Owen the barbarian!

To explain Luke’s disappearance to Beru, I decided to get crafty. I got a hold of one of his colorful robes, tore it to pieces, soaked it in Jawa blood, and showed it to her. I told her he must have been attacked by sand people and viciously slain. Beru started to wail and cry like a baby! I went on to describe many of the Tusken Raiders’ torture techniques in great detail, but this only upset her further. I couldn’t understand; Luke wasn’t her real son, what’s the big deal! I told the irrational woman to look on the bright side; at least now we don’t have to feed and shelter the little brat, and this means more money to sink into the theme park. But nothing I said made her feel better. You just can’t talk to unreasonable people!

I had to get out of that madhouse, so I drove the speeder to the Mos Eisley cantina for a quick drinks. After about seven strong ones, I drove home. I was shocked to find Beru still upset over the Luke thing! On the flip side, Dad kept laughing hysterically at the poor boy’s demise. What a jerk! Beru started going off about giving Luke a proper burial, and how I would have to find his remains, and all this crap. Where the heck am I going to find human remains that resemble Luke?

Just to shut her up, I told Beru I would drive down to the Tusken encampment and kill all the sand people, rescue Luke’s mangled body, and return a hero. But because I was still very buzzed, I didn’t feel like it was safe to drive, so I only drove about a quarter-mile and parked near Lordo’s Gorge. I had a magazine in the speeder, so I read it for a while to kill some time. After I had read it cover to cover, I headed back home. I told Beru that I killed fifty-seven sand people with my bare hands, but there was no trace of Luke’s corpse. I told her they must have eaten his remains. Dad licked his lips at that part.

Beru kept giving me a death stare, and in a second, I realized why. Just then, Luke walked in the room from the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich, and when he saw me, gave me a similar look. What had happened, apparently, is that my meddling neighbor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, somehow sensed that Luke was in danger, and took it upon himself to rescue Luke from the traveling circus. He brought Luke home while I was out heroically fighting the sand people. What gall he has to get into our business. I hate him again!

I knew what was coming next, so I darted out of the house and into my land speeder. I figured I would go spend the night at the construction site. Those guys like me.

Lars- out!

No more Luke

There was an article in the paper about a MEU student who disappeared last week. The police found her broke-down speeder in the desert, but there was no sign of her. Finally, they found her body yesterday, all mangled and torn up. Police say she was savagely beaten to death, most likely by sand people. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I read that part. Next, they interviewed her boyfriend. He stated that all he does all day is cry. What a pansy! Wasn’t he supposed to be some tough muscle-head? I hope all his friends make fun of him for that quote.

Today I went to the construction site to oversee the construction of my amusement park. I was infuriated when I got there and witnessed half the crew sitting on their butts eating sandwiches. I immediately confronted the foreman, who claimed that it was their lunch break. Excuse me? I certainly never authorized any lunch breaks. I told them all to get back to work before I fire them all and replace them with Gorgilinians (a species that only eats once a week). I felt like such a big man bossing all those huge guys around! One guy tried giving me a dirty look, so I told him that if he did it again, I would beat his mother to death with my belt buckle. He tried to attack me, but his friends held him back. While they held him, I spit in his face and called him a coward. I’m the man!

When I got home, things were even worse. Luke had the gall to bring an African-Tatooinian named Keechandra to our home, and Dad was not pleased. I knew that moving him to Mos Eisely Middle was a bad idea, as it was a school that entertained a lot of sub-par racial types, such as his new, dark friend. Dad, who had been sleeping off his three-day glue-sniffing marathon, was so incapacitated that he couldn’t have noticed a bantha farting on a nitro-glycerin truck (or the ill effects thereafter). But somehow, even blind, he knew there was a black human in his territory.

