A DAY IN THE LIFE OF SARK

5:30 AM: Wake up to hear the BeeGees singing Stayin' Alive on the clock radio. I love that song! I promptly bounce out of bed, in my Spongebob Squarepants boxer shorts, and dance around madly. Why did these guys ever go out of style?

5:32 AM: "AH, UH, HUH, UH-STAYIN ALIVE, STAYIN ALIVE!!"

5:33 AM: "STAYIN' ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVE. . . . ."

5:34 AM: Remember that I am supposed to be a psychotic killer, stop singing, and shoot my radio for practice. Mental Note-Must remember to burn those boxers tomorrow . . .

6:00 AM: After admiring my perfect self in the mirror for a good twenty minutes, and then sculpting my hair to perfection for another ten minutes, it's time to pick out my suit for the day.

6:01 AM: Hmmmm . . . . . . . . . Armani Black of Valentino Black? They both send out such different vibes.

6:30 AM: Went through the Espresso Stand on the way to work. What a waste. The man working is so cheap-He insists that they don't offer anything more than a triple shot of caffeine. America has the WORST service. I think I'll be forced to shoot him. But only after he gives me my coffee.

6:32 AM: Ugh, bad idea. Blood has spattered all over the chrome espresso machine-very messy. Oh well, the coffee's not bad.

7:30 AM: Sloane is talking on and on to me again about his plans to create the ultimate Rambaldi weapon. I saw the sketches in the manuscript, Dumbass. I know what's at stake. Though if you ask me, this "ultimate weapon" looks more like a Rubix cube that anything else.

7:45 AM: Stillllll talking. He seems to be having problems with the mathematician that we kidnapped. He is refusing to work with us. Hmmmmm . . . . . . . .He wants my advice. I tell him to just shoot him; that always works for me.

7:46 AM: Why is he shaking his head like that?

7:55 AM: Sloane's finally let me off. Oh! it's almost time for me to send my threatening E-mails.

8:00 AM: One to the CIA about Sydney Bristow (when Sloane told me that we'd captured her, I almost laughed out loud. Then I remembered psychotic killers don't laugh.) One to Jack Bristow (Just for the Hell of it. He'll probably puff up like some overgrown elephant when we realize that we have his daughter). One blackmail letter to George W. Bush, one blackmail letter to Prince Charles, Three to Michael Jackson, and one to my Grandmother (I always KNEW those cookies of hers couldn't be an original recipe-but that's between her Pillsbury.)

11:00 AM: In an hour I have to go bring Sydney Bristow, our prisoner (giggle) her rations. I think I'll go out and buy her some sweethearts to go with it. After all, it is almost Valentine's Day.

12:00 Noon: Sydney didn't seem at all warmed by my generosity. I don't see why. Most girls would faint if a gorgeous stud like me brought them their bread and water rations on a breakfast tray with a rosebud vase and candles. Not to mention the Sweethearts that I smuggled in. I think I'm going to have little heart-shaped bruises on my arms now from where she pelted me with them. She's so cute when she's angry. Giggle.

12:01 PM: She is giving me a funny look now. Oops. I think I giggled out loud. Took out my gun and shot the empty Sweethearts box to compensate. There, now my reputation is still intact.

12:02 PM: She's still looking at me funny. This is awkward. I think I'll leave.

2: 00 PM: Sloane has rudely interrupted me from my work to ask me Why I have a heart-shaped bruise on the side of my neck. He doesn't seem convinced when I tell him it's a birthmark. In retaliation I tell him he looks like a monkey.

2:01 PM: Now I think he's just pissed. How am I going to solve this problem? Hmmmmm. . . . . . . . . . . . . Where's my gun?

4:00 PM: Stupid thing was out of bullets. Now I am stuck in the basement room right next to Sydney Bristow's, awaiting my doom. Ooooh, look, there's a hole in the wall. Me and Sydney can pass notes. I just won't tell her it's me, and maybe she'll respond.

4:05 PM: Just shoved a note through saying, "Is anyone there?" It sounded urgent enough to me.

4:10 PM: Sydney just wrote back! Goody goody!

"My name is Sydney Bristow, I am an agent with the CIA. Who am I speaking to?"

Well Sydney, nothing like laying all your cards out on the table. The girl has no sense for Strategizing. Oh well, time for a little creative license.

"My name is Jack Anderson. I am an innocent civilian who has been kidnapped."

Hmmm . . . . . The initial message is good, but it's lacking a little personality. I definitely need to add to it.

"I enjoy long walks on the beach, dancing in the rain, and Barbara Streisand. What do you like, Sydney?"

4:15 PM: This girl has NO life. It's all work, work, work. She sent back a disgustingly serious message:

"Huh?! Jack, this is a serious situation. If this organization kidnapped you, chances are you aren't going to be alive much longer."

Must write a witty response. I think I'll mesh together a mix of lines from all the romance movies I've ever seen.

"Yes, I understand that Sydney. This is a dire situation, and we are both victims here. That is why I want to get to know you a little better. Don't you see Sydney? We are all each other has! From the moment you passed that note back to me, I felt a connection with you Sydney. We have something here. Don't tell me you don't feel it too."

4:30 PM: I was just waiting for a response from Sydney when Sloane had to barge in on and break our romantic repartee. It seems that I am still of value to him as a source for intelligence, and so he has decided to let me live, despite the monkey comment and the gun episode. But from now on, I am only allowed to have tranquilizer darts. Damn.

7:00 PM: Finally home again. Am way too tired to cook, so I think I'll order a pizza. Joey's makes the best Pizza. If it takes more than an hour to deliver, it's free.

7:59 PM: I'm stillll waiting for the stupid bloody pizza . . . . . .

7:59 and 59 seconds PM: They finally came with the stupid pizza. The zit-faced kid who delivered it keeps denying my claim that it was so OBVIOUSLY over an hour. The Bloody Bastard's just trying to cheat me out of my free pizza. I think I'll shoot him.

8:00 PM: Dammit. Dart Guns just aren't the same . . . . . . . . .

9:00 PM: This day has gone to crap. I dumped the stupid zit-faced kid out behind the 7-Eleven, and came home to a cold pizza. This crap wouldn't have happened to me if Sloane hadn't taken away my gun.

9:05 PM: Thing are looking up. Touched by an Angel is on!

10:00 PM: Yawwwnnnn . . . . . . Time for bed.

10:30 PM: I made sure to exfoliate tonight with a mask from Biore. Dusty basement cells are hell on my complexion. Put on my Spongebob Boxers (how did I ever think that I could get rid of these things again?), and snuggle down under my red satin sheets.

11:00 PM: I almost forgot to write in my gratitude diary! I love this idea that Oprah had-it really helps you remember how blessed you are in life. Plus it always feels good at the end of the day to get in touch with your soul.

Let's see, what were six things I was grateful for today?

Touched by An Angel The Beegees Spongebob Squarepants underwear Sydney speaking to me-whether or not she actually knew who she was talking to . . . Long walks on the beach, dancing in the rain, and Barbara Streisand Dead Espresso workers.

11:10 PM: Just before shutting off my light, I remember that I don't have an alarm clock anymore. How am I going to get to work on time tomorrow?

11:15 PM: Oh well. If Sloane doesn't like it, he can shove it up his ass.