OBI-WAN THE MURDERER

Owen the barbarian!

2006-08-02T08:12:00.000-07:00

To explain Luke’s disappearance to Beru, I decided to get crafty. I got a hold of one of his colorful robes, tore it to pieces, soaked it in Jawa blood, and showed it to her. I told her he must have been attacked by sand people and viciously slain. Beru started to wail and cry like a baby! I went on to describe many of the Tusken Raiders’ torture techniques in great detail, but this only upset her further. I couldn’t understand; Luke wasn’t her real son, what’s the big deal! I told the irrational woman to look on the bright side; at least now we don’t have to feed and shelter the little brat, and this means more money to sink into the theme park. But nothing I said made her feel better. You just can’t talk to unreasonable people!

I had to get out of that madhouse, so I drove the speeder to the Mos Eisley cantina for a quick drinks. After about seven strong ones, I drove home. I was shocked to find Beru still upset over the Luke thing! On the flip side, Dad kept laughing hysterically at the poor boy’s demise. What a jerk! Beru started going off about giving Luke a proper burial, and how I would have to find his remains, and all this crap. Where the heck am I going to find human remains that resemble Luke?

Just to shut her up, I told Beru I would drive down to the Tusken encampment and kill all the sand people, rescue Luke’s mangled body, and return a hero. But because I was still very buzzed, I didn’t feel like it was safe to drive, so I only drove about a quarter-mile and parked near Lordo’s Gorge. I had a magazine in the speeder, so I read it for a while to kill some time. After I had read it cover to cover, I headed back home. I told Beru that I killed fifty-seven sand people with my bare hands, but there was no trace of Luke’s corpse. I told her they must have eaten his remains. Dad licked his lips at that part.

Beru kept giving me a death stare, and in a second, I realized why. Just then, Luke walked in the room from the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich, and when he saw me, gave me a similar look. What had happened, apparently, is that my meddling neighbor, Obi-Wan Kenobi, somehow sensed that Luke was in danger, and took it upon himself to rescue Luke from the traveling circus. He brought Luke home while I was out heroically fighting the sand people. What gall he has to get into our business. I hate him again!

I knew what was coming next, so I darted out of the house and into my land speeder. I figured I would go spend the night at the construction site. Those guys like me.

Lars- out!

No more Luke

2006-07-25T09:37:00.000-07:00

There was an article in the paper about a MEU student who disappeared last week. The police found her broke-down speeder in the desert, but there was no sign of her. Finally, they found her body yesterday, all mangled and torn up. Police say she was savagely beaten to death, most likely by sand people. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I read that part. Next, they interviewed her boyfriend. He stated that all he does all day is cry. What a pansy! Wasn’t he supposed to be some tough muscle-head? I hope all his friends make fun of him for that quote.

Today I went to the construction site to oversee the construction of my amusement park. I was infuriated when I got there and witnessed half the crew sitting on their butts eating sandwiches. I immediately confronted the foreman, who claimed that it was their lunch break. Excuse me? I certainly never authorized any lunch breaks. I told them all to get back to work before I fire them all and replace them with Gorgilinians (a species that only eats once a week). I felt like such a big man bossing all those huge guys around! One guy tried giving me a dirty look, so I told him that if he did it again, I would beat his mother to death with my belt buckle. He tried to attack me, but his friends held him back. While they held him, I spit in his face and called him a coward. I’m the man!

When I got home, things were even worse. Luke had the gall to bring an African-Tatooinian named Keechandra to our home, and Dad was not pleased. I knew that moving him to Mos Eisely Middle was a bad idea, as it was a school that entertained a lot of sub-par racial types, such as his new, dark friend. Dad, who had been sleeping off his three-day glue-sniffing marathon, was so incapacitated that he couldn’t have noticed a bantha farting on a nitro-glycerin truck (or the ill effects thereafter). But somehow, even blind, he knew there was a black human in his territory.

I walked in on the family just as Dad was beginning to beat Keechandra mercilessly. He smashed his night jar over the boys face and laughed maniacally as the liquid seeped into the boy’s orifices. I’ve been getting into space-karate lately, so I decided to stop Dad with a roundhouse kick to the face, but I accidentally kicked the boy’s face, instead. Luke was so angry that he began choking us both with his hands, only he wasn’t actually touching us. What was this dark magic this boy possesses, and more importantly, how can I use this to my advantage in the future?

I had my answer about two hours ago. A traveling circus cut through our property, and I sold Luke to their freak show division for 100 space-bucks and a tug at the bearded lady’s facial hair. It really was real. Freaky.

Lars- out!

