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.

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Lots of blood

Dad’s so nasty. At dinner the other night, he repeatedly coughed up large amounts of blood all over the food. We kept telling him to cover his mouth, but he outright refused. He also coughed up chunks of meat and organic tubing that I think were part of his windpipe; not positive, though. It was so gross that I was almost unable to finish eating. Beru actually got up from the table, leaving most of her bantha sirloin untouched. She got the speeder keys and told Dad she was taking him to the hospital because coughing up blood was a serious thing. He told her not to worry, as the blood wasn’t his. Whatever that’s about…

I had a very productive meeting with the planning people about my new amusement park. They bored me to tears with talk about zoning requirements and licenses, but in the end, I got the green-light to start building. I also hired my contractors, the lowest bidder, of course. They came highly recommended by Watto, so I decided to give them a shot. Their company is called, “Right-hand Men,” which I took as a sign, as I, too, am right-handed. That reminds me of this poor sap I went to grade school with. The kid was no-handed. I mean, he had both of his hands, but wasn’t coordinated with either. I hated that kid because he was so different.

Anyway, we broke ground on Sunday. There was a little ceremony, and everything. The whole family went out to the site and we were surrounded by all of our friend. Since Dad’s a worthless cripple, I let him stick the ceremonial first shovel in the ground. That’s when it happened. Instead of planting the shovel in the dirt, Dad plummeted the tool right into my foot. In the midst of my pain and agony, I realized why Dad had been up all night sharpening the end of the shovel. While Dad laughed maniacally, I struggled to pull the metal menace from my bloodied foot. In a torrent of anger, I violently cracked Dad in the skull with the shovel 14 times. He fell from his chair after the second whack, but I kept on going. Everyone screamed in horror as Watto tried desperately to pry the weapon from my hands. I grabbed a hold of one of Watto’s wings and pulled it off as hard as I could, causing him to fall to the ground awkwardly.

It was at this point that I realized that news crews were filming the whole thing. I tried to play it off like it was all a joke, but nothing looked fake about the large puddle of blood that had formed around Dad’s skull. Someone called an ambulance, and they carted off Dad and Watto. No one seemed concerned about my foot, though. You know, I might actually be in a lot of trouble, here. Dang it!

Lars- out!