Unwanted guests

Like most days, I started today with a good, violent vomit. I think this a good way to relieve my body of excessive levels of toxins, such as those found in my alcoholic beverages. Some times, near the end, there’s some blood present, but not much. In my hurry to get it all out, I carelessly sprayed the bright-yellow liquid all over the toilet, walls, and ceiling. I yelled for Beru to come clean it up. As she scrubbed up my bile on her hands and knees, I watched to make sure she got it all. If I had a credit for every time she misses a spot of my puke, I’d be wealthy enough to hire a maid and could kick Beru to the curb. Beru asked me politely not to vomit tomorrow morning, as her parents will be staying here tonight. I told her to piss off.

After lunch, we all hopped in the speeder (dad and the baby on Beru’s lap) and headed to Mos Eisley. We met the Whitesuns at a very posh resort where the “we have more money than we know what to do with” convention was held earlier today. Her parents and her sister ran out to greet her, hugging her and kissing the baby. When I approached the group, however, their smiles disappeared. They never liked me; they’re just jealous. In cold tones they acknowledged me and dad’s presence, then went right back to their joyous reunion with Beru. Beru’s sister, Paledueto, looked as hideous as ever, with her black-dyed hair, stupid glasses, and lipstick so red, you’d think she was a woman of ill repute. I can’t stand her. If she was hot, I could probably stand her.

After the awkward reunion, the Whitesuns rented a fancy speeder and followed me back to the homestead. I purposely drove really fast, hoping to lose them, but in the middle of the Dune Sea, it’s hard to lose someone. Since they ate at their convention, we weren’t required to feed their fat faces (especially Mrs. Whitesun, she’s a space-cow.; on many occasions, I told Beru that if I even suspect that she’s gaining weight, I’m breaking up with her). Instead of having a dinner tonight, it was decided that we would have a “family” meal tomorrow. Whatever.

I had to sleep with dad in his room tonight. I know what you’re thinking: why would I allow those obnoxious Whitesuns use of my room, when the obvious thing to do would be to make them sleep in the workshop? It’s very simple: I put a whole bunch of itching powder between the sheets of my bed. When they wake up itching like crazy, I’ll tell them that I have a bad case of space-lice. That will freak them right out!

It didn’t take me long to realize I had made a mistake. First off, dad’s room reeked of rotting corpses, for some reason. Secondly, dad had broken his space-cot, forcing me to sleep in the same bed with him. His night-jar was placed strategically between us. I told dad that I drew the line at him leaving the lid off, but he punched me in the eyebrow because of the suggestion. He fell right asleep, snoring like a chainsaw. Before long, he began talking in his sleep, talking about how he wants to brutally slaughter every Jawa he sees and eat their innards. Man, dad’s watching way too much news. But the final straw was when the night-jar fell over, soaking the back of my night-robes.

In disgust, I slipped off all my clothes and ran into the bathroom to take a hot shower. I didn’t realize that Paledueto was using the bathroom at the time. She screamed bloody murder, causing her parents and Beru to awaken. Admittedly, when they all stormed the bathroom, the scene must have looked bad. In fact, Beru kept saying, “Why, Owen, why?” I tried to explain that dad had peed on me. They didn’t believe me. I hate them all.

Lars- out!

The Whitesuns

Well, I got the clone trooper helmet’s communicator to work, but all I got was static. The Empire must be too far out of range. I’ll just have to keep trying until they’re closer to the planet. Oh, well, I got time. I couldn’t resist the urge, however, to wear the mask for a little while. I ran all over the house, pretending I was a clone trooper. Then I moved the show outside, having little adventures in the backyard. I couldn’t tell you how many cool somersaults I did, but it was a lot.

I also had some fun scaring the baby. Every time he saw me in the helmet he started crying. To make the experience even more frightful for him, I shrieked like a Tusken Raider. He soon became hysterical, and Beru had to tend to him. I told her to shut that baby up. Luke’s such a wimp; he’s not brave and courageous like me. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a space-ballerina, or something.

I heard some terrible news today. It seems that Beru’s family, the Whitesuns, want to pay us a visit this weekend. Mr. Whitesun has a convention to attend in Mos Eisley tomorrow, and is bringing the rest of the family so that they can visit us after. Great! That’s all I needed. We don’t see them that often, as they live on the other side of Tatooine; the rich side. I just hate when they show up here with all their manners and class. It makes me sick! As you could probably imagine, dad doesn’t get along with them, either. In fact, he downright hates them. Especially Mr. Whitesun, who always makes dad feel inferior. This will be an interesting weekend.

Beru has been ecstatic ever since she heard the news. This will be the first time her parents have seen the new baby. She spent most of the day cleaning the house, singing as she worked. I was afraid that she was getting too happy, so I knocked her down a peg or two by telling her that she was nowhere near the woman that Padme was, in looks or in class. She stopped singing.

