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.


The Empire

What a day of revelations! In the paper today was a story about the new “Galactic Empire”. It seems the story that Obi-wan told dad was true, about how Chancellor Palpatine crowned himself emperor. I guess Obi-wan didn’t lie about that one thing, but he still killed my brother; and I still suspect that he’s messing around with Beru. Anyway, back to the story. Apparently, all these changes were made a couple of months ago, but being way out her in the Outer Rim, we hear everything late.

The gist of the article was that was that The Empire is in the midst of building a gigantic battle station, but is severely understaffed. They are presently looking for people who are willing to donate their droids or their slaves to assist in the construction of the massive structure. In return, all willing participants will have their names added to The Empire’s weekly newsletter, and will be invited to a special “meet and greet”, where they will get to have lunch and hang out with an actual dark lord of the Sith.

The guy spear-heading the project, a dude named Governor Tarkin, will be in town tomorrow with a battalion of clone troopers to pick up the donations. My eyes lit up when I read that last part. When Tarkin gets here, I can let him know that Obi-wan is hiding out here on Tatooine. Then his clone troopers will arrest him and I’ll be rid of the menace for good! I might even get a reward; who knows? Either way, I was really psyched. The article said Governor Tarkin would be arriving at the Mos Eisley Flea Market at 3 PM. He asked that all donations be waiting in the parking lot when he arrives. I will be the first one there!

At dinner, the whole family discussed the new Empire. Beru was not very happy about it, saying that people could lose their freedoms. Dad said he respected the Sith, and would even like to join them, that is if his cheapskate son would ever buy him a bionic leg. As for me, I don’t care; it doesn’t affect me. Republic, Empire, condo association, it’s all the same to me. But if I had to choose, I’d go with The Empire, just because it’s a cool-sounding name.

After dinner, I walked by dad and purposely let some gas go in his face. He got so angry that he punched me in the butt. I could have cared less, though, as I’m walking on air. By this time tomorrow, my brother’s killer will be in the hands of The Empire. Hopefully they’ll torture him a little. Or a lot.

Lars- out!


Thy brother's wife

I had a terrible dream last night. I awoke in a cold sweat and my heart was racing at 26,766 miles per hour. The dream was so vivid that I had to accept it as a premonition, much like the powerful dreams that my brother, Anakin, used to have. The ones he had about his mother, Shmi, were so intense that he forsook his Jedi obligations to come here to Tatooine to try and rescue her. This story is widely known throughout these parts, for it was the first time I met my step-brother, and the last time. He came here with his hot girlfriend and his R2 unit, and left with my protocol droid. Although our meeting was brief, I still feel that some of his “force” may have rubbed off on me, and that’s why I’m having these chilling nightmares.

There has been a flurry of rumors that when Anakin left to find his mother, something my dad, Cliegg, failed miserably in, that I took advantage of the situation, and hit on his girlfriend while he was gone. Just to assure everyone, nothing could be further from the truth. I remember that evening like it was yesterday. The suns were going down, and Anakin had just been told that his mother had been kidnapped by Tusken Raiders about a month earlier. I was so ashamed that dad had failed so brilliantly in his rescue attempt. But that’s dad; untrustworthy. Without hesitation, Anakin borrowed my swoop bike and headed towards the Tusken camps. I so believed in Anakin’s mission that I didn’t even charge him for the Swoop gas. Unfortunately, this is where the nasty rumors begin.

In the latest version, concocted solely by my detractors; namely, dad and Beru, I convinced the bird (I believe her name was Padme), that her beau would likely never return, and that if she decided to be my girl, I would kick Beru to the curb. There was even talk that I tried to kiss her, but all of these claims are patently false. In reality, I had a bit to drink, but cannot remember making any “moves” on the young lassie. I’ll admit, freely, that I found her quite attractive, and that a very small part of me hoped Anakin would never return from the Raider’s camp. But he did, and at that point, I laid the whole Queen of Naboo thing to rest. That’s not to say that I don’t think about her from time to time, but now that I know she’s dead, and now that I’m raising her son, Luke, the attraction just isn’t quite the same. It’s very close, but still not the same.

