I don’t see any reason why I couldn’t be a TV writer. How hard could it be? You have your hero and your heroette and you put them in situations they cannot possibly get out of and then you get them out.

Donna Fielder

And you throw in a few one-liners along the way and a little bit (or a whole lot, depending on the show) of sex.

And 49 commercials later, you’re done.

I think I can pull that off.

Let’s face it: In this economy with my stocks reeling around like drunken aardvarks, I need a little extra help paying my bills. So I’m going to work up a script or two and shoot them up to the networks and see what happens.

I want to work for 24. Here’s what I’m seeing:

When we left Jack last week, he was tied to a stake in a swarm of lethal snakes. He was screaming as they sunk their fangs into him and we all knew he was a goner. Except, of course, he isn’t a goner, because there would be no more 24.

We see Jack working at his bonds, picking at the knots with his teeth as the vipers slide over him and fang him repeatedly. He is in agony. Sweat runs off his face. His strong jaw contorts. He tears the last rope free. Gasping in pain, he brushes off vipers like hissing potato chip crumbs and pulls out his cellphone.

“Jack, you have to lie down. You’ve been bitten 84 times by poisonous reptiles,” his best friend Chase says, pulling at his fang-pocked arm.

“I’m fine,” Jack whispers. “The president has been kidnapped by aliens, and I’m the only one in the world who can rescue him. Tell the FBI I’ll be there in two minutes to lead the raid.”

“But Jack, the FBI is looking for you. They think you’re an alien who has taken Jack’s form. And they’re still unhappy with you for torturing the vice president to make him tell you the password to the president’s Facebook page so you can fool the aliens into thinking they have a fake president instead of the real one, since the real one seems to be playing ‘Farm Town’ and just sent his whole cabinet a round of drinks.”

“It had to be done,” Jack says. “I’ll just have to convince the FBI that I’m not an alien. I’ll think of something.”

Commercial break.

Then: We see Jack leading the FBI on a raid of an alien planet he found while we were on commercial break. This is real-time TV, you know.

An alien lobs a hand grenade. There is a tremendous explosion and Jack is blown into the air and lands in a pot of boiling potato salad. He climbs out, brushes off a stray pickle chip, and pulls out his cellphone.

“I’ve found the president,” he says. “He’s standing on a landmine and if he moves, he’s dead.”

“But Jack,” says his best friend Chase, “you’re hurt. One of your arms is dangling by a thread, you have 17 bullet wounds and the snakebites are starting to fester because of the onions. You have to sit down.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack whispers, sweat sliding off his chin and into the mustard and potato mess on his chest.

“I’m the only person in the world who can get the president off this landmine. It’s my duty.”

“But Jack,” his best friend Chase says, “even if you rescue the president, he’s still mad at you for torturing his wife to get the combination to his safe that holds the secret plans the aliens are trying to steal. He’s ordered you shot on sight.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack says, pulling out his cellphone. “I’ll think of something.”

“OK Jack,” Chase, his best friend says, pulling out an Israeli assault rifle. “I didn’t want to do this, us being best friends and all. But you leave me no choice.”

Chase empties a clip into Jack, who sweats even more and screams.

Jack just has to be a goner with his best friend having betrayed him, not to mention the president and also the aliens, since he plans to steal the very secret plans the aliens are trying to steal.

We shift to the president, who is balancing on one foot on the landmine, looking for all the world like a drunk caught mid-field-sobriety-test on a cop’s car video. We shift again to Jack’s girlfriend, who, unbeknownst to him, is being tortured by FBI agents to get her to tell them where Jack is hiding….

DUM.DUM.DUM.DUM…. (cut)

If you don’t hear from me, you’ll know I’ve been contacted by the network. I’ll be fine.

DONNA FIELDER can be reached at 940-566-6885. Her e-mail address is dfielder@dentonrc.com.