My name is Owen Lars, moisture farmer extraordinaire. My step-brother, Anakin Skywalker, was betrayed and murdered by his mentor, Obi-wan Kenobi. I know this because Watto told me. This blog site is intended to raise awareness in the greater Mos Eisley area that this criminal is at large, living in our community, and what I, and hopefully others who care, plan to do about it.


Finding my religion

This is the second day of my incarceration, and I’m starting to think this whole thing might just be a blessing in disguise. For one thing, I am sobering up and thinking more clearly. Last night, after the lights went out, I had a good, quiet cry, and called out to the force to comfort me in my time of need. I began feeling a peace inside me, and I started seeing the many errors I’ve made in my life. I woke up feeling much different this morning. I vowed, as the force as my witness, that I would change, and become a man that Beru could love, dad could respect, and Luke could look up to. I realize now that Luke will use me as a role model, and it will be my duty in his formidable years to be a positive example for him to emulate. I’m even coming to terms with the fact that I need to forgive Obi-wan for savagely butchering my brother. Once I get released from here, I should probably go to his house so we can begin a healthy dialogue. I need to see things from his viewpoint, not just through mine. Who knows, perhaps we’ll become wonderful friends, and he can teach me Jedi tricks and let me swing his laser-sword.

My day of quiet introspection was hampered only by a few minor problems. First, the food was atrocious. My cell-mates didn’t eat much, as today was “commissary night”, where inmates get to purchase many delicious food products with the money in their commissary accounts. Unfortunately, my account was empty. I called Watto to ask him to deposit money in my account. He emphatically refused. The old Owen would have told him to rot on Mustafar, but I simply told him that I understood, and thanked him for his friendship. I think he was confused. Anyway, while the other inmates were enjoying delicious bags of puffed pork and exotic pasties, I was eating space-Spam for the third time. Oh, how I longed for just a taste of their delicacies, but I did this to myself, and I deserve it.

What I didn’t deserve, however, was being made uncomfortable all day by a creepy walrus-man who stared at me intently the whole time. Even while he was going #2, his intense gaze never quit. I cleverly hung my sheet in front of him, explaining he could use it as a make-shift partition, and thereby have some privacy, but he immediately tore it down and continued to stare at me. I pretended not to notice, but it certainly bothered me. I think I’m going to stay up all night, just to be safe.

Lars- signing off, now. Goodnight, all.


The Clink!

Well, I’m in jail. The Mos Eisley Police came to the house late this afternoon with a warrant. Unfortunately, it was dad who answered the door, and he eagerly showed the cops to my room. I tried hiding under my bed, but part of my robe was sticking out, and they found me. As they cuffed me and brought me out to their police speeder, dad hurled insults at me, calling me a “loser” and a “felon”. Beru started crying, and I told her I’d be back within the hour. But as luck would have it, court had just convened for the weekend, so I wouldn’t get to stand in front of a judge for an arraignment until Monday morning.

So I’m here for the weekend, at least. I’m afraid I’ll probably end up doing some time for the probation violation. I’m doing my best not to cry. What went wrong in my life? How could have things gotten so out of control? I miss Beru and Luke so badly. I even miss dad. The way he smiles when he finds the toy at the bottom of a cereal box; it can light up the room. I miss holding Luke, like I did that one time, and watching Beru interact with him. Oh, and Beru- her I miss the most. Man, do I love her. As soon as I get out, I’m going to buy her the biggest engagement ring I can find and make her my wife. Then we’ll all be happy, and live in peace forever.

I found myself worrying about Luke a lot, with his sickness, and all. Oh, I should be there with him, taking care of him! I keep trying to call home, but I can only call collect, and dad keeps refusing to accept the charges. If only Beru would answer! I need to talk to her; tell her how much I love her. It’s almost lights out. Since I have 4 cell-mates and there’s no partition for the space-toilet, I’ve been holding my bladder all day. When everyone goes to bed, I can go to the bathroom. I pray it’s soon. Maybe then I can cry, too. I’ll have to be really quiet about it.

Lars- out!