Beru seemed jealous of her, as she should be. I think she suspected that something was going on, even though it wasn’t. Padme was way hotter than Beru, and I would have changed girlfriends in an instant, had the opportunity presented itself. But, unfortunately, we met under very auspicious circumstances, and it was hardly the time and place to land a new “booty call”. Beru was lucky that the “Clone Wars” were just commencing. Otherwise, Padme and I may have found ourselves to be great lovers.

I wish she wouldn’t have died in childbirth. She was so hot. So very, very hot! I think about her all the time. Sometimes, when I’ve had too much to drink, I like to remind Beru of how hot that bird was. She never seems to like it, but that’s her problem. Beru doesn’t deal with “constructive criticism” very well. She’s so juvenile.

Anyway, to explain what my powerful dreams are, and what they mean, would take too much time. But I will try to capsulate it like this: Anakin’s bird goes way out of her way to seduce me, and being such a softy, I let her. Then the fate of the entire galaxy rests on my next decision: should I dump Beru and keep the hotter bird? The answer is SO simple! Yes! Man, I wish all of this was more real! Due to these extreme premonitions, I think something great is about to come my way. I can’t tell what, exactly, but something. Either way, that bird was fit as Mustafar! See above photo if you don’t believe me.

Lars- out!


A throbbing headache

I drank quite a bit last night, so much so that I vomited violently this morning. The strength of the upchuck was so great that I busted a blood vessel in my eye. My pores reeked of alcohol; my armpits, especially. They smelled just like a pretty strong mixed drink, without an umbrella, but with an extra wedge of lime. Living on Tatooine is great, especially when you are hung-over. There’s nothing like waking up with a throbbing headache and walking outside to face not one, but two blazing suns! The brightness seemed almost impossible, as if it would burn a hole in my corneas. After only a couple of moments, I had to go back inside and plant my face inside my space-toilet for what seemed hours.

At about half past noon, Beru came to me to see if I was all right. She was carrying a load of dad’s laundry with her. I was a little curious as to why all his clothes were covered in ketchup. I just don’t get it; we don’t even keep ketchup in the house. Not even when we have space-meatloaf. Or was he hunting without me, again? I wouldn’t be surprised. Dad’s not too loyal. I’m glad that his fiancé accidentally died. He deserves it.

A few hours later, I was feeling much better. I even managed a bit of farming, nothing to write home about, you understand, but the effort was there. Or, at least I tried to feign effort. Either way, as far as the family knew, I was trying. Dad was out all day, and returned about half past six. His glider-chair was obviously on turbo-mode, as he nearly plowed me over, but I could have sworn I saw him holding what looked like a full-scale replica of a Jawa in his lap. Now where does dad find the money for an authentic alien replication, when we can’t even pay the speeder insurance bill? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the expensive figure was actually moving in a lifelike way. What does that mean? It must mean that dad paid extra to add animatronics to his new “collectable”. Well, I’ll tell you what, if he has money to pay for that, I hope he can pitch in a couple of credits to help with gas and wine. If not, then he’s a selfish swine!

A while later, I heard a lot of strange noises coming from dad’s room. I think he’s been trying to learn Jawa-ese lately, as I heard what seemed to be a recording of the Jawa language playing in very realistic decibel levels. Probably his new mannequin came with a voice feature, as well. Must have cost a pretty shilling, I’d guess. In a totally unrelated story, the police still have no leads in that Jawa serial killer matter.

Lars- out!


A bloody shock!

I had a very unpleasant sleep last night. I awoke several times due to an irregular itching in my nether regions. That old Jedi proverb is true, “He who goes to bed with itchy butt wakes up with stinky finger.” I got up very early today, early enough to enjoy breakfast with the rest of the family. Before washing my hands, I forced Beru to smell my fingers several times. She was a bit disgusted. It was really funny. All of us ate our cereal together. Dad pointed out that he loves the word cereal, but favors an alternate spelling; whatever that means. He seemed a bit ornery this morning, making several harsh comments about Jawas. I found it a tad tasteless, given the present circumstances that the Jawas are dealing with. His favorite comment was, “The only good Jawa is a dead Jawa”. He repeated this line fourteen and a half times during the meal. Dad’s so tactless. What a time to go off on Jawas. Why can’t he choose his moments better?