Engine problems

2006-07-18T08:14:00.000-07:00

Well, I did my good deed for this century. I was driving through the desert today when I saw a that some poor shmuck’s land speeder had broken down. Now, normally I would accelerate and speed by close to the guy, blasting a wave of hot sand all over him, but this time I decided to be nice instead, especially when I noticed it was a hot girl. Her name was Ithera, and the young girl knew nothing about fixing speeders. Fortunately for her, Saint Owen was at her rescue.

I opened her hood and immediately noticed that one of her battery cables had come loose. It would be a snap for me to plug it back in, and her speeder would start right up, but I wanted to spend more time talking to her, so I acted like it was a much bigger issue. As I systematically took apart her engine, I tried to swoon her with the Lars’ charm. She told me she was a college student at MEU, and that she had gotten lost right before her speeder broke down. For no reason, she kept mentioning that she had a boyfriend, and frequently mentioned him and his love of martial arts. I kept trying to change the subject, but she kept going back to him. It was really pissing me off.

To anger me even further, she kept holding her nose when I got close to her. Now, I’ll admit that it’s been some time since I’ve bathed, but there’s no way the stench of my body could seep through all the layers of my robes. Finally, I asked her point-blank if she’d go out with me sometime, and she flat-out refused. Even when I mentioned my wealth, she still said no. At this point, I asked myself why I was even helping her. There was absolutely nothing in it for me. I told her that I couldn’t fix the speeder, especially now that the engine had been totally taken apart. I told her to wait there while I went to get help. I wish I could see the look on her face when it gets dark and the Tusken Raiders come snooping around. They’re going to love her! I hope her boyfriend taught her karate!

As for all that mess with me beating Dad to a pulp last week, it’s all cool now. The only ill-effects I suffered were several lacerations across the top of my foot. I have to walk on it gingerly, but it’s feeling a little better every day. As far as Dad goes, he’s completely blind in both eyes. The doctors don’t know yet if it’s temporary or permanent blindness, and say that only time will tell. Personally, I could care less either way. Watto’s still in the hospital, I think, but again, I don’t care. All I know is that Dad decided not to press charges in exchange for me luring a family of unsuspecting Jawas into his room. I don’t know what he wanted with them. He must be lonely.

Lars- out!

Lots of blood

2006-07-11T08:59:00.000-07:00

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!

Dad touched Luke

2006-07-06T09:12:00.000-07:00

Dad’s such a jerk! He kept waking me up last night, begging me to go to the store to buy him some pipe tobacco. I told him repeatedly to go drink some space-gasoline and die, but he was relentless! Finally, at three in the morning, I had to put on my booties and drive to the Mos Eisely tobacco emporium.

When I got back, I found it queer that Dad was in Luke’s room. Upon seeing me, he nervously scampered out into the hall. When asked why he was in there, he replied that he was looking for his socks. Hmmmmm… Socks? As in plural? Last I checked, Dad only had one foot. What had been going on here? Beru was still passed out on the recliner, as she’s become quite fond of prescription pills, as of late. What was Dad really doing in Luke’s room? Oh well, it didn’t matter that much, seeing as how I was so tired, and all. The last thing I remember before going back to bed was Dad telling me that he was going to continue searching for his socks in Luke’s room. Whatever.

I haven’t posted to my space-journal in quite some time, as I was jailed twice (innocently, on both counts), and was hospitalized for two months with a rare blood-borne disease. The doctors said it was hereditary, but Dad never contracted it, and since we don’t know who my real mother is, there’s no way to trace it through the family. I was on antibiotics for the past ten days. The doctor told me to abstain from drinking alcohol while on the medicine, and I told him to die a violent space-death. No one’s going to tell Owen Lars how to live!

The reason I’m writing now is that I’ve decided to finally live out my life dream, and I’m going to chronicle my progress in this journal. It’s about time I put myself first, for a change. I’ve always dreamed of having a theme park erected in my honor. It will be called “The Owen Lars Experience” and all the rides and attractions will be themed after parts of my life. For instance, the biggest roller-coaster will be called “Owen’s Courage,” and there will be other rides based on my other wonderful qualities, as well. Finally, this dream will become a reality.

We still have quite a bit of money leftover from Carl’s fortune, and I’ve decided to sink every red cent into this theme park. I haven’t told the others yet, but trust me, they’ll thank me later! I’m meeting with the planning commissioner and several contractors tomorrow. I’m planning on buying between 25-35 acres of desert right in the heart of Anchorhead. This is going to be so awesome.

Because all this planning put me in such a good mood, I suggested to the family that we play a nice, friendly game of tag. I was IT first, so I tagged Dad, as he was an easy target (mostly immobile). Then Dad touched Luke, and he was IT.

Lars- out!

