking."
CUSTOMER TELEMARKETER: "I have some bad news about your subscription."
MR. PITTINGTON: "My subscription to what?"
CUSTOMER TELEMARKETER: "Don't play coy with me."
MR. PITTINGTON: "What are you talking about?"
CUSTOMER TELEMARKETER: "YOU'RE OUT OF TIME, PITTINGTON! YOU'RE OUT OF TIME! That is, unless you renew in the next two weeks."


[In the Spy Museum in Washington D.C. A trans-universe rip in the space-time continuum opens and two aliens in the shape of translucent pink starfish emerge from the rift. The aliens communicate by emitting and absorbing colored light-pulses through their skin. This information, although interesting, is completely unnecessary to the joke ahead. One could even argue that, by building up a level of tension that this simple joke has no hope of justifying, this preamble is, word by word, lessening whatever humor the reader may find in the following sentences.

Then again, the person making this argument is likely in the group of people who voted for Fantasia more times this week than they had voted in the last five Presidential elections, assuming they were old enough to vote in any of them, which they weren't.]
PAA-PIT-WIISH-WISH: "Where are we? This isn't our universe. The temporal funnel--something must have happened. But where--"
ZOONA-REESH-AUK: "YOU'RE OUT OF TIME, PAA-PIT! YOU'RE OUT OF TIME!"
PAA-PIT-WIISH-WISH: "Well, if I'm out of Time, so are you."
ZOONA-REESH-AUK: "Oh, yeah."
PAA-PIT-WIISH-WISH: "Maybe if we materialize one of these beings can help us."
ZOONA-REESH-AUK: "Don't be ridiculous. What are we going to do, ask them for directions? There's no way these inferior beings know how to get to Hoboken."


I'm going camping. Have a nice weekend, but preferably not nicer than mine, because I judge the quality of my weekends solely on their relative joy to the time of others.