I walked in on the family just as Dad was beginning to beat Keechandra mercilessly. He smashed his night jar over the boys face and laughed maniacally as the liquid seeped into the boy’s orifices. I’ve been getting into space-karate lately, so I decided to stop Dad with a roundhouse kick to the face, but I accidentally kicked the boy’s face, instead. Luke was so angry that he began choking us both with his hands, only he wasn’t actually touching us. What was this dark magic this boy possesses, and more importantly, how can I use this to my advantage in the future?

I had my answer about two hours ago. A traveling circus cut through our property, and I sold Luke to their freak show division for 100 space-bucks and a tug at the bearded lady’s facial hair. It really was real. Freaky.

Lars- out!

Engine problems

Well, I did my good deed for this century. I was driving through the desert today when I saw a that some poor shmuck’s land speeder had broken down. Now, normally I would accelerate and speed by close to the guy, blasting a wave of hot sand all over him, but this time I decided to be nice instead, especially when I noticed it was a hot girl. Her name was Ithera, and the young girl knew nothing about fixing speeders. Fortunately for her, Saint Owen was at her rescue.

I opened her hood and immediately noticed that one of her battery cables had come loose. It would be a snap for me to plug it back in, and her speeder would start right up, but I wanted to spend more time talking to her, so I acted like it was a much bigger issue. As I systematically took apart her engine, I tried to swoon her with the Lars’ charm. She told me she was a college student at MEU, and that she had gotten lost right before her speeder broke down. For no reason, she kept mentioning that she had a boyfriend, and frequently mentioned him and his love of martial arts. I kept trying to change the subject, but she kept going back to him. It was really pissing me off.

To anger me even further, she kept holding her nose when I got close to her. Now, I’ll admit that it’s been some time since I’ve bathed, but there’s no way the stench of my body could seep through all the layers of my robes. Finally, I asked her point-blank if she’d go out with me sometime, and she flat-out refused. Even when I mentioned my wealth, she still said no. At this point, I asked myself why I was even helping her. There was absolutely nothing in it for me. I told her that I couldn’t fix the speeder, especially now that the engine had been totally taken apart. I told her to wait there while I went to get help. I wish I could see the look on her face when it gets dark and the Tusken Raiders come snooping around. They’re going to love her! I hope her boyfriend taught her karate!

As for all that mess with me beating Dad to a pulp last week, it’s all cool now. The only ill-effects I suffered were several lacerations across the top of my foot. I have to walk on it gingerly, but it’s feeling a little better every day. As far as Dad goes, he’s completely blind in both eyes. The doctors don’t know yet if it’s temporary or permanent blindness, and say that only time will tell. Personally, I could care less either way. Watto’s still in the hospital, I think, but again, I don’t care. All I know is that Dad decided not to press charges in exchange for me luring a family of unsuspecting Jawas into his room. I don’t know what he wanted with them. He must be lonely.

Lars- out!

Lots of blood

Dad’s so nasty. At dinner the other night, he repeatedly coughed up large amounts of blood all over the food. We kept telling him to cover his mouth, but he outright refused. He also coughed up chunks of meat and organic tubing that I think were part of his windpipe; not positive, though. It was so gross that I was almost unable to finish eating. Beru actually got up from the table, leaving most of her bantha sirloin untouched. She got the speeder keys and told Dad she was taking him to the hospital because coughing up blood was a serious thing. He told her not to worry, as the blood wasn’t his. Whatever that’s about…

I had a very productive meeting with the planning people about my new amusement park. They bored me to tears with talk about zoning requirements and licenses, but in the end, I got the green-light to start building. I also hired my contractors, the lowest bidder, of course. They came highly recommended by Watto, so I decided to give them a shot. Their company is called, “Right-hand Men,” which I took as a sign, as I, too, am right-handed. That reminds me of this poor sap I went to grade school with. The kid was no-handed. I mean, he had both of his hands, but wasn’t coordinated with either. I hated that kid because he was so different.

