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.


An innocent man

They say that defense wins championships; that’s why dad is such a jerk! He’s all bragging today about how the Farmer’s Union of Tatooine wants to present an award to him for being a good farmer and a stand-up citizen. Are you kidding, the guy has one leg! Besides, I’m the one that does all the farming; dad hasn’t done a thing since Shmi died.

His new thing is going around the house asking everyone, “How many prestigious awards were YOU honored with today?” Of course, the answer’s always, “none.” At that point, he’ll cackle in your face and call you a loser. When he did it to Mrs. Whitesun, she began to cry.

Paleduto is pissing me off, as well. She had the nerve to dispose of her soiled feminine napkin in MY toilet, and didn’t even have the courtesy to flush it. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at; it was like someone miscarried, or something. What a filthy woman! I hope I never have to be related to her.

At about noon, everyone left for the courthouse. I stayed behind today, not wanting to subject myself to that torture. Dad stayed behind, claiming that every woman he had ever loved had been killed. That had nothing to do with it; he just likes to keep reminding us. Dad went off to his room to begin practicing his acceptance speech. He asked me if he could borrow my R2 unit, to help hold his note cards. I told him that R2 is a sophisticated Astromech droid, and there’s no way I’m going allow him to be used for such a trivial purpose. Incensed, dad slammed the door in my face.

Later, dad emerged from his room, ornery as ever. He probably misplaced his death sticks stash again. He flew off the handle when he walked in the living room to see R2 picking the toe-jam out from between my toes with one of his attachments. A huge argument ensued, in which dad told me he wished he was a Sith, so he could kill me with blue lightning. In return, I told the rotten old man to move to Hoth and freeze to death.

The fight was just becoming physical when Beru and the Whitesuns walked in the door. They had brought a surprise with them: Mr. Whitesun. At first, I thought they had busted him out of the clink, and I was strangely turned on by Beru, but when I heard that wasn’t the case at all, the attraction vanished.

In actuality, Mr. Whitesun was exonerated and released after three more Jawas were found savagely murdered early this morning. Looks like the police had the wrong guy, all together. For some strange reason, dad looked really nervous after hearing this, and sped off to his room. He didn’t slam the door.

Lars- out!


Blind justice

I stayed at a posh resort last night, where my every whim was catered to, and my last wish was granted. This place was awesome! I was treated like the royal duke of Tatooine, a feeling that I have never known in all my years. It seems that when you throw money around, people respond differently to you. Who knew? Unfortunately, I was already too drunk to enjoy it, and feel I may have cheated myself ever so slightly.

A particularly brazen bellhop actually put his hand out in a deliberate attempt to collect a gratuity! I told the SOB (because he was of a much smaller frame and weight class than me) that he needed to back off before I punched him in the butt. The manager soon got involved, and I was “asked” to leave. I made a huge scene in the lobby, which ended with me mooning the entire staff. I’ll never go to that hotel again!

Trolling the sun-drenched dirt roads of Mos Eisely, I was surprised to see Beru and dad in front of the courthouse. They were there with Mrs. Whitesun and Paledueto. Apparently, it was day one of Mr. Whitesun’s murder trial. Cool, I’ll go watch it with them, and then I’ll have a ride home. I joined the group, who inquired as to my absence and to the loss of my speeder. I told them that I was accosted by a roving band of Sith. I think they bought it.

The courtroom was packed with dozens of Jawas. A sudden quiet fell over the crowd when Mr. Whitesun was led into the room in shackles. His defense lawyer, “Snoopy” McFarland, Considered by many to be the best on Tatooine, dazzled the jury with a brilliant opening statement. After that, however, it started getting really boring. I decided to pass the time making vulgar sounds by cupping my hands together. Whenever someone would look at me, I’d point at Beru. After what seemed an eternity, the judge recessed court for the day. I’ll make sure not to come back tomorrow.

On the steps outside the courthouse, a major fracas ensued. A group of Jawa protesters began throwing their feces at Mrs. Whitesun. It looked like a lot of fun, so I joined them. I managed to hit her square in the face with her mouth open. She was not amused. The ride home was uncomfortable because Mrs. Whitesun smelled like crap really bad. What a nasty woman!

