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.



I'll be back tomorrow.


After 114 posts, I'm finally sick of writing this crap because no one gives a damn. I'm about ready to hang up the Owen towel for good, mostly because I see that people visit, yet I could never know who they are if they never leave a frickin' comment. Is it that frickin' hard, A-holes? If it is, we'll soon find out. I promise to never write another post until I receive at least 17 comments to this one, and they must be true and genuine. And I won't wait long, either. I'll know, believe me. It's up to y'all, now. Time is limited.

Lars- out!


A man's world disheveled

Ten years. Ten long years gone. I’ve spent the last several days in the hospital, as doctors examined my health and reminded me how miraculous it was that I emerged from such a long coma. On Saturday I was shaved and got a haircut. I look a lot skinnier now, as my tube-only diet caused me to lose weight. That’s the only benefit of this whole thing, as I see it. I tried to call the Whitesuns, but they changed their number. I would have to visit them in person. I also tried to call the homestead, but a recording told me that the number had been disconnected. What happened?

After ten long years, I was released from Mos Viggo General. For the most part, things looked the same to me. There were still flying cars and men in spacesuits. The roads were still dusty and unpaved, and the twin suns scorched the planet with its same intensity. Not much was different. I walked all the way to the Whitesun house, not knowing exactly what to expect. I rang the doorbell nervously; after all, last time I was there, I got shot in the face with a shotgun. Mr. Whitesun answered the door, and almost fainted from shock. He invited me in, and over ginger tea and pastries caught me up on everything.

He told me that Beru got married about six years ago. Apparently, she met a business tycoon named Carl and moved to Mos Eisley with him. The man legally adopted Luke, but the couple never had any other kids. My heart broke into pieces as Mr. Whitesun revealed this new information. I asked him if he knew anything about my dad, and all he knew was that he was finally convicted for the shootout with the police, but not for being the Jawa serial killer, as there wasn’t sufficient evidence to convict him. He didn’t know if Dad was still serving his sentence, or not.

To give Mr. Whitesun credit, he did apologize for shooting me in the face, and gave me a big wad of cash to help get me back home. He called a cab for me, and I headed out. Although I was still floored by this news about Beru, I couldn’t wait to get back to the old homestead. I was eager to see Carl, Padme, and R2. I hoped that my slave kept things running smoothly while I was gone.

When I got there, I noticed several strange speeders parked out front. My key to the front door didn’t work, so I knocked. An old man answered, claiming that he was the new owner of the property. He said he bought the farm at auction almost ten years ago, right after the bank foreclosed on it. My head was now spinning. Everything had changed for the worst. I asked the man what happened to the previous owners, but he didn’t know. I officially had one last place to go; one place where everyone knows me: the cantina. On my way there, I thought about Beru and her new husband, Carl. That’s so weird; my slave’s name is Carl. Funny.

Lars- out!