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 post of divine forgiveness

Beru woke me up today, crying. Her bags were packed, but she wanted to try one last time to convince me that the only reason she was talking to Obi-wan was because of my upcoming surprise party.

Then dad came in the room and backed up her claim. They even showed me one of the leftover invitations that they had sent out. Apparently, they invited all my friend (Watto). When I asked Beru why I saw her handing Obi-wan a piece of paper at his house on July 22, she said we had received his mail by accident, and she was returning it to him.

This all sounded very logical, and I started to think they I may have been slightly wrong in my assumptions. I forgave Beru, and told her that she no longer needed to move out, but that her rent would still increase a little. She gave me a big hug, and we shared a special moment. Even dad got into it, and we all enjoyed the warm group-embrace. I was very touched that they would throw me a surprise party, and I told them so. They both told me how much they loved me. It was special.

Beru told me not to ever worry about her straying, as she’s devoted to me for life. Besides, she said that Obi-wan isn’t interested in girls. EXCUSE ME? What’s this, then? Well, well, well…Obi-wan the fairy! Wait until I tell all the fellows down at the cantina. They’ll run him out of town!

This is what I dreamed last night. Quite a nightmare, no?

I also think the baby may have shat upon me, as well, but I can’t call it for certain.

If it wasn’t him, it was Beru, as I now know that she’s capable of such nastiness.

Lars- out!


The fog of deceit

I awoke feeling more elated than I’ve felt in several years, including those few months I spent in a quasi-coma. My new pal, Gab, was on his way to decapitate Padme’s corpse, and soon I would have all the DNA that I need to clone her. Once my Padme has matured, I could finally tell Beru and the baby that they are no longer welcome at the Lars estate, and would cast them out into a punishing desert without provisions, severance, or any type of compensation. I might even fill their bottle of sun-tanning lotion with fermented Bacta, just as a practical joke. A prominent smile claimed residence over my handsome face, and I was happy. But it didn’t last long. It never does.

The punishments one endures when one is noble! I was minding my own business, walking down the main quarter halls while whistling an old republic patriotic song (something that’s probably not P.C., anymore, given the birth of the Empire, and all), when I was stopped short by something rather queer. Outside of Beru’s room, I distinctly heard the sound of her voice talking to someone on the phone. Never one to be nosey, I put my ear to her door, only to hear her talking to my nemesis, Obi-wan Kenobi!

Only able to hear one side of the conversation, I assumed the other half, taking into account the fact that Beru’s a lying, manipulative, cheating, backstabbing wench of a woman. The outcome of said conversation was clear: the two of them were to meet soon to arrange, “the surprise”. Do they think me a fool? Does not my Tatooine Community College (didn’t graduate) education entitle me to at least the semblance of being one with half, or at least, 1/3 of a brain? Even a middle-schooler would know that said surprise is the time in which I, Owen Lars, the cuckold, am presented with the undeniable admission that Beru and Obi-wan are now an item, and I am hereby “kicked to the curb.” What kind of crap is this?

My blood boiled inside me like a thousand volcanic eruptions. Well, to be truthful, like 953 volcanic eruptions, but I was rounding up. This twisted affair has gone on long enough, and it was high time that I put an end to it! With all of my might, I attempted to kick in the malicious woman’s door. I failed to realize, however, that the door was constructed from an indestructible material, and I paid the consequence: a shattered ankle.

Screaming in pain like small girl, Beru soon came to my aid. Even though I thought I would soon die, I told the villainous waif that I wanted her out of my house, immediately! I even went so far as to tell her that if she left young Skywalker here, I would dress him like a Jawa, and leave him to rot on the desert floor, hopefully at the mercy, or lack thereof, of the serial killer. The dumb lass had the nerve to tell me that she and Obi-wan were talking about my upcoming surprise birthday party. Yeah, O.K., whatever…liar! My birthday’s not for another six days, dummy! Who on Tatooine sees THAT far into the future? Certainly not you, cheater!

Quite exhausted, mentally and…well, mentally, at least, I am now off to bed. Beru can continue to cry in the living room, as long as her and that cancerous infant are gone by tomorrow. And when I awake, I hope to be alone in a perpetual state of bachelordom. If the hag decides to move to Obi-wan’s loft, however, she will be dealt with, accordingly. I hope for her sake that she moves back with mommy and daddy Whitesun. We’ll see…Beru’s not the smartest, or prettiest, of girls, after all.