Later on, I received a call from Kun La, the Kaminoan cloner I met at the pod race. He asked if I had any luck procuring DNA for my proposed clone. I told him that I was still working on it. In fact, the idea struck me that I should use the leftover money from my speeder sale to hire a pilot who’s willing to fly to Naboo for me. I feel I’m getting a lot closer to the day when I’ll have my very own Padme!

Lars- out!


A generic post

I ran away from home today. No longer desiring to be a “doormat” for my ungrateful family, I headed off into the suns. Before I left, I packed up a couple of bags of puffed pork, my snuff, my spittoon, my electro binoculars, my R2 unit, and my egg holder (it holds eggs). Beru was busy with her family, and dad was busy being a jerk, so nobody noticed my leaving. A small part of me wanted to say goodbye to the baby, but I blew my nose and got that idea out of my head really quick. I jumped in my speeder, which had a full tank of gas (siphoned from Obi-wan’s swoop bike, no less), and left Dodge.

I drove straight to the Mos Eisely spaceport station. Upon my arrival at said station, I quickly found a buyer for my speeder. The creature offered me 1200 credits for the hunk of junk, and I accepted. That would be more than enough money for me to land a ticket to a nearby planet, such as Alkuhhity, or the very famous Ginnertstalltion. My heart raced in excitement, most likely due to the fact that I’ve never left this planet. I would finally, after twenty-some-odd years, be a space-traveler. I couldn’t wait!

I approached the ticket clerk with great earnest. The woman, an ill-tempered Rodian with gangly skin, asked me for my passport. My heart sank, as I do not possess a passport, yet couldn’t, even if I wanted to, because of my probation. In no uncertain terms, the broad told me to go to Mustafar, something I did not take very well. Without cursing her entire bloodline, I told the woman that at least two of her subsequent descendants will most likely inherent a degenerative disease that can only be cured by Peptol-Bismol, a remedy not known in this galaxy. Want to screw with Owen Lars? I’ll teach you!

Having to go #2 really bad, I ventured to the spaceport men‘s room. Upon entering the vial chamber, I almost gagged at the sight of a thousand whiteheads covering the main bathroom mirror. At first, I didn’t know what it was, but after a fellow human popped a zit that squirted all over the mirror, I became enlightened. Nasty! It was very hard to view my very attractive facial features through a sea of white paste.

Trying hard to forget the grotesque image, I stood in front of the urinal, hoping to the force that my enlarged prostate would allow my urine to flow freely, and in one direction. All went fine, that is, until I caught glimpse of the most treacherous of beasts! In front of me, in my direct viewing area, was a collection of boogers so heinous and vulgar, that it nearly caused me to become physically ill. The tapestry of nose-garbage was arrayed in such a problematic way that I felt it must have been created by a deliberate artist. The shades of lime, green, and aqua were scattered in a symphony of tumultuous symmetry, one that could not happen by sheer happenstance. No, this “booger-leaver” knew what he was doing. In fact, he confirmed that suspicion by etching the following words in blood, I mean, marker:

“These are my boogers, and I purposely arranged them this way to upset you. Why? Because I think it’s funny! Keep staring at my boogers, it only helps my little project to succeed. In case you weren’t listening, I did this on purpose!”

At this point, I was so disturbed that I decided to just go home. Unfortunately, I no longer had my speeder, but did have a nice chunk of change in my trousers/robes. Maybe I should go look for a swank hotel to chill in tonight. Maybe by the morning, I’ll be able to make heads or tails about all this crapola that’s coming down the pipes. Maybe…


Lars- out!


A sickness so clandestine, it must be real!