When I broke the news about the Whitesuns to dad, he became irate. He told me that I was worthless for ever getting involved with Beru and her arrogant family. Now, why does he want to go and hurt somebody’s feelings, like that? I didn’t do anything to him. In frustration, he slammed the door in my face. What a jerk!

Before bed, Beru told the baby all about his “grandparents”. Beru’s so stupid: babies don’t understand anything when you talk to them. What a galactic waste of time. She told me she hoped the visit with her parents would go smoother than last time, when dad got drunk and kept hitting on her little sister. I told her nothing like that would happen this time, and that we’d all be on our best behavior, so as not to embarrass her in front of her lovely family.

But I was lying.

Lars- out!

Beru does the #2!

I awoke early today, due to an irregular itching in my anal region. The same thing occurred just days ago, but I dismissed that as “failure to wash syndrome”. The weird thing about this was that I had bathed just last night, and my “exit only” should have been clean as a whistle. In the end, I had to “pin” the blame on pin worms, no pun intended; those nasty night-stalkers that make your nether-regions pucker in fear. This time, the smell of my putrid phalanges was so bad that I immediately washed them with bleach and rubbing alcohol. There was no opportunity for me to make Beru smell the infected digits, much to the chagrin of my “bad” self; the one that hopes that Beru will never escape the rancid aroma of a grown man’s irresponsibly-kept anus hole.

I received a wonderful phone call this morning. Austin, the electronics expert that was working on my clone trooper helmet, called to tell me that he had fixed my communicator. My spirits were lifted due to this great piece of news. Living so far from Mos Espa, I asked him if he could wait until next week before I picked up said helmet. About the best piece of news came next. He said that my pal, Watto, was coming into my neck of the woods today, and if it was alright with me, he’d just give the helmet to Watto to deliver, then I could just pay the winged freak, instead. OHHHHHH, yes!

I couldn’t wait until my communicator helmet arrived, and the very anticipation caused me to pace the living room, dining room, basketball court, solarium, home theatre, sauna, heated indoor pool, recreation room, all seven inner courtyards, hedge mazes, greenrooms, disco parlors, and all other rooms that I do not own, nor have ever seen. In fact, I don’t even know what I have just said.

Watto arrived quite late, even for my standards. I told him to piss off; after he had handed me the helmet, that is. He demanded some kind of payment, but I told him that if he didn’t back the force off, he would suffer the same fate that I imposed on his dear sister, Rotta. Alarmed, he demanded clarification as to my bold statement, but because I was already drunk, I resorted to my final trump card: a really nasty picture of him dressed scantily in a seductive pose. Scared as a hummingbird, the freak fluttered off. Watto’s a jackass, don’t mind him. He’s all talk and little action; unlike me.

I finally had a plausible way to contact The Empire. At last, after these two grueling months, I could finally hold my head up high and rat out my worthless Jedi neighbor. I was so excited; I thought I’d piss my robes. Beru couldn’t sleep, due to an unseemly sunsburn she had acquired, unfortunately due to her own recklessness. Desperately needing her to go away while I attempted my contact, I told the female dog that she was looking rather “thick” tonight, and that she should probably go weigh herself. In tears, Beru fled the living room. She must have gotten a drop of hot sauce in her eye. She’s such a clumsy ho.

I tinkered with the white-armored helmet for about two minutes, hardly enough time to figure out the futuristic mechanism, when Beru exited the bathroom. Without thinking, that cankerous girlfriend of mine left the Jon door open. Within seconds, the aroma of her “Butt Leavings” filled the air. Whoa, what a stench that was! In my twenty-some years as a living organism, I have never smelled anything quite as foul as that. And this is coming from somebody who’s quite familiar with the smell of dad’s “night jar”.

Without hesitation, I let Beru know how nasty she was for doing such a thing. She seemed rather embarrassed, but that didn’t quell my tirade. The bird does the dirty #2?! I was shocked to my very essence! During the last three years, I was never made privy to the fact that she had this kind of nastiness in her. At this point, I’m totally disgusted, and from this point on, I will find it very hard to even hold hands with her! What a sick chick I ended up with! She makes Rotta seem like a supermodel. Oh, Beru, you’re so nasty beyond belief. How I long for the day when I can cast you aside for a much more beautiful woman, one that doesn’t feel the need to defecate any time it suits her. In fact, during the whole period that Padme and I were acquainted, I don’t remember her using the bathroom facilities even once, whether to do #1 or #2. She’s probably just way classier than you could ever dream to be. As soon as I collect some Padme DNA, it’s all over between me and Beru. And good riddance, I say. You know what really sucks? I got to pee real bad, but cannot, due to the foul stench left by an uncaring, sick woman posing as a loving girlfriend. Why in the name of the force was I paired with such a venomous woman? It must be some kind of celestial joke.

