How “Lost” would be different if I was Jack Shephard…

First, let me preface this by saying that I haven’t watched Lost since the end of Season Two.

“Why did you stop watching?”, I can hear you asking breathlessly. Well, I’ll tell ya why. Allow me to do so via an examination of the differences of approach that would be evident if I were Jack Shephard.

What follows is an approximation of a situation I happened to catch while Sappy Chick was catching up on Season Three on ABC.com.

Ben, the leader of “The Others”: Jack, I want you to give me the phone that the skydiver gave you. Do it because my people have Sayid, Bernard, Jin, and Sawyer.

Jack Shephard, resident dumbfuck: What’s to keep me from just snapping your neck?

Ben, speaking into the walkie-talkie that Jack has stupidly given him: Zeke, unless you hear my voice in one minute I want you to shoot the hostages.

Hostages via walkie-talkie: Jack, you fucking dimwitted fuck! What the hell are you doing? You would fuck up a wet dream Jack! Do you hear me, you would fuck up a wet dream!

Jack: I won’t do it. I’m getting my people off the island. All of them.

Ben: All of them except the four Zeke’s about to shoot in the face, that is. Thirty seconds left Jack…tick tock Clarice.

Jack: No!! I won’t do it!

Ben: Times up Jack.

Walkie-Talkie: Jack you fucking douchebag! BLAM!

So at the end of this scenario Jack attacks Ben and punches him a few times, knocking him unconscious.

Now for the sake of arguement, let’s say that the above scenario plays out exactly the same, only this time…it’s me and not Jack Shephard on the island.

Just fucking work with me here…

So, after savagely beating Ben into unconsciousness, I pick up the walkie-talkie…

Me: This is Cinlach. Can you assholes hear me ok?

Zeke: We can hear you Cinlach. I bet you’re shitting on yourself now aren’t you. Just come on back and we’ll all be friends again.

Me: No…I don’t think so. If we come back you’ll just kill us. You’ve already shown you’re willing to be murderous ratfucks several times over already. Besides, I like being out here hours away from your redneck ass.

But I will tell you what I am going to do instead. Would you like to know what I’m going to do now Zeke?

Zeke: Uh, wait…so you’re not gonna come back in?

Me: Oh hell no. I’m not that stupid pal. No, instead what I am going to do is repay the kindness you’ve shown my people. Now, I will concede that you’ve killed four of mine, and I only have one of yours to kill. But I think that quality is better than quantity.

Zeke: Oh fuck…waitaminute.

Me: No. There’s no more waiting and there’s no more bullshit mindgames. You have fucked with me for the last…fucking…time.

I am going to kill Ben. I am going to kill this piece of shit deader than fuck. By the time this is over, if you ever manage to find the remains of his body, you will regret fucking with me for as long as you live.

When, or if, you find what’s left of him you will THANK GOD that it happened to him and not to you.

Zeke: Oh shit…don’t do it.

Me: I’m going to do it, and I’m going to let you listen in. Now I’m not sure how much battery life this walkie-talkie’s got, but I’ll bet it’s more than enough for me to get my motherfucking point across to you dirty sons of bitches.

I’ll bet that at night, when you hear some wild animal scream in the jungle, you’ll think about me, and all the horrible things I’ve done to poor ol’ Ben here.

First, I’m going to break his ankles. Don’t want him running away on me now…that’d ruin my fun.

Second, I’m going to break both his knees. Just to be sure he doesn’t somehow manage to crawl away to safety, and mainly because I like the idea of making this maggot hurt as much as possible.

Then I’m going to break both arms, and all the bones in his hands…just to be triple sure.

Now here’s where the fun begins Zeke. Are you still there buddy?

Zeke: I am…please, don’t do this.

Me: Shut the fuck up. You telling me what to do has come to a fucking end. Now I’m telling you. Kill everyone if you want to…we’re all mostly likely dead anyway, so what difference does it make if you kill us or if something else does. Dead is dead.

Speaking of dead…let’s get back to Benjamin here.

Once I’ve taken away all his flight options I’m going to go to work on him.

See, I’m not sure if you assfucks realized this, but I’m a surgeon. Which means I have a VERY detailed knowledge of the human anatomy. That also means that I know lots of things that can go wrong with someone without them dying.

Lots of ways.

I plan on telling you all about them, as I subject Ben to torture that would make Hitler cry for his mother.

You’ll hear Ben’s every agonizing scream over this walkie-talkie…until either it dies or I get tired of playing with Ben. Whichever comes first.

I want to thank you for the mercy you’ve shown my people. A bullet is a nice quick way to die. Unfortunately for you, I’ve no more charity left in my heart. I’m through playing with you people. Now it’s time for me to show you what happens when you push beyond where you should.

Zeke: You’re a savage…

Me: I am now…thanks to you. And just think, I haven’t even STARTED on Ben yet.

Zeke: I can’t listen to this.

Me: Listen or don’t. It’s still going to fucking happen.

Now, here’s how you break an ankle. See, the trick is that it’s structurally weak if moved contrary to it’s designed path. Say for instance if you grab the toes and pull forcefully at a right angle to the leg…like this.

SNAP.

Ben: OH SWEET FUCKING JESUS ON A HANDMADE ROCKING CHAIR WITH A BEAUTIFUL ANTIQUE CROCHET PILLOW!!

Me: Don’t pass out on me Benny, you and I are just getting started.

Oh yeah, by the way Zeke…if you’re really lucky you and I won’t see each other again. If you’re not, we will.

Think about Ben here and do be sure to keep watch over your shoulder.

You know, after writing that I think it’s entirely possible that I have some pent up anger somewhere…

But you get the point.

I got tired of watching Lost because I got sick and tired of seeing the same dumb shit happen over and over again.

The best way to make sure some overly-educated prick with a jungle fetish doesn’t continually fuck you over and threaten to kill you every other day is to forcibly remove the aforementioned overly-educated prick from the gene pool.

But hey, what do I know…I’m just the guy smart enough not to end up stranded on a tropical island with a bunch of freakin’ science nerds gone all “Lord of the Flies”.