Poor Luke

2006-01-09T08:51:00.000-08:00

Dad’s taken to walking around the house without a shirt lately. He says it’s because he’s hot, but I think that he’s gotten so fat that none of his robes fit anymore. I’ve offered to buy him new clothes, but he refuses to buy a size bigger. Taking the opportunity of being bare-chested, he’s always asking people to scratch his back. Luke’s the only one stupid enough to do it, as he’s weak-minded and easily led, and last week, he paid the price.

It was right after dinner, and Dad was ready for his post-glutton scratch. Dad had convinced Luke to grow out his finger nails so it would, and I quote, “feel more like a dirty lady’s doing it.” By this point, Luke’s nails were pretty long. Luke began the long scratching process, but didn’t see the large blood-blister in the small of Dad’s back. The engorged cyst was cleverly camouflaged by the thick thatch of hair that protruded from Dad’s anal crack. While down there scratching, Luke inadvertently popped the swelling tumor-like sac, and the high pressure contents of said sac squirted like Mustafar lava all over the young boy’s face.

Unfortunately for Luke, his mouth had been open, as he was doing his “girl voice” for Dad, and about half a liter of blood and puss spewed into his mouth. As a reflex, Luke immediately swallowed it. To make this story even more tragic, Luke had an open canker sore in his mouth, and some of Dad’s blood got in there, as well. A couple of days later Luke came down with a high fever, and Beru took him to the emergency room. After some blood work, it was confirmed that Luke had contracted a pretty nasty STD.

It’s been about a week since the mishap, but Luke still complains that it burns when he pees. As for Dad, he’s begun scratching his back against the hard stucco walls. We always know when he’s done it, because Beru has to clean up the blood smears. Dad calls it “painting the walls for us,” but we explained to him that we don’t want red walls.

Lars- out!

Crap sandwhich (without the bread)...

2005-12-22T10:35:00.000-08:00

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!

A chip on my shoulder - Cliegg's Post

2005-12-18T17:29:00.000-08:00

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.

Home, sweet home

2005-12-03T13:38:00.000-08:00

We finally got into a fine moisture farm. It was actually our old one. Because nobody was currently selling, we went straight to the owners of our old farm and offered them a fair price for the property. The people living there were black, and Dad kept protesting that he didn’t want to live in a house where “damn niggers” used to live, as he put it. When the family moved out, they left a bunch of their crap behind. Also, they destroyed basically everything on the property. Not only did they not take care of anything, but they let the evaporators and pumps go to hell. I don’t know why they lived on a moisture farm if they didn’t farm. Lazy niggers, Dad says.

After we moved in, Dad kept finding nappy hairs all over the house, and each time he would go off. He even pulled Luke aside and told him that if he ever hung out with a black kid, he’d smother him in his sleep. As far as Beru goes, she seemed sort of happy to be back home. She doesn’t cry for Carl as much, now, so hopefully she’s getting over him.

After settling in, it began feeling like the old days. I even found out that my old nemesis, Obi-Wan, still lives next door. I wasn’t too bothered by it, though, and decided that I would come up with a list of reasons to hate him later. We bought a really cool speeder with some of the leftover money, and we’ve been having a great time driving it all over the desert. I even bought some really sweet rims for it. Dad asked me to take him to the store so he could buy 650 cans of disinfectant. It seems he’s not at all happy about the smell that the previous tenants left in our house, that “nigger smell”, as he calls it.

When we got home, he sprayed all 650 of the cans all over the house. The fumes were so strong, we all had to go outside for three days. After the second day, we realized that nobody had seen Luke. Unfortunately, he was still in the house, passed out and unconscious. We took him to the hospital and he nearly died. He’s got a really bad case of asthma now. You’d think Dad would feel bad about it, but he doesn’t. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to smell sambo anymore. Dad really hates black people.

Lars- out!

No butt cheeks...Who knew?

2005-11-17T22:57:00.000-08:00

After the cops picked up all the pieces of Carl off the bathroom floor, the hunt for the killer was on. The police finally made an arrest yesterday. It seems our kindly old neighbor, Mrs. Southersby, was hiding her true nature from everyone. The filth found it odd that the nice old grandmother who attended our party couldn’t remember where she was at the time of the murder. No alibi. Open and shut case. And by the way, Granny, the old, “I lost my senility pills trick” just isn’t going to fly in the face of Tatooine justice.

With that out of the way, we could concentrate on our newest problem: Danto Starmonger. Apparently, he was partners with Carl and now claims that the business they started is his, and his alone. I asserted that because Carl was my property, his belongings are mine, but that SOB Judge Tempest saw it differently. He said that because I was in a coma for so long, I lost my legal rights to my slave, and he was thereby emancipated. Tempest always had it in for me because I appeared before him numerous times on DUI charges. I will, of course, appeal.