Lars- out!


A pilot for all seasons

My ship has finally come in, and it comes with a driver: Gab Bacruk. Gab is a Euphorian, from the distant planet, Hoolibarg. He’s also a great pilot, although I learned this from him. I met Gab this afternoon in the cantina. He was bragging about his fast ship to a couple of females, and I overheard. We got to talking, and it turns out that Hoolibarg and Naboo are “sister” planets. At first, I was hesitant about presenting my plan to exhume and sever the head of my dead sister-in-law so as to clone her in the basement of some creepy stranger that I had just met, because it might sound bad to the wrong person.

But my fears were all for naught; Gab not only felt comfortable with such a mission, he said he’s actually done this exact type of thing before, three times, in fact! He stated his price, and it was well within my budget. We spit into our hands and shook; a solid gentlemen’s agreement! Gab immediately licked the inside of his hand, the one we shook with. It was a move that I found a bit off-pudding.

After a couple of rounds, it was agreed that I would pay him all-now, none-later. The part about none-later really sold it for me. He said he would leave in the morning, and asked some questions about Padme’s gravesite, her parents home, etc. I told him the only thing I knew was that she was really hot. He told me not to worry because he’s a former bounty-hunter, and can find anyone, alive or dead.

As we were leaving, he provided me with a rather strange after thought: that I could extract Padme’s DNA from a single strand of her hair, and that cutting off her head was overkill. O.K., sure…”Dr.” Gab. Whatever you say. I think I’ll stick with the head, if that‘s all right with you. He agreed, but asked if I had a saw strong enough to cut through bone. I told him that dad had a whole collection, and we went together to the homestead to retrieve one.

I introduced Gab to the family as an old high-school buddy, but I don‘t think they bought it, because Gab couldn‘t name our high school, and in fact, couldn‘t even remember MY name. Trying to change the subject, I asked dad which of his saws is best for cutting through bone. He asked whether I meant human bone or Jawa bone. What a queer question! He led us into his private workshop and unveiled an arsenal of cutting instruments that would probably make the Jawa serial killer salivate. Dad began salivating all over himself, and Gab offered him a hanky. Just like dad to embarrass me in front of my friend.

Dad offered Gab one of his best saws, but warned him that if he lost or damaged it, he would cut open his back and remove his vertebrae, one by one. Gab said he’d be careful with it. After a spell, Gab left, saying he’d be back within a week. As for me, I’ll be waiting on pins and needles. I’m so excited; I could pass gas right in Beru’s face. I think I will, it’ll be funny.

Lars- out!


The reasons everyone "might" hate me

I was really depressed today. Not so much because Beru has been acting like a witch to me since the whole, “zombie” episode, but rather because I’m starting to have this paranoid thought that maybe I’m not nearly as important as I thought I was, in the grand scheme of things. I know that the average reader, star-struck by my natural charisma and charm, must be laughing this off as another one of my signature gags, but I assure them, this is all very real.

I realize that my readers are not really accustomed to my feeling down, and I apologize. I cannot, however, continue to be “Mr. Uplifting” when I’m discovering so many rotten qualities about myself, some that I should have addressed long ago, but didn’t. It seems everyone at the homestead despises me, for reasons unknown. The tension here is so thick, you could cut it with one of Beru’s jagged teeth (I’ve been saying forever that she’s nowhere near perfect). Feeling a bit introspective, I decided to come up with a list of reasons why my family members “might” be upset with me, although I realize that it’s probably just my imagination running wild on me.

#1: I never help with the upbringing of the baby, and to be honest, I’ll probably never show any kind of interest until Luke’s of farming age.

#2: I fart a lot. A WHOLE lot.

#3: I inadvertently killed my dad’s girlfriend, Rotta.

#4: I sold Shmi’s coffin and corpse for scrap metal.

#5: I covet my sister-in-law, Padme, even though she’s dead.

#6: My lottery and my alcohol come before anything.

#7: I describe private bodily functions in such detail that it sickens the ordinary reader.

#8: I’m always on probation; much like those cousins in Georgia.

#9: My temper sometimes gets the better of me, and I occasionally cause violence to my crippled father.

#10: Yes, I’ve heard this before, but I didn’t go with dad and the other farmers on the fabled, “Shmi rescue” a couple of years ago. So sue me!

#11: My breath stinks.

#12: I never, well, almost never, bathe.

#13: I suck at collecting water.

#14: I drink too much.

#15: I’m selfish.