Lars- out!

A letter from Dagobah

My quest to find a pilot at the cantina proved fruitless. In fact, the entire bar was shut down after a surprise visit by the Health Inspector. The cantina failed the inspection in every major category. The biggest infringement of Health Department guidelines came when it was discovered that the “Volcano Nachos” were made with Bantha meat. Gross. I’ll never order those again. Still needing a drink, I was forced to buy package liquor and drink it in an alley with some Ithorians. One tried to get fresh with me, so I left.

I spent a good part of today organizing my sock drawer. It was way too hot to go out farming, so I made Beru and the baby do it, instead. Once again, Beru failed to take the necessary precautions, and the baby got a nasty sunsburn. Later, dad realized that I had eaten the last of his sunsflower seeds, and read me the riot act. I was in no mood for his tirade, so I flung him out of his chair and began kicking him. In retaliation, he bit my ankle hard enough to draw blood. It was pretty much a typical day, that is, until the mail arrived.

The mailman accidentally left an envelope addressed to Obi-wan in our mailbox. The postmark was from the Dagobah System, and the sender was someone called, “Yoda”. I eagerly opened the letter and read it. It took me a while to sift through it, due to an unusually high level of bad grammar. Most of it was fluff; Yoda complaining about swamps and being bored, and he even inquired as to how Obi-wan’s communications with the dead were going. Crazy wizards! But the big shock was still to come.

At the end of the letter, Yoda implored Obi-wan to come visit him soon, and to ask the Lars family if they would allow him to bring Luke on the trip so they could give him a Pre-Jedi Training Assessment, otherwise known as the PJTA. EXCUSE ME? Who does this guy think he is? If he thinks I’m going to let that murderer take my precious son, Luke, to some distant planet, he’s crazy! Why, so he can brutally butcher him, as well? And if they think I’m going to let them train Luke to be a Jedi, they’re smoking death sticks! In anger, I ripped the letter into a million pieces and threw them into the wind.

I was fuming all evening. To make myself feel better, I took my aggravation out on Beru. The nerve of those Jedi! I’m glad they’re all rotting in a Coruscant prison. Hopefully I’ll get my clone trooper helmet back soon, so I can communicate with The Empire and let them know where to find Obi-wan and his illiterate colleague. Before bed, I had to go outside and pick up a million pieces of shredded paper. The garbage men are slobs.

Lars- out!

The family from Mustafar

DNA. Where in blazes am I going to find samples of Padme’s DNA? First, I’ll have to find out where they buried her. Since she was from Naboo, it’s probably safe to assume that they laid her to rest there. The problem is that I can’t leave the planet as a condition of my probation. Besides, I’ve never left Tatooine, and therefore I don’t have a passport. I’ll have to find a pilot down at the cantina that’s willing to travel to Naboo, find Padme’s grave, dig up her body, and cut off one of her arms. No- her head. I will have to proceed cautiously in selecting the perfect pilot for the mission.

Dad was in an especially weird mood today. After lunch, I caught him rubbing red paint all over his face. Half-dozen little brown robes were strewn carelessly around his room. Why is he collecting those? They couldn’t possibly fit him. When he noticed me watching him, he told me that my birth was a mistake and slammed his bedroom door. In a totally unrelated story, the Jawa serial killer has struck again, this time slaughtering a family of six innocent Jawas.

Beru was in the kitchen doing dishes. She was whistling a cheery tune as she worked. I told the annoying woman to shut her trap. Man, I can’t wait until I have my very own Padme so I can send Beru packing. Let her go raise the baby in the projects, for all I care. Padme is way hotter than Beru; she’s an obvious upgrade.

I got a bunch of farming done, collecting over 3 ¾ ounces of water. I was so proud of myself, I ran inside to show Beru. One of the baby’s toys was carelessly left out in the walkway, and wouldn’t you know it, I tripped over it. Not only did I lose all the water, but the glass shattered in my hand, causing me to bleed profusely. In a fit of rage, I tore the baby a new one. Beru implored me to stop yelling at him, so I told her to piss off. During the commotion, dad came out of his room, and upon seeing my bloody hand, began licking the blood off my fingers like a starving Ugnaught. What the heck has gotten into him? I pushed the nasty SOB away, announcing to all of them that they can burn in Mustafar.

My distain with my family has reached new heights. I need to replace them all, as they do nothing for me. It seems like I was born to serve others, or something. I pondered all these thoughts as Beru gave me a very long and thorough massage. Afterwards, she asked if I could rub her neck for a second, as she had a painful crick. I told her no. Instead, I let her give me the rest of her money, so I could go drink at the cantina. She said all she had left was money for space-diapers. I told her to the baby could relieve himself in a plastic bag, for all I care. My need was much more urgent. I needed to find a pilot, and pilots expect you to buy them drinks.