For the meantime, however, all of our income has stopped. I begged Dad to go look for a job, but he told me to go to hell. Because the enormous house is legally Beru’s, I convinced her to sell it, as we couldn’t even afford the electric bill. So we put the mansion up on the market and it sold right away. We even had a yard sale and sold all the furniture. Now we were rich, but homeless.

Dad suggested that we go back to moisture farming, since it’s all we knew. We shacked up in a hotel and perused the classifieds, hoping to find a great farm up for sale, but alas, there was none. It was hard to read with Beru and Luke crying and wailing for their lost kin, so Dad and I decided to move it to the cantina for a drink(s). It was the first time Dad had walked in there since he murdered all those people in there all those years ago. It seemed everyone had forgotten about it. All except Sheevo, the bartender, who still works there to this day (he wasn‘t working the day of the massacre). He kept giving Dad the death stare and Dad flipped him off. Later he spit in Dad’s drink before serving it to him. I didn’t tell Dad.

Dad got drunk and started confessing to me that he was the infamous Jawa serial killer, and that he killed Carl because he thought he was a Jawa. I didn’t know where all this nonsense was coming from. I told him to join us all in reality. He became angry when I didn’t believe me, and dragged me outside to the back alley. He grabbed the closest Jawa and proceeded to choke him to death. Then he turned him over, pulled up his robe, and began eating its buttocks. I was shocked! Jawas don’t have any butt cheeks! Just one big mass of black flesh without a crack. How do they poo?

After Dad finished consuming the creature’s backside, he asked me if I believed him, now. I told Dad that it was pretty sick to kill a Jawa just so I’d believe that he was the serial killer. He simply went too far this time. It just proves that he’s as immature as ever. Besides, everyone knows that Mrs. Southersby is the killer. I wish Dad would just grow up, once and for all.

Lars- out!

Costume ball of terror!

2005-11-13T21:19:00.000-08:00

Sorry I have not kept you all apprised of my life for the past couple of weeks. First off, I’ve been enjoying my newfound fortune, living the highlife like I never had before. But I also had a technical reason why I couldn’t write, and that’s that my space-computer crashed on me. I had Carl take it down to the Geek Squad at Best Buy, Tatooine, and they said it would be ready in a couple of days. They were apparently lying, however, as I still haven’t gotten it back. It finally occurred to me yesterday that I’m now rich, so why not just go buy another space-computer? And so I did.

Dad and I have become quite comfortable in Beru and Carl’s house. Because of Dad’s handicap, he has an entire wing of the house all to himself, with a pretty young nurse to see to his every need. She quit after four days, and we’re currently interviewing for a replacement. Things are going pretty smoothly in the house, except that little Luke’s got quite a mouth on him. He likes to talk back to me occasionally, saying things like, “You’re not my REAL uncle; I don’t have to listen to you!” One of these days I’m going to backhand him right in the mouth!

Everything was cool in the house, for the most part, until I decided to throw an extravagant costume ball last night at my stately manor. I thought it would be a lot of fun; little did I know it would result in tragedy and bloodshed (I guess I should’ve, though). We invited about 600 of the Mos Eisely elite, and everyone arrived in stunning costumes. I decided to go as an Anchorhead moisture farmer; all I did was wear my old clothes. Beru dressed as Queen Amidala of Naboo, and I never wanted her more in my life. Luke dressed as the Emperor, whatever that’s about! Dad refused to dress up at all, claiming it was stupid and retarded. I told him that he was retarded, and we tussled on the ground for thirty-seven minutes.

All the guests were having a great time until Carl emerged from his bedroom dressed as a Jawa. We all laughed at the sight of the really tall Jawa, but for some reason, Dad clammed up, and his mouth began salivating. He must be getting sick. Later in the evening, Carl went to the bathroom and never returned. Beru went to check on him, and when she opened the bathroom door, she began screaming bloody murder. Carl’s body and been torn asunder, his various body parts strewn around the room and blood painted on almost every wall. His decapitated head was sticking out of the toilet. After this, none of the guests wanted to use the bathroom. In fact, this whole episode pretty much killed the party. I was so mad at whoever did this. I bet it was Luke, that deranged little psycho!

The police had to come and investigate, you know, just another Lars crime scene. They immediately wanted to question Dad, but I told them he didn’t feel well, and must have gone to bed early. They thought it was funny that during the ten years Dad was in prison, no Jawas were murdered, but once he’s released, this happens. I swear, the police are so stupid! Carl wasn’t a Jawa, duh! As the police began questioning all the guests, I surveyed the scene. Carl was now dead, Beru was in complete shock, and Luke was crying. I couldn’t help to think that I was the true victim here, as my party was totally ruined!

Lars- out!