Owen the Hutt

Jabba the Hutt had a massive heart attack today. His doctors said that his main aortal valve was 99% clogged, and that he was lucky to be alive. He had some chest pains earlier in the week, but after he had digested a nasty sand-frog, he began feeling a sharp pain from his left arm to the left tip of his tail. No one saw this coming, not even his nutritionist, who had previously stated that the Hutt was in prime condition. I was made privy to this information due to a call from my “friend”, Watto. Even as he delivered the news, I sensed something was amiss with the shifty Toydarian. When pressed, he confided in me that he was still very much broken up about his aunt’s passing. He had the gall to ask me if I’d be a pall-bearer at her funeral, which was scheduled for tomorrow. I told him, “no”.

Should Jabba die, the entire Tatooine underworld would be shaken to its core! Jabba’s the biggest provider of protection in these parts, and there are many aspiring gangsters that are salivating to fill his shoes, if he wore them, that is. By the way, before I forget…The baby DID spend the night in the hospital last night. Seems he had all kinds of things wrong with him, but I don’t know what, exactly. Beru could fill you in on this better than I could. He’s back with us, now, I think. But I could be wrong. Anyway, back to important matters. I don’t want to “jump the blaster” here, but if Jabba were to die, I think the new guy in charge would need a personal moisture-farming expert to help with updating the almanac, and all. I approached Jabba with this in the past, but he’s too “old school” to realize its potential value.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but if the hunk of lard did pass into the force, it may help me out considerably. This may turn out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me, I feel. There’s no reason to believe that anything can go wrong, at this point. Crazier things have happened, but you may now be looking at the newest member of Jabba’s Palace. Owen the Hutt. I like the sound of that.

Lars- out!


A nice drive home

Beru informed me this morning that the baby was sick. He apparently contracted a case of dust-mouth, a common illness when you live in the desert. She asked me to take her to town so they could see a doctor, but I reminded her that there is a warrant out for my arrest, and I can’t risk driving. She asked if she could use the speeder, but I told her that I had forgotten to renew the tags, and they’re now expired. She finally ended going with dad in his beat-up speeder, the one he just got working again. Since it’s only a two-seater, Beru drove as dad held the baby on his lap. With my rotten family away for the afternoon, I could finally relax.

After thumbing through the latest issue of “Speeder Trader” magazine, I started to get bored. I was innocently rummaging through dad’s room when I found some strange pills near his pillow. When I located the bottle, I was shocked to discover that they were prescription menstrual pain pills made out to Shmi Lars! Dang, dad will take anything! What a loser; he needs rehab, is what he needs!

After a couple of hours, there was still no word of the “fam“. Where could they be? Almost in horror, I remembered that I forgot to buy my space-lottery tickets, and there was a drawing this evening. Without any hesitation, I jumped in my speeder and drove to the Mos Eisley liquor store where I buy my tickets. After playing my numbers, I thought it would be a good idea to buy some “spirits” for the drive home. As I walked out of the store, I spotted Beru and dad walking back to their speeder. Beru was frantic, talking about how the baby was really sick, and they had to do all these tests, and something else I didn’t understand. Actually, I really wasn’t listening that much. My mind was on that beautiful bottle I was about to crack open. For some reason, Beru was crying. Dad did something mean to her, no doubt.

I had a great drive back. As I prepared for bed this evening, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard the baby crying all evening. Could it have stayed in the hospital? Oh, well, I’ll probably find out tomorrow.

Lars- out!


Pod racing season

Well, it’s almost pod racing season, and I’m starting to get really excited. My favorite pod racer is Klotos the Weequay. He’s the planetary champion right now. Even though Sebulba the Dug wins all the local Mos Espa races, besides that one that Anakin won, he could never touch Klotos. I’ve been a huge fan of his since he won his first planetary championship 3 seasons ago. Before he won, I hated him, but once he won I declared myself a super-fan, and went out and bought his jersey. Then the next year he didn’t do so well, and I hated him again and became a fan of the new champion. But he bounced back last year, and I was once again his number one fan. Through thick and thin!

I generally go to the cantina to watch the holo-casts of the races. Dad comes too, but before we get there, I need to make sure he didn’t bring the mortgage money with him, as he’s a degenerate gambler. Perhaps pod racing’s the one thing dad and I have in common, and enjoy sharing with each other. On the way to the cantina, we’ll talk about the latest injury report and the line. He almost always mentions the Anakin race, when he beat Sebulba, and refers to Anakin as “the son he never had”. But this year will be different, as Beru won’t be joining us. I mean, I’m not listening to a screaming baby during my races! She’ll have to stay home, and we’ll fill her in later.