#16: I pick on defenseless life forms, such as women, children, and cripples.

#17: There’s almost always some blood in my #2, and I don’t always flush.

#18: I steal disability checks from my dad.

#19: I’ll never marry Beru, simply because there’s got to be a prettier woman out there.

And… well, let’s not get to 20. I probably feel even more depressed now. In fact, I wish I wouldn’t have done this whole thing in the first place. Everyone loves me; I know this! What’s there not to love? It’s that damn human psyche, again. Damn you, psyche…Don’t make me feel bad for no reason!

I’m perfect just as I am!

Lars- out!


Two day's worth!

You won’t BELIEVE what happened this weekend! Even for a guy like me, it was really messed up! The weekend started out innocently enough, with my having a strong desire to have some debased pilot cut the head off the corpse of my dead sister-in-law, and ended up somewhere in the totally opposite spectrum: in the realm of the macabre.

O.K. Here’s what went down. The Whitesuns took off for home, celebrating the newfound freedom of their paternal leader. My dad, on the other hand, pulled a Claude Rains. We thought he was in his room, perhaps sulking because he was the only one-legged freak in the house. But when I came to kick-him-in-the-chronics goodnight, I found him missing. I thought it quite queer that he would be able to leave without us knowing, but after closer inspection, I found that a huge chunk of plaster that covered his western bedroom wall was fake, and it moved easily to reveal a hidden tunnel.

Feeling adventurous, and a bit buzzed, I began to climb through the tunnel. It immediately led underground, into a series of caverns that I would doubt the “Tatooine Chamber of Commerce” even know about. The further I went, the more I got spooked. At one point, I decided to turn back, but it was too late. In the darkness, the corridors that I had followed were now non-existent, at least to my normal senses. I should have left a trail of puffed pork!

So here I was, in the middle of some bizarre labyrinth of diabolical delight, with no internal compass, no natural instincts for survival, no means of communicating with any living organism, and beyond all, no toilet paper to wipe the brown matter that had suddenly seeped from in between my two butt cheeks, despite clenching them tightly in a desperate move to push said matter back up into my intestines. I was not anywhere near a position to kid myself: I had crapped my pants!

Although I was scared, given my present situation, I was also very fearful that when I finally got through this tunnel, people would immediately smell me and know that the inside layers of my Underoos were soiled with my fecal matter. This fear gave me great apprehension, especially if the first person that I come into contact with is a hot girl! After all, I’m Owen Lars, the playboy; I can never let that happen!

Stripping off my soiled underwear, and using the dry parts to wipe most of the excrement from inside my “big cheeks,” I tossed the vile cloth aside, hoping that I would be able to obtain a decent set of apparel before another person or thing found me. Now, stark naked and covered with the purest base soils of mother Tatooine, I decided my only hope lied in my re-surfacing.

Without hesitation, I chartered a northward ascent, almost ignoring convention, in order to get back to what I would have once considered a dastardly feat of desperation. With all of my might, I pushed myself to the surface; using all the strength I could muster. I felt I was very close to the desert surface, that is, until my head collided with the strong metal of a very tiny coffin. The sever shock of the collision put me, and my conscious self, out; for what seemed, and what actually was, a day. This explains (hopefully, in a realistic way) why I missed an entire day’s post- sorry. It didn’t take my very intellectual brain long to realize that I had just come face-to-sarcophagus with the resting place of dad’s last girlfriend, Rotta. Even more surprisingly, the tin box now had a pretty good-sized hole carved into it, one that would allow a man; such as myself, to pass through it, should the feeling grab a man such as myself, or someone very much like him. Well, tonight it did!

Once inside Rotta’s final resting place, I was a little more than shocked that the corpse of Rotta did not therein exist, save from a nasty pair of dried-out Toydarian wings. The tomb smelled like dead-Watto-sister, something I usually try to veer away from, so my ascent to the surface became even more important. With Rotta’s dead wing in tote, I pushed harder to the desert surface, until I had finally broken through.

Gasping for air, I was surprised to find Beru doing a little late-night moisture farming. Of course, she’d have to be right in the exact spot that I emerged! She seemed a bit curious, as well as terrified, as to why I was clutching Rotta’s dead wing while I was buck-naked, covered in mud, and had just appeared from the planet’s core, smelling, as she claimed, a lot like I had just pooped myself! I told the busy-body to get her some business! Beru can be such a frickin’ *@#*!!!

Lars- out!