Return of the king

2005-10-31T20:28:00.000-08:00

I finally tracked down Beru and her husband, Carl. They live in a gated community in Mos Eisley Heights. I pretended to be the water delivery guy so the guard would let me in the neighborhood. I strolled up to their mansion and rang the doorbell. A ten year old blond kid opened the door; had to be Luke. I introduced myself as his Uncle Owen, but he informed me that his Uncle Owen was dead. I argued with him that I wasn’t dead, but he didn’t believe me. Little punk.

Just before I reached out to choke him mercilessly, Beru came to the door. She screamed when she saw me, and nearly passed out. I rushed her to her sofa and we talked for some time. She really looked older, not nearly as hot as she used to be, and I told her so. She didn’t seem to care; she only wanted to know why I had gone to her house in the first place, referring to when her dad shot me in the face. I told her to send Luke away, and she told him to go play with his dinosaurs. She said he’s really into dinosaurs, lately. Oh, wow, he must be the bomb with the ladies!

I explained to Beru that Darth Vader is Luke’s father, Anakin, and that Luke must never find out. She was alarmed, and agreed we must keep it a secret. Just then, the front door opened. I was finally going to meet Beru’s husband. My jaw hit the floor when I realized it was my slave, Carl. I went off! All the fires of Mustafar erupted inside me as I verbally assaulted the two heathens. Carl tried to calm me down, telling me that he had assumed himself a free man once I went into the deep coma. He further explained that he had gotten rich by inventing a new hydro-ring for moisture vaporator pumps, and then married Beru so as to watch over her for me.

Angrily, I asked him what had happened to my Padme dog. He whistled really loud, and from the back room emerged Padme, as disgusting and gangly as ever. Upon seeing her, my anger subsided, and I hugged her for a long time. I calmly told Carl that I was going to be moving in. Since he’s still legally my property, anything that is his is mine. This includes his house, and since I am currently homeless, I’ll need to stay here. Carl and Beru gave each other a clueless look, and then agreed.

I further explained that Dad would need a place to stay as well, as he’s getting out of prison today. I had Carl drive me to pick him up. The back gates of the prison opened, and Dad emerged, looking older and fatter, I swear he gained 150 pounds while in the joint. He seemed angry, and asked why I didn’t visit him once in the last ten years. I told him that I couldn’t, as I was in a coma. He didn’t accept this explanation, and kicked me really hard between the legs with his one good leg. Just like old times, except now, we’re rich!

Lars- out!

FAIR ENOUGH, GABE

2005-10-27T23:36:00.000-07:00

I'll be back tomorrow.

TO ALL YOU FREELOADERS...

2005-10-27T00:02:00.000-07:00

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

2005-10-24T19:38:00.000-07:00

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!

Sleepy time

2005-10-20T18:35:00.000-07:00

Qui-Gonn turned out to be a pretty cool guy. We chatted for a long time on the other side, and he shared with me a lot of his Jedi wisdom. His eyes were glassy and he sometimes laughed at inappropriate moments. This tended to get worse the more brownies he ate. He offered me one, but I declined. I’m already in a coma; I don’t need to be any more spaced out.

The main thing he told me is that Luke is very important to the future of the galaxy, and that we must make sure that Vader and the Emperor never learn of his existence. I agreed, and promised to remember this always. In return, I asked him if he could train me to be a Jedi. After an unprovoked fit of laughter, he told me that I’m simply not Jedi material. In fact, he found no Jedi characteristics in me, whatsoever.

He said in order for me to be trained as a Jedi, I’d have to stop being mean, selfish, crude, irresponsible, amoral, filthy, ignorant, crass, tacky, heartless, self-centered, shifty, dodgy, disgusting, violent, lazy, uncaring, morbid, and overall ridiculous. I felt this was a bit harsh, but he promised that if I stopped being all these things, he’d see that I got some Jedi training. I excitedly agreed, and he told me to wake up and fix my broken life.

Just then, I awoke from my coma. I was in a very nice hospital room and totally alone. I waited a few minutes for a nurse or someone to check on me, but no one came. Impatient, I got up and pulled out the various tubes I was hooked up to. My body was very weak, and I moved gingerly towards the room’s mirror. I was dying to see how bad-off my face was after that shotgun blast, and was quite surprised to find that there were only minor scars. What was surprising, however, was my overall appearance, as I looked much older, and had a long, scruffy beard.

Just then a nurse walked in holding a tray. Upon seeing me standing by the mirror, she screamed and dropped the tray. Later it was explained to me that I’ve been in a coma for the past 10 years. Ah, hell…

Lars- out!