Halfway through the meal, I decided to break the news to dad that his Jawa friends were brutally murdered. I expected him to break down in tears, but instead I saw what almost looked like a proud grin on his face. Damn the human psyche; it sometimes causes us to react in an antithesis way! Poor dad; his friends were now gone, but his mourning would have to wait until his hysterical laughter had subsided. Damn the human psyche!

As dad glided away from the table, whistling, a metallic object fell from his robe pocket. He didn’t notice the occurrence, so I picked it up in order to return it to him. I was beside myself, however, upon learning what the object was. It was a large, serrated hunting knife covered in ketchup. Upon closer examination, all the pieces of the puzzle came together in one fell swoop. At that moment, I knew exactly what had been going on! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen the signs? This whole time, the truth was staring at me point-blank, and I was oblivious to it. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it. But here was the cold, hard truth screaming in my face for attention. A truth I conveniently ignored, out of ignorance, no doubt. The ketchup on the blade wasn’t ketchup, at all. It was blood! Blood from an innocent creature that my father, Cliegg Lars, had slain in cold blood.

In a moment of complete clarity, I decided that I needed to confront him, immediately. I practically kicked down his bedroom door and grabbed him by the collar forcefully. “How could you, How could you?”, is all I could let out in my anguish. The fear on his face was palpable. He had been found out, that much was clear. He started to beg forgiveness, but I told him to save it. There was very little he could do at that point to earn my forgiveness. When I was a young boy, dad used to take me out hunting all the time. We would kill Womp-Rats, Duermies, and space-squirrels, but never once did dad go out hunting without me! The very fact that his latest hunting expedition was a solo one broke my heart. How could he go out and hunt these very delicious animals without me being there? I don’t know if I can ever forgive him. Unexpectedly, dad seemed almost relieved after my tirade had finished. It was almost as though he thought my suspicions lie elsewhere. Where in Mustafar would that be? Dad’s so weird! Must be the death-sticks! Go smoke another one, pops, you friggin’ loser! Tonight you lost a hunting buddy. That’s what you did!

Lars- out!


Dead Jawas

This whole Jawa mess is starting to get out of control. They found another two bodies last night. Word is that the police are using their shortest officers to dress as Jawas in hopes of luring the serial killer. But the problem is that they never know where he’s going to strike. Because Jawas are nomads, they have no real home base. The sand crawlers they travel around in are pretty solid fortresses, so they seem to be protected as long as they stay inside them; or so we thought. That theory was proved wrong today.

The newest victims, a family of Jawas selling scrap metal from their sand crawler, were found dead inside the massive vehicle. When the Mos Eisley P.D. found the abandoned sand crawler, it was parked less than a quarter-mile from our property. The police questioned us, living so close, and all. They wanted to know if we had heard or seen anything. They explained to us that the newest victims must have known their killer, for there were no signs of forced entry. Also, the killer left no tracks, which suggests to the police that he rides on some type of glider-apparatus. Beru and I spoke to the cops, but dad wouldn’t come out of his room, stating that he was sick.

We were shown photos of the grizzly crime scene. I immediately recognized the family of Jawas; for they’re the same ones that dad deals with all the time. In fact, he knows them very well; he’ll be heartbroken when he hears about this. As soon as the police left, dad left his bedroom and nearly ran me over with his glider-chair in his haste to leave the house. He seemed to be perspiring a lot, and he had spilled what seemed to be ketchup all over the sleeve of his robe. What a slob! I asked him where he was going, but he was already too far away in the distance.

Later, when I was in dad’s room looking for hidden money, I happened across something queer under his bed. It was a brown robe with a hood, something that would fit a midget. It was ripped in several place and covered in ketchup. What a strange thing to keep under one’s bed. Dad is such an eccentric.

I really hope they catch this serial killer, but it may not happen for a while. With very little clues and absolutely no leads, it’ll most likely be an arduous road ahead. This guy is obviously very smart, and covers all bases. Oh, well, it’s not my problem; I’m not a Jawa.

Lars- out!