Pre-season is just about to start, and I can’t even wait! Dad’s starting to get excited, too. A lot of people don’t know this, but when Shmi was kidnapped by the Tusken Raiders, dad waited 3 days before rounding up a posse to rescue her. You know why? It was the play-offs. That’s the power of pod racing!

Lars- out!


Serious Allegations

I received a really bad piece of mail today. It was a letter from the Mos Eisley Courthouse informing me that a bench warrant had been issued for my arrest for “failure to appear” in court. Shoot! I never did get around to calling them, probably due to all the problems with dad, the baby, and Obi-wan. It’s all their fault! And to think, all because of an innocent speeder accident. Had I not been on probation at the time of the accident, I would have been all right. I had some trouble a few years ago, and was put on five years probation. When I met Beru, she asked what I had done. I told her that there were some very serious allegations made against me- that’s all! That’s all she needed to know about it.

I paced the living room nervously, playing paddle-ball to help calm my nerves. I soon came to realize that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like the Mos Eisley Police were going to come all the way out here to arrest me. I’m sure they have better things to do, like catching criminals. Feeling better, I went out to do some farming. Dad was out on the south range holding an old tire with a rope tied to it. He had this crazy idea to put up a “tire swing” for the baby, but was now wandering around aimlessly, slowly realizing there was nothing to tie it to. What an idiot. He’s on this baby fix now, saying how it’s Shmi’s grandson, and how we need to love it. Whatever. Dad’s such a jerk. By tomorrow, he won’t even remember the baby’s name. That’s how he is.

Later, Watto called me. He was sobbing, saying that his aunt had died, or something. I could have cared less.

Lars- out!


Mr. Hothead

Today was the annual Tatooine Hot Sauce-Cooking Contest. Aspiring chefs from all over the planet meet in Mos Eisley at this time of year to attempt to be crowned “Mr. Hothead”. There’s a grand prize of 6000 credits for the winner, along with a year’s supply of BBQ-flavored puffed pork. Every year I enter my secret recipe, “Owen’s Own”, but I never seem to place in the top ten. Dad, on the other hand, enters his own secret sauce, and always finishes well. Last year he got second place, and this year he claims he perfected it enough to win. Whatever happens, I can’t let that happen! I’d rather a Tusken Raider take the grand prize than dad.

For the past several months, I’ve tried to perfect my sauce while simultaneously trying to sabotage dad’s. When dad was in rehab about 10 days ago, I was able to contaminate his entire stockpile of sauce by adding to it a bucket full of dirty toilet water. Don’t worry about the wasted water; it was due to be flushed, anyway. Dad didn’t seem to notice the change in flavor, and still thinks he’ll win the entire competition. Lately, I cringe every time dad lets the baby sample his sauce. Poor Beru tried it, too. I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Only fourteen life forms entered the contest this year. I guess when you live on a planet void of water, hot sauce isn’t the smartest thing to make, but we just can’t think of a better idea. I had a crappy old booth next to the garbage dumpster, while dad, because of his disability, was given an ultra-modern handicapped-accessible stage in the middle of town square. The Mos Eisley Chamber of Commerce kisses his butt so bad just because he’s crippled! Whatever. I’ll still beat him. My sauce will knock his sock off!

Unfortunately for me, Watto was one of the judges. He’s still mad that I went around town calling his sister an ugly Toydarian, so I felt he’d judge me harshly. Shevo, the cantina bartender was also a judge, but he’s upset with me for not paying my excessive bar tab when I said I would. As my luck would have it, the final judge was a Jawa that I bullied around in high school. To make it worse, his best friend is the father of the girl whose toy I tried to take yesterday, and his grandmother is the lady I sold the glider-chair to, the one that paid too much for it.

Feeling I had no chance, I did the only thing I could in my situation. I snuck over to dad’s stand and dumped his entire vat of hot sauce on the ground. Unexpectedly, some of it got in his face, stinging his eyes like a thousand volcanic embers. As I ran all the way home, I felt proud of myself for not losing.

Lars- out!