The salad years

2005-10-17T20:11:00.000-07:00

It turns out I wasn’t dead, after all. Instead, I went into a deep coma after being shot in the face by Mr. Whitesun. Although I couldn’t move or talk, I was still very aware of my surroundings. I could hear everything going on around me, like Mr. Whitesun calling the police to report that he had killed a burglar. When Beru got home, she cried and sobbed upon learning of my demise. She was really mad at her dad for killing me. The liar said it was dark and he thought I was a Tusken trying to steal his skill-saw.

It was the cops who first realized I was still breathing. They immediately called an ambulance and transported me to Mos Viggo General. I was hooked up to all kinds of tubes and my face was operated on. I really hope that I’m still handsome when the scars heal. Beru’s been visiting me regularly these past few days. She reads to me and tells me all the new stuff that Luke’s doing. She’s apologized many times for her dad’s behavior, and promised that it will never happen again. I should hope NOT.

My biggest problem right now is that it’s been four days, and I’m still in this blasted coma. I overheard the doctors telling Beru that there’s no timetable for when I’ll come out of it. In fact, there’s a possibility that I never will. That would really suck, let me just tell you. They’re feeding me through tubes, but I still long to eat something real, like puffed pork with barbeque sauce, or any kind of dehydrated meat. I also haven’t had a drink in quite some time, and could really use one.

I don’t know how someone makes themselves come out of a coma, but that would be really useful information right now. I feel so helpless in this state of nothingness. All I can really do is think. I think about Dad rotting in jail as his trial nears, about Carl tending the farm, and wondering if he’s been feeding Padme. But mostly I think about Beru, and how I need to tell her the truth about Darth Vader being Luke’s father. Also, I can’t wait to confront her about that other bloke she’s been dating. How could she…

Hang on; someone else is in here with me…

It’s that dead hippie Jedi, Qui-Gonn Jinn. What the heck is he doing in my coma? It seems like he’s beckoning me to come over. I wonder what he wants. This should be interesting, to say the least.

Lars- out! (Hopefully not for long)

Mr. Whitesun; in the garage; with a shotgun

2005-10-13T16:27:00.000-07:00

I finally escaped after an entire week. Malnourished and weak from all the brutality I endured, I knew if I didn’t leave the Tusken camp soon I would die. I got my chance early this morning when one of the Tusken broads came into my prison hut. She was seventeen months pregnant and about to give birth. She asked me if I had seen the village doctor, and I respectfully told her that I hadn’t; seeing as how I’m a tortured prisoner locked in a dark hut. She said that when she awoke with labor pains, everyone in the camp was gone; most likely on a hunting trip or antiquing.

I realized if I was going to escape, it had to be now. In my weak state, I stumbled for the door she had left open. She screamed for me to stop, saying that I had to help deliver her baby. I slowly turned and stared at the poor woman. She was crying (I think), and that made something stir in my heart. A strange voice inside of me told me that I knew what I had to do for this needy soul. In an act of total kindness, I socked the fat broad in the kisser, knocking her to the floor, and then repeatedly kicked her in the gut. It felt good to get even with these savages.

Making my way out of the hut, I immediately fell blind to the power of the twin Tatooine suns. I crawled through the burning sand in the direction farthest away from the screaming woman. Still weak, hungry, and broken, I crawled for hours, hoping I would bump into one of the houses in Beru’s neighborhood. That’s exactly what happened. I was fortunate enough that the homeowner was a doctor. Although I couldn’t see him, he sounded like a very nice man. He cleaned up my wounds, bathed me, and fed me. He gave me some prescription eye drops that would help me regain my sight.

I woke up later in a very comfortable bed and was astonished that I could see perfectly. It was obvious these people had money, judging by the room I was in. It was a kid’s room that contained more gadgets than my entire house! The name, “Greedo,” was painted in fancy letters on the wall. Wow, Greedo sure lives the good life.

I made my way downstairs to thank the doctor. They were in the middle of dinner, and as I approached the table, I almost went #2 in my undergarments! They were a family of Rodians! Filthy Rodians! The SOB put his filthy Rodian hands all over me when he nursed me back to health and never once said he was a Rodian! The rage of a thousand volcanoes erupted inside me, and I went off!

I called those filthy scumbags every name in the book, and even invented a few more. I cursed their family name and told them if I ever see their boy, Greedo, in public, I’d shoot him dead. Further, if I ever see him in the cantina, I’ll shoot him under the table, completely unprovoked, and no amount of special effects will be able to change that! The family was completely speechless, so I smashed a bunch of their furniture and left.

I walked several blocks to Beru’s house. When I got there, no one was home, or so I thought. I noticed that the garage door was slightly ajar, and since I’ve lost a bunch of weight this week, I was able to slip under the door. My intention was to get some shut-eye on the garage floor until Beru got home. I was startled when Mr. Whitesun raced into the garage via the house. He wielded a shotgun-blaster and pointed the barrels at my face.