The P.O. droid

I had to visit my P.O. today. I headed to Mos Eisley early so I wouldn’t have to wait in a long line when I got there. My probation oversight fees were due today, but I didn’t have any money. I wasn’t worried, however, as I’ve sweet-talked the guy many times in the past with success. I usually just come up with some cockamamie excuse, and he almost always buys it. While waiting my turn, I read some of the newspaper. It seems like they found another dead Jawa. That brings the total up to seven. The Jawa community is understandably nervous, having a serial killer out there targeting it. Even though I can’t stand Jawas because they’re different from me, I still think this guy is a real sicko. Further into the article, it stated that the police have no leads. They should go question Obi-wan; he loves to kill!

It was finally my turn, and upon walking into his office, my heart nearly stopped. My pushover P.O. had been replaced by a droid! He was nothing like the old guy; this one was cold and down-to-business. There wasn’t any, “How’s Beru and Luke”, or, “Did you catch that pod race last night”, the droid got right down to brass tacks. He asked for my oversight fee, and even opened up a credit card slot in his chest for easy payment. I explained to him that I didn’t have any money, and began offering an excuse when he stopped me short. He told me cut-and-dry that if didn’t come up with the money in one hour, he would issue an arrest warrant for violation of probation.

Great! How on Tatooine would I come up 89 credits in an hour? I went straight to the cantina to ask some of my buddies for a loan. They all had a good laugh, saying that I was the kind of guy you could give a credit to and never have to worry about seeing it again. I finally had to resort to begging them, but to no avail. I told them all to go to Mustafar and left the bar, slamming the door behind me. I only had 35 minutes left. What was I going to do?

As I stood on the road pondering my next play, Lady Luck paid me a visit. She arrived in the form of an old lady who asked me if I could help her cross the street. Around her shoulder was a fairly large purse, and her wallet was partially sticking out of it. I told the senile old bag that I would be more than happy to assist her. As we walked, my hand stealthly made its way to the wallet. I slowly grabbed it and tucked it inside my robes. When we reached the other side, she was so grateful for the assistance that she offered to give me a tip. As she began to search for her wallet, I told her that it wasn’t necessary. But she insisted, so I took off running. In my haste to leave the scene, I plowed over a group of handicapped kids on a field trip. My bad.

I got back to the P.O.’s office just in time. The woman’s wallet contained over 100 credits, more than enough for my fee. As I was leaving, the P.O. reminded me that I need to have 20 hours of community service logged by next month’s meeting. Frickin’ P.O. droids!

Lars- out!


Bad checks and bad neighbors

I had to do the grocery shopping today. Beru used to do it, but she would always spend too much money buying nonsense like baby food. Not that I like doing it, but if Beru continues, she’ll put us in the poor house. Armed with a fistful of space-coupons, I entered Mos Eisley Foods. The experience started off bad, as they were fresh out of puffed pork. Next, I dropped a jar of tomato sauce on the ground, and it shattered, spraying sauce all over my sandals and robes. The clean-up droid wasn’t at all friendly, and gave me a look as if to suggest that I dropped the jar on purpose. What a jerk. Then, as I was walking down the cereal aisle, an old lady hit me right in the ankles with her cart. The pain was excruciating! In anger, I turned, grabbed her cart, and violently flipped it over. She would end spending the next twenty minutes cleaning up the mess.

When I finally got to the check-out, my debit card was declined. I offered to write them a check, but they got me on their “bad checks” list. In fact, there’s a pretty good-sized photo of me behind every register in the store. They must think I’m handsome. With no credits on me, I asked if I could just pay them the next time I came to the store. The girl behind the register laughed. In anger, I violently flipped the cart over and walked out.

When I got home, Beru asked me where all the groceries were. I told her to piss off. Dad was in his room, sobbing. Dang! When’s he going to get over that, already. I went out to do some farming, but found that my heart wasn’t into it. I went into the living room to look for change in the sofa so I could buy some space-snuff, when the most familiar scent entered my nose. It was Obi-wan’s cologne! The S.O.B. was here, in my house! I confronted Beru immediately. She admitted that he had come by to leave dad a condolence card. She showed me the card, and I immediately tore it to pieces. I just know something went on between those two while I was gone, and in front of my sweet, precious Luke, at that. But I knew better than to expect honesty from the wench, so I went into my room and slammed the door behind me.

It seems like I can’t even leave the house anymore. Everyone is so rotten to me. Later, dad passed out on Rotta’s newly dug grave. Oh, great, so we’re starting that again!

Lars- out!