Anyway, we broke ground on Sunday. There was a little ceremony, and everything. The whole family went out to the site and we were surrounded by all of our friend. Since Dad’s a worthless cripple, I let him stick the ceremonial first shovel in the ground. That’s when it happened. Instead of planting the shovel in the dirt, Dad plummeted the tool right into my foot. In the midst of my pain and agony, I realized why Dad had been up all night sharpening the end of the shovel. While Dad laughed maniacally, I struggled to pull the metal menace from my bloodied foot. In a torrent of anger, I violently cracked Dad in the skull with the shovel 14 times. He fell from his chair after the second whack, but I kept on going. Everyone screamed in horror as Watto tried desperately to pry the weapon from my hands. I grabbed a hold of one of Watto’s wings and pulled it off as hard as I could, causing him to fall to the ground awkwardly.

It was at this point that I realized that news crews were filming the whole thing. I tried to play it off like it was all a joke, but nothing looked fake about the large puddle of blood that had formed around Dad’s skull. Someone called an ambulance, and they carted off Dad and Watto. No one seemed concerned about my foot, though. You know, I might actually be in a lot of trouble, here. Dang it!

Lars- out!

Dad touched Luke

Dad’s such a jerk! He kept waking me up last night, begging me to go to the store to buy him some pipe tobacco. I told him repeatedly to go drink some space-gasoline and die, but he was relentless! Finally, at three in the morning, I had to put on my booties and drive to the Mos Eisely tobacco emporium.

When I got back, I found it queer that Dad was in Luke’s room. Upon seeing me, he nervously scampered out into the hall. When asked why he was in there, he replied that he was looking for his socks. Hmmmmm… Socks? As in plural? Last I checked, Dad only had one foot. What had been going on here? Beru was still passed out on the recliner, as she’s become quite fond of prescription pills, as of late. What was Dad really doing in Luke’s room? Oh well, it didn’t matter that much, seeing as how I was so tired, and all. The last thing I remember before going back to bed was Dad telling me that he was going to continue searching for his socks in Luke’s room. Whatever.

I haven’t posted to my space-journal in quite some time, as I was jailed twice (innocently, on both counts), and was hospitalized for two months with a rare blood-borne disease. The doctors said it was hereditary, but Dad never contracted it, and since we don’t know who my real mother is, there’s no way to trace it through the family. I was on antibiotics for the past ten days. The doctor told me to abstain from drinking alcohol while on the medicine, and I told him to die a violent space-death. No one’s going to tell Owen Lars how to live!

The reason I’m writing now is that I’ve decided to finally live out my life dream, and I’m going to chronicle my progress in this journal. It’s about time I put myself first, for a change. I’ve always dreamed of having a theme park erected in my honor. It will be called “The Owen Lars Experience” and all the rides and attractions will be themed after parts of my life. For instance, the biggest roller-coaster will be called “Owen’s Courage,” and there will be other rides based on my other wonderful qualities, as well. Finally, this dream will become a reality.

We still have quite a bit of money leftover from Carl’s fortune, and I’ve decided to sink every red cent into this theme park. I haven’t told the others yet, but trust me, they’ll thank me later! I’m meeting with the planning commissioner and several contractors tomorrow. I’m planning on buying between 25-35 acres of desert right in the heart of Anchorhead. This is going to be so awesome.

Because all this planning put me in such a good mood, I suggested to the family that we play a nice, friendly game of tag. I was IT first, so I tagged Dad, as he was an easy target (mostly immobile). Then Dad touched Luke, and he was IT.

Lars- out!

Poor Luke

Dad’s taken to walking around the house without a shirt lately. He says it’s because he’s hot, but I think that he’s gotten so fat that none of his robes fit anymore. I’ve offered to buy him new clothes, but he refuses to buy a size bigger. Taking the opportunity of being bare-chested, he’s always asking people to scratch his back. Luke’s the only one stupid enough to do it, as he’s weak-minded and easily led, and last week, he paid the price.