I pleaded with him, telling him it was me, Owen, and that I was only there to tell Beru something important about Luke’s father. Mr. Whitesun, who never liked me, had a crazy look in his eye. Maybe he saw this as an opportunity to get rid of me once and for all. After all, I did break into his house, and he has every right to use deadly force to defend his…

My thought was interrupted when Mr. Whitesun squeezed the trigger. The shotgun blast caught me square in the face, sending pieces of bone and skin flying all over the garage. My body hit the ground violently, and when my heart stopped beating, I knew I was dead. Goodbye, puffed pork.

Lars- out!

A little bit of torture

2005-10-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

BEATING:

Pronunciation: 'bE-ti[ng]
Function: noun
1 : an act of striking with repeated blows so as to injure or damage; also : the injury or damage thus inflicted

BEAT:

Inflected Form(s): beat; beat·en 'bE-t&n/; or beat; beat·ing
transitive senses
1 : to strike repeatedly: a : to hit repeatedly so as to inflict pain -- often used with up b : to walk on : Tread c : to strike directly against forcefully and repeatedly : dash against d : to flap or thrash at vigorously e : to strike at in order to rouse game; also : to range over in or as if in quest of game

These are the dictionary definitions, as I understand them, for what I’ve been experiencing since I was taken hostage by Tusken Raiders last Thursday. They escorted me in shackles to their village just outside of Mos Viggo and locked me in a hut. I haven’t had time to write since my capture because I was busy getting bashed, battered, belted, bludgeoned, buffeted, bung (up), clubbed, drubbed, flogged, hammered, hided, laced, lambasted, licked, mauled, pelted, pommeled, pounded, pummeled, thrashed, thumped, walloped, whaled, whipped, assailed, attacked, boxed, busted, caned, chopped, clobbered, clouted, cracked, cudgeled, cuffed, hit, horsewhipped, knocked, lashed, laid on, pasted, punched, slapped, smacked, smashed, socked, spanked, swatted, swiped, thwacked, whacked, gored, lacerated, wounded, maimed, mangled, and mutilated.

All in all, it’s been a bad few days. On top of all of that, from my small prison window I had a clear view of the neighborhood where the Whitesuns live. On Sunday I spotted Beru coming down her driveway to meet a man. I thought he was with the electric company, but when I saw them kissing passionately, I figured I was wrong. How the heck could Beru move on so fast?! What is she, some sort of floozy? Besides that, she’s not even that attractive; how did she find a man just like that? Or- maybe I find her even MORE attractive now. Hmmm-

Earlier today he was out there again, and they kissed as they greeted. I was starting to get sick of this crap. As soon as I get out of this prison I’m going to march right up to this clown and bravely hire somebody to beat him up really bad. Maybe I could convince one of the Raiders; they’re kind of good at it. Speaking of that, I got to go. They should be here any minute for my nightly torture. How I wish I was back in that bantha’s butt!

Lars- out!

Colon rider

2005-10-06T23:11:00.000-07:00

I called Beru first thing this morning. Her dad answered, and I used a fake voice when asking for her. Unfortunately, the voice I used was my impression of Watto, and Mr. Whitesun knew it was me right away. He told me to never call there again and hung up on me. Frustrated, I slammed the phone into the wall, not knowing that the Padme-dog was walking by at that very moment. The phone struck her in the head with such force that it knocked her unconscious. At least, I thought she was unconscious. We’ll know for sure in a couple of days if she starts reeking.

If I couldn’t get Beru on the phone, I didn’t know how I was going to tell her the news about Luke’s father. Because she lives on the other side of Tatooine, it would cost me way too much in fuel to drive there, especially now, with out of control petroleum prices. I asked Carl if he could think of a way to get to Mos Viggo really cheap. Carl, a Tatooine native, knows a lot about what goes on in this desolate planet.

He came up with a brilliant idea. He told me that the Bondoo band of the Tusken Raiders, which currently resides near Anchorhead, migrate to the other side of Tatooine every year at this time. He suggested that I stowaway inside one of their bantha’s rear ends, then sneak out when they reach Mos Viggo. It sounded kind of gross, but heck, if it’s free…

After packing a bag, I headed out to the Tusken encampment. I left Carl in charge of the farm, R2, and my unconscious/maybe-dead Padme-dog. It was Carl’s idea that I bring along some lard to grease my body so I fit in the large animal’s rectum more comfortably. The Tuskens were all busy packing their belongings when I got there, so I had an excellent opportunity to enter the beast undetected. Despite greasing myself first, the animal howled in pain, but soon got used to it. The unsuspecting Tuskens thought he was hungry, and gave him a bunch of food to eat.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t really that bad in the bantha’s butt. I felt really warm and safe, like when I was in my mother’s womb. Only my nose and mouth stuck out of it so I could breathe. It didn’t even smell bad. What clean animals! After a while I could sense that we were moving. We traveled a long ways, and I could tell that we were getting close. I was feeling really good about this plan until the beast let out a powerful blast of #2, simultaneously ejecting me from his anus.