The euphoria of last night’s family outing was soon dampened by a simple meal that we all shared in unison today. Not wanting to leave for home without Mr. Whitesun, Paledueto and Mrs. Whitesun are still with us. At breakfast today, dad started in with one of his favorite stories: the one in which he first finds out that my mother is pregnant with me, and begs her to terminate the pregnancy. Not viewing that as a plausible option, my mother opts to keep her baby, much to the chagrin of Cliegg. Dad likes to point out that “the old broad” should have listened to him, because I couldn’t spell my name by the age of three months. This was, to him, a sign that I was a freak of nature, and should be disposed of like one of Beru’s feminine napkins. You know, sometimes I wish that dad could just be quiet at meals, especially when we have company. No one wants to eat taters -n- ketchup with abortion images in their head.

Slightly embarrassed, I left the homestead, seeking the quiet solitude of the barren wasteland known as the Dune Sea. Sometimes at night, I venture out here to shoot off my bottle rockets; but this time, I came seeking an inner sanctuary. Dad’s so mean to me, it isn’t even funny. What did I ever do to him? As the hours crawled by, I began to think that my life was now out of my control. I seem to be controlled by the whimsical intentions of such self-serving persons such as dad, Beru, and Luke. And who’s Luke, anyway? He’s not anybody of consequence! He’ll never make a bit of difference in this galaxy!

He’s only here to grow big and strong, and one day be the best farmhand Tatooine has ever seen. In fact, this loser “son” of mine is nothing more than a very clever droid, one that obeys all instructions, yet understands his place in the Lars “hierarchy”. His only faults are that he needs to eat and that he has very few utility compartments in his chest, unlike his droid counterparts. In fact, I’ve found that I can store little, if any tools within his body. What a major defect!

Speaking of major defect, part of me wants to just run away right now, and never look back on this horrible homestead of ill-dreamed desire. Why should I live with a dad that hates me, a girlfriend that, most likely, cheats on me (with my brother’s killer, no less), and a baby that whines like a girl when he doesn’t get his way? Maybe there’s no place for an Owen Lars on Tatooine. Maybe I should just leave, and kiss off these familiar enemies, once and for all. Not to sound like a sissy-boy, but my eyes are really watering, now. I fear that I’m about to do something rash. Part of me hopes I don’t, and yet most of me hopes I do.

Most of me wins! Goodbye, Tatooine! I’m SO out of here!

Lars- out!


Lavender meadows

The Tatooine County Fair started today. We look forward to this event every year, although this year things are different. Beru and I now have a child, so our experience at the fair will have to go beyond cheap well drinks and making out under the Bantha- Rodeo bleachers. No, now we are parents, and we have to behave as responsible adults. I was really excited that the baby was about to discover his first fair: a magical time for any youngster. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t remember their first monster-speeder show, or what it’s like when an undernourished, drug-addicted teenage runaway tries to guess your weight. Yes, my friends, it’s magic!

Beru almost didn’t go, claiming that she was still upset about her father being held as a suspect for the senseless slayings of over a dozen innocent Jawas. That happened almost 24 hours ago! Get over it, already. I finally had to force her to come, but she insisted that her mother and Paledueto accompany us, as well. This last point, I had to concede. Dad stayed home, however, and my attempts to change his mind were fruitless. He must be just so disturbed about what Mr. Whitesun had done. Poor dad; the jerk.

Anyway, we all ended up having a really good time. I won a large stuffed Ewok for the baby, after only spending 235 credits on a game where you guess your OWN weight. By the 235th time, I hit the nail right on the head! Do I know my body, or what? I told Beru to play, but she refused. She must be ashamed of her “thunder thighs”. Oh well, it’s her fault. She should stop eating all that puffed pork.

I even had a great time with Mrs. Whitesun and Paledueto, believe it or not. You know, there are many facets to those two women that I never knew. In fact, they’re downright fascinating! For example, did you know that Paledueto wants to be a stage actress? No, neither did I, but it’s true! And did you know that Mrs. Whitesun was once a tug-caller for Tatooine Motors, before she met Mr. Whitesun, of course? It’s true, she was.

By the end of our excursion, I had a newfound respect for the two ladies. I also felt very proud to escort these three lovely women through a fun-filled afternoon of whimsical delight. This year’s fair was truly better than any in the past! By the end, I felt the strange compulsion to pick up my dear, sweet Luke. I kissed his face and told him that I would forever-more protect him from the evils of the world. It was a beautiful moment; one that I will cherish forever.