Lars- out!

The Kaminoan

I played with the communicator in the clone trooper helmet all last night and some of today, yet could not get it to function. I even got R2 to look at it, but he’s not working so well since the last time I took him apart. Finally, I had no choice but to send it out to a guy that Watto knows who is good with electronics. This afternoon, I made the long voyage to Mos Espa and met Watto for lunch. I was under the impression that Watto was going to pay, so I purposely ordered the most expensive things on the menu, even though I didn’t want them. When it came time for the bill, Watto “conveniently” had to use the restroom. He was gone a long time, forcing me to pay. The jerk even had the nerve to order the most expensive things on the menu, even though he didn’t want them. What kind of person does that?

We dropped the helmet off at Watto’s friend’s shop. He told me it might take a few days for him to fix it. Great. Since I was already in town, we decided to go watch a pod race. Watto had to change his clothes, so we first went to his apartment. While he got dressed in his bedroom, I rummaged through his personal belongings, looking for money to “borrow”. I didn’t find any credits, but I did find something rather interesting. Under a stack of bills in his junk drawer was a stack of photographs. They were glamour photos of Watto in all kinds of provocative poses. What the heck? I chuckled at the sheer ridiculousness of Watto in his undies, looking over his shoulder with a brooding stare. I decided to keep a couple of them in order to blackmail him later.

Once at the pod race, we bought our tickets and found our seats. Every time I go to an event like this, I always end up sitting next to a weird or stinky alien; today was no different. My seat was right next to a Kaminoan. Those tall and skinny life forms freak me out. But this one was pretty cool. He introduced himself as Kun La, and said that he used to work as a cloner on Kamino. He was fired by the Prime Minister, Lama Su, for conducting rather strange experiments with the clones. He retired to Tatooine because he was sick of being surrounded by water. What an extremist.

To be honest, I enjoyed talking to Kun more than the race, itself. He gave me his card, and told me that if I ever wanted a clone made, he’d do it for me, as he still has all of his old equipment. During the drive home, a lightning bolt went off in my head. If only I could find some of her DNA, I could have my very own Padme!

Lars- out!

The helmet of salvation

Today was going to be the day; the end was growing near for my nemesis, Kenobi. I woke up early, and was giddy as a schoolgirl. As I blow-dried my hair, I fantasized about what life will be like once Obi-wan’s in the hands of The Empire. I was so excited, I giggled to my self in the bathroom mirror. Not wanting to miss this rare opportunity to get a message to The Empire, I decided to leave for Mos Eisley early.

I eagerly jumped in my speeder and turned the ignition, but the speeder failed to start. Great! I would have used dad’s beat-up speeder, but lately there has been a horrible smell in it, almost like rotting corpses. I decided it would be best just to fix my speeder, as I still had a couple of hours before Governor Tarkin’s arrival. The repairs were more difficult than I thought they’d be, so I ended up Tusken-rigging it. With very little time left, I finally got the thing working. I sped to Mos Eisley as fast as I could.

When I arrived at the flea market, there was already a huge crowd. In the center of the sea of people were several Republic gun ships, or Imperial gun ships, rather. A squad of clone troopers was escorting droids and slaves onto the ships. A dignified man with a hollow, almost skeletal face addressed the crowd, thanking them for their donations. That must be Governor Tarkin. I had to get to him, but the crowd was so massive.

I pushed and shoved through the crowd, sometimes knocking over an old woman or a child, but politely asking the men to let me pass. I was almost to Tarkin, and could smell the sweet scent of victory. All I had to do was get past a group of Jawas, but they’d be easy to knock over. I pushed one down, but the others didn’t take too kindly to it. They viciously attacked me, kicking my kneecaps and punching me in the butt. I told them I was going to kill them all, and this was my first mistake. A nearby police officer overheard me, and must have thought I was the Jawa serial killer. A swarm of Mos Eisley police jumped me and put me in handcuffs. Governor Tarkin looked on as the cops made the arrest. I tried to yell out to him that Obi-wan is here on Tatooine, but he didn’t hear me over the screaming cops. Police brutality!

I was sent to the police station and was interrogated for a long time. I explained the situation, and because of lack of evidence, they released me. They told me not to leave town, though. Where would I go? I’m on probation! Free at last, I raced back to the flea market, hoping that Tarkin was still there. But, of course, he wasn’t. The massive crowd had dispersed, and my one chance to get a message to The Empire had vanished. Or had it? A clone trooper had left his helmet behind. Inside it I found a communicator, but couldn’t figure out how it worked. If only I could learn to use it, I may be able to communicate with The Empire. Kenobi’s not off the hook quite yet.

Lars- out!