A chip on my shoulder - Cliegg's Post

Hi, This is Cliegg Lars, and I'm a celebrity who's noteworthy for a Jawa serial killing habit.

Well. I suppose I should of seen this coming. I mean, after all of those piano recitals of Owen's that I missed because I was drunk. It still hurts though; I thought he was over that. And there was that time he told me he wanted to be a ballerina. Boy was I hard on that little pansy.

In case you're still in the dark as to what I'm I’ve been sobbing about for two hours, I'll tell you; I'm an open book. Although if you ask what these dark, smelly stains on this couch cushion are, I won't share.

This morning began as many of them do for me. I woke up completely disoriented, feeling bloated. My diet lately has been inconsistent with the food I was served during my lengthy vacation in the municipal prison. I don't know what it was I ate, but my agony was supreme; losing control, and with no other option, I grabbed a couch cushion.

Owen walked in then. It was a relatively embarrassing moment, as embarrassing as when I ate soup with the dessert spoon one time. I felt my face warm a bit and my collar felt tight. I undid my tie slightly, and even unbuttoned my top button. I dapped my face gently with a handkerchief. Owen, in predictable fashion, given that he loathes spending quality time with me, stormed out in a fit of juvenile rage. I didn't react well, you might say, but you try raising a teenager. The things we parent endure in the name of love.

After Owen stormed out, I decided not to let him know how disappointed I was in him, and to return evil with undying fatherly love. Thinking long and hard, I resolved to clean his bedroom, and organize his possessions. Looking thru the window to make sure he was out of sight, I snuck to his bedroom.

The only thing interesting I could find to organize, was a rectangular box. Looking it over, I envisioned it as a footrest, and a darn good one as well. Back in the den, I barely gave the item a second glance, as I positioned it on the coffee table. Imagine my chagrin when upon placing by prosthesis on squarely on my footrest, I heard the whirling of a previously undetected electronic component beginning to boot. Now, I'm not stupid. I graduated in the top 20% percent of my class in grade school. Although I'm super smart, I'm notoriously terrible with electronics. Beru used to handle all that stuff for me.

Finally I managed to open the case, only to find a digital journal. Flipping thru entry after entry, I soon discovered that this was a novel Owen had been writing. Semiautobiographical, it incorporated few real elements. I was beaming when I read about my exploits with brutal Jawa killing. It seems Owen didn't feel he needed to fictionize this element of my fame. Boy was I glad. I smiled so much, it hurt.

Unfortunately my joy wasn't to last, a unseen blow was coming. One which has left me with this chip on my shoulder.

I soon found a poll that Owen has featured as a main part of his novel's plot. Asking a simple yet profound question, this poll elicits responses by having the poll-e choose one of several options. The question posed: "In which was do you feel I'm a hero?".

In life, everyone sooner of later has to deal with disappointment. I discovered early on that my goal and destiny has been and remains to teach people this fact. The Jawa population, much as I detest their disgusting selves, have lately had a religious revival. It seems my efforts have persuaded many of them to look forward to the afterlife, as it's certain their time here will not be long.

Although many have become aware of spirituality thru my sacrificial efforts, it seems my efforts haven't prepared as well as I’ve thought they had. I wasn't prepared for the strongest disappointment that I've ever had to deal with; In Owen's poll, he lists several fictitious reasons for him being a hero.
Then the cutting blow fell. He failed to list the strongest reason; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.