Lars- out!


A dark lord among us!

Nobody wanted to talk to me this morning, due to the misunderstanding with Paledueto in the bathroom. In fact, the dumb girl refused to look me in the eye, due to embarrassment. Beru’s dad gave me several evil looks, and her mom kicked me in the shins twice. Dad was even mad at me because he woke up covered in urine. What nerve he has! The nasty part is that dad didn’t shower. Everyone had to hold their noses when he glided by. He really smelled like piss.

Despite the thick tension in the air, the day went by without a hitch. Beru and her family passed the time catching up and looking at old photo albums. The proud grandparents played with their sissy grandson, being entertained for hours on end by staring at him doing nothing. What a waste of time. For the most part they left me and dad alone, and we liked it that way. In fact, no contact had to be made, that is, until dinner time.

Dinner time. What can I tell you about that?

Beru had prepared a stellar meal, one that had been planned ever since the news of her parent’s visit surfaced. She went all out, even managing to decorate the dining room in a neo-classical design, something the ancient Tatooinites may have called home. The place-settings and cutlery were impeccable. The glow of the fire sticks which burned under the paper umbrellas was a soothing, yet elegant touch. The contrast in lighting was a subtle blend of warm colors and brilliant, sharp contrasts that seemed to elevate one’s perception, while leaving them in an almost hypnotic and euphoric state. Then…

Dad farted.

That’s all that it took to ruin Beru’s dinner. The faces of our guests told the tale: they were mortified. I glanced over to Beru; her face displayed a genuine quality of betrayal, shame, and unbelief. To calm her down, I told her that the meal was perfect, and that anyone would be crazy to pass it up. But that wasn’t enough, because by this point, dad was already playing “footsies” with Paledueto under the table. He probably wouldn’t have gotten caught, but he mistook Mr. Whitesun’s foot for Paledueto’s. In response, Mr. Whitesun kicked dad in the groin super-hard. At that moment, it was on! No one kicks my dad in the friendlys just because he hits on the pre-pubescent daughter of a well-respected businessman who also happens to be the father of the girlfriend that I am currently dating: at least, that is, until I can clone my very own Padme. In other words, step off, rich guy!

Without hesitating, I lunged at the tight-wad with all of my might. Dad soon got involved, kicking Mr. Whitesun in the face repeatedly with his one leg. Mrs. Whitesun, the fat space-swine, screamed for help…What a worthless gesture; dad slapped her across the chops like she was a man. Her lips, which were already chapped because of our latest sandstorm, broke open like a dam about to burst (on a planet with water, no doubt), and sprayed over us like a sea of red rain. We were soon covered with the fat woman’s blood. The police came by shortly after, having been alerted by a tip that someone at our estate was the Jawa serial killer.

First impressions DO matter, I’ll tell you that! Within seconds, the police were able to identify Mr. Whitesun as the elusive killer. Their evidence? Well, let’s just say that they got a plethora of circumstantial, or as I like to refer to it as, definite evidence on the guy that was almost my father-in-law. The S.O.B. had the nerve to keep all of the evidence hidden in my dad’s room! Evidence that included, but was not limited to: brown robes, Jawa blood, Jawa teeth, Jawa eyes, tape recordings of my dad killing Jawas, dead Jawa corpses, dead eyewitnesses that had witnessed the senseless slayings, photos and videos (obviously photo-shopped) of dad mutilating the animals, and other audio/video means of pinning the blame on my poor, sweet father. I know the man is an A-hole, but there is no way he could kill another life form! Except, maybe, Mr. Whitesun. But even then, he’d have to be certain he could get away with it. That’s how he is: noble.

Long story short; Mr. Whitesun was hauled off by the M.E.P.D. I never liked the guy, but I probably would never have seen him as a serial killer. A jerk, yes, but never a killer. This evening turned out to be REALLY messed up, even for the Lars household! And not just because dad farted; but that certainly played a part.

Lars- out!