It was right after dinner, and Dad was ready for his post-glutton scratch. Dad had convinced Luke to grow out his finger nails so it would, and I quote, “feel more like a dirty lady’s doing it.” By this point, Luke’s nails were pretty long. Luke began the long scratching process, but didn’t see the large blood-blister in the small of Dad’s back. The engorged cyst was cleverly camouflaged by the thick thatch of hair that protruded from Dad’s anal crack. While down there scratching, Luke inadvertently popped the swelling tumor-like sac, and the high pressure contents of said sac squirted like Mustafar lava all over the young boy’s face.

Unfortunately for Luke, his mouth had been open, as he was doing his “girl voice” for Dad, and about half a liter of blood and puss spewed into his mouth. As a reflex, Luke immediately swallowed it. To make this story even more tragic, Luke had an open canker sore in his mouth, and some of Dad’s blood got in there, as well. A couple of days later Luke came down with a high fever, and Beru took him to the emergency room. After some blood work, it was confirmed that Luke had contracted a pretty nasty STD.

It’s been about a week since the mishap, but Luke still complains that it burns when he pees. As for Dad, he’s begun scratching his back against the hard stucco walls. We always know when he’s done it, because Beru has to clean up the blood smears. Dad calls it “painting the walls for us,” but we explained to him that we don’t want red walls.

Lars- out!

Crap sandwhich (without the bread)...

I’m so pissed off that Dad read my electronic journal that I could pull all the teeth out of his mouth with my teeth. If he ever even dreams about interfering with my writings again, he’ll wish he had two legs. First of all, none of this stuff was any of his business, and secondly, he had absolutely no right to make a post of his own! Especially when it was filled with lies, contradictions, and deceptions. Not to mention delusions of grandeur: “I’m the infamous Jawa serial killer…”, yeah, right!

What upset me the most was that he had to bring my name into it. What’s this business about ballerinas and piano recitals? None of that happened. The only thing in his post that was remotely true was the deal with the sofa cushions. Only they weren’t cushions, they were folds of Jabba’s niece’s flesh. Dad’s such an ass…

I already changed my password to something Dad would never guess. If he ever wants to view my online journal again, he’ll have to think really hard to come up with my birth month and year. I bet he couldn’t even get the month right. Dad’s never been good about birthdays. One year he gave me an expired coupon to the cantina three months after my birthday had passed. He thought he was early.

Putting all this Cliegg nonsense behind us, I should probably fill you in on what’s happened in my life lately. Beru and I have officially gotten back together. She wants us to get married and for me to adopt Luke, but I’ll have to think about it. Luke’s a real nerd, and Beru’s a little too “easy,” if you know what I mean. Since I still got a great deal of money, I better waste it on strange women before I settle down with the old hag.

Speaking of Luke, I’m pretty confident that he’s filled with devils. He keeps moving objects across the room with a single motion of his hand, and he seems to be able to talk me into just about anything. Last night he convinced me that I wanted to drink from the toilet, and I did. The worst part is that Dad had just taken a hefty dump, and adhering to our water conservation policies, he didn’t flush. The warm, rancid taste of his feces made me gag, but yet I kept drinking. His log peeled apart easily with the thrashing motion of the water, and at times I swallowed entire chunks of the brown mass, along with several pieces of undigested space-corn. Luke’s such an ass…

After brushing my teeth, I decided to beat the living crap out of him. I waited until he was asleep, and began beating him unmercifully with my belt. I felt like a real man standing above him, holding all the power. Beru heard the thuds, and came in to investigate. I immediately laid on the floor and placed the belt in Luke’s hand. I began wailing as Beru approached us. She became very angry at Luke, and administered several spankings to the naught boy. I tried not to laugh as he cried out to the force to save him. Beru helped me up and apologized for her son’s violent behavior. I told her if it happened again, we’d have to look into boarding school.

Beru’s so stupid…

Lars- out!