OBI-WAN THE MURDERER

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.

20051222

Crap sandwhich (without the bread)...

I’m so pissed off that Dad read my electronic journal that I could pull all the teeth out of his mouth with my teeth. If he ever even dreams about interfering with my writings again, he’ll wish he had two legs. First of all, none of this stuff was any of his business, and secondly, he had absolutely no right to make a post of his own! Especially when it was filled with lies, contradictions, and deceptions. Not to mention delusions of grandeur: “I’m the infamous Jawa serial killer…”, yeah, right!

What upset me the most was that he had to bring my name into it. What’s this business about ballerinas and piano recitals? None of that happened. The only thing in his post that was remotely true was the deal with the sofa cushions. Only they weren’t cushions, they were folds of Jabba’s niece’s flesh. Dad’s such an ass…

I already changed my password to something Dad would never guess. If he ever wants to view my online journal again, he’ll have to think really hard to come up with my birth month and year. I bet he couldn’t even get the month right. Dad’s never been good about birthdays. One year he gave me an expired coupon to the cantina three months after my birthday had passed. He thought he was early.

Putting all this Cliegg nonsense behind us, I should probably fill you in on what’s happened in my life lately. Beru and I have officially gotten back together. She wants us to get married and for me to adopt Luke, but I’ll have to think about it. Luke’s a real nerd, and Beru’s a little too “easy,” if you know what I mean. Since I still got a great deal of money, I better waste it on strange women before I settle down with the old hag.

Speaking of Luke, I’m pretty confident that he’s filled with devils. He keeps moving objects across the room with a single motion of his hand, and he seems to be able to talk me into just about anything. Last night he convinced me that I wanted to drink from the toilet, and I did. The worst part is that Dad had just taken a hefty dump, and adhering to our water conservation policies, he didn’t flush. The warm, rancid taste of his feces made me gag, but yet I kept drinking. His log peeled apart easily with the thrashing motion of the water, and at times I swallowed entire chunks of the brown mass, along with several pieces of undigested space-corn. Luke’s such an ass…

After brushing my teeth, I decided to beat the living crap out of him. I waited until he was asleep, and began beating him unmercifully with my belt. I felt like a real man standing above him, holding all the power. Beru heard the thuds, and came in to investigate. I immediately laid on the floor and placed the belt in Luke’s hand. I began wailing as Beru approached us. She became very angry at Luke, and administered several spankings to the naught boy. I tried not to laugh as he cried out to the force to save him. Beru helped me up and apologized for her son’s violent behavior. I told her if it happened again, we’d have to look into boarding school.

Beru’s so stupid…

Lars- out!

20051218

A chip on my shoulder - Cliegg's Post



Hi, This is Cliegg Lars, and I'm a celebrity who's noteworthy for a Jawa serial killing habit.

Well. I suppose I should of seen this coming. I mean, after all of those piano recitals of Owen's that I missed because I was drunk. It still hurts though; I thought he was over that. And there was that time he told me he wanted to be a ballerina. Boy was I hard on that little pansy.

In case you're still in the dark as to what I'm I’ve been sobbing about for two hours, I'll tell you; I'm an open book. Although if you ask what these dark, smelly stains on this couch cushion are, I won't share.

This morning began as many of them do for me. I woke up completely disoriented, feeling bloated. My diet lately has been inconsistent with the food I was served during my lengthy vacation in the municipal prison. I don't know what it was I ate, but my agony was supreme; losing control, and with no other option, I grabbed a couch cushion.

Owen walked in then. It was a relatively embarrassing moment, as embarrassing as when I ate soup with the dessert spoon one time. I felt my face warm a bit and my collar felt tight. I undid my tie slightly, and even unbuttoned my top button. I dapped my face gently with a handkerchief. Owen, in predictable fashion, given that he loathes spending quality time with me, stormed out in a fit of juvenile rage. I didn't react well, you might say, but you try raising a teenager. The things we parent endure in the name of love.

After Owen stormed out, I decided not to let him know how disappointed I was in him, and to return evil with undying fatherly love. Thinking long and hard, I resolved to clean his bedroom, and organize his possessions. Looking thru the window to make sure he was out of sight, I snuck to his bedroom.

The only thing interesting I could find to organize, was a rectangular box. Looking it over, I envisioned it as a footrest, and a darn good one as well. Back in the den, I barely gave the item a second glance, as I positioned it on the coffee table. Imagine my chagrin when upon placing by prosthesis on squarely on my footrest, I heard the whirling of a previously undetected electronic component beginning to boot. Now, I'm not stupid. I graduated in the top 20% percent of my class in grade school. Although I'm super smart, I'm notoriously terrible with electronics. Beru used to handle all that stuff for me.

Finally I managed to open the case, only to find a digital journal. Flipping thru entry after entry, I soon discovered that this was a novel Owen had been writing. Semiautobiographical, it incorporated few real elements. I was beaming when I read about my exploits with brutal Jawa killing. It seems Owen didn't feel he needed to fictionize this element of my fame. Boy was I glad. I smiled so much, it hurt.

Unfortunately my joy wasn't to last, a unseen blow was coming. One which has left me with this chip on my shoulder.

I soon found a poll that Owen has featured as a main part of his novel's plot. Asking a simple yet profound question, this poll elicits responses by having the poll-e choose one of several options. The question posed: "In which was do you feel I'm a hero?".

In life, everyone sooner of later has to deal with disappointment. I discovered early on that my goal and destiny has been and remains to teach people this fact. The Jawa population, much as I detest their disgusting selves, have lately had a religious revival. It seems my efforts have persuaded many of them to look forward to the afterlife, as it's certain their time here will not be long.

Although many have become aware of spirituality thru my sacrificial efforts, it seems my efforts haven't prepared as well as I’ve thought they had. I wasn't prepared for the strongest disappointment that I've ever had to deal with; In Owen's poll, he lists several fictitious reasons for him being a hero.
Then the cutting blow fell. He failed to list the strongest reason; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.