The last thing I remember was falling to the ground in a pile of feces, and a particularly perturbed Tusken Raider knocking me out with the butt of his gaderffii stick. Ooo, that smarts!

Lars- out!

Revelations

2005-10-05T21:22:00.000-07:00

My R2 unit came back from Obi-Wan’s place with more information than I could have ever expected. It seems in his haste to conjure up his dead Jedi friend, Obi-Wan neglected to close the front door, and R2 had a perfect shot of his living room. R2 videotaped the entire scene. When he replayed it for me, I was shocked beyond belief.

First of all, Obi-Wan addressed his dead friend as Qui-Gon Jinn, his old Jedi master. He then told Qui-Gon that Anakin was still alive in the form of Darth Vader. I almost soiled myself when I heard this. Also, he claimed that Anakin was now evil and obsessed with power, and is preparing to take over the entire galaxy with Emperor Palpatine. Obi-Wan expressed concern that Vader might find him hiding out on Tatooine, and instructed Qui-Gon to relay this information to Master Yoda on Dagobah.

When the hologram ended, I just sat there, dumbstruck. Could this be true? It must be true, I mean, why would Obi-Wan lie to a ghost? So my brother is still alive! What great news! But wait a second- he’s evil now. Wait, go back again- Obi-Wan never killed Anakin. That means he’s not a murderer, after all. That means I have no reason to hate him. Oh, boy, this was WAY too much information to process at one time. I needed a drink something awful.

On my way out to the speeder I ran into Carl. He was just returning from the Wass Kombil hit. I asked him if his mission was successful, and he produced for me the head of a dead Jawa. I congratulated Carl and instructed him to bury the head in the sand. I was so pleased with my slave that I invited him to have drinks with me. On the way to the bar we stopped by the jail to visit Dad. He was ecstatic that the key witness in his trial was now dead. I took the opportunity to fill Dad in about Anakin being alive, and how he’s now a Sith Lord named Darth Vader.

Dad seemed stunned by this news, and then said something that I hadn’t thought of yet. If Vader finds out where Luke is, he could challenge Beru for custody, being his biological parent, and all. Dad’s right, I’ll have to call Beru and apprise her of all these new developments. I just hope that Mr. Whitesun doesn’t answer, because he’ll hang up on me.

Lars- out!

Darth Vader

2005-10-04T18:19:00.000-07:00

I waited all day for Carl, but he never returned from his assassination mission. He must be hung up somewhere. The paper today said that Wass Kombil would be attending the annual conference for planetary peace. Between that and the fact that he’s the key witness in Dad’s trial, security around him must be tight. Carl’s probably just watching and waiting for the right time to strike.

As usual, I got a mailbox full of junk mail today. I was just about to strew it all over Obi-Wan’s property when something caught my eye. It was a leaflet from the new Empire addressed to, “resident”. It was basically a public relations gimmick to introduce the new government to the galaxy. I took it inside and read it cover to cover.

Inside were biographies of several high-ranking Imperial officials, including Emperor Palpatine, Grand Moff Tarkin, and a sinister-looking android-man named Darth Vader. Only Vader’s biography was labeled, “classified,” and so it said nothing of his background. Curious, I read on. The leaflet stated that the Empire is looking for people to help build their new battle station. It seems they simply don’t have enough slave and droid labor, so they’re willing to relocate people who want to move there. Food, board, and a small salary will be given to anyone who participates.

I put the information aside and began daydreaming. That would be so cool to leave Tatooine behind and start a wonderful new life in space. But I realized it was hopeless, as I have the farm to deal with, a father in jail, a Padme-dog, and I’m on probation for a hundred years. I did, however, keep going back to that picture of Darth Vader. I don’t know why, but there was something very familiar about him. Not the costume, itself, but something else; something behind the mask.

I went out to do some farming when I saw Obi-Wan getting his mail. I grabbed my electro binoculars to see him up close. He had received the same leaflet from the Empire, only he totally freaked out when he saw it. He kept pointing at the photo of Darth Vader and shouting. I couldn’t make out all the words, but at least 2 ½ of them were obscenities. He ran inside like he was on fire. I’ll bet he’s getting ready to talk to that dead Jedi, again. Man, I wish I could hear THAT conversation.

Maybe I can! My R2 unit is in working order again, so why can’t I send him over there to record what goes on, like in the old days? Without wasting any time, I programmed the little tin terror and sent him next door. Man, I hope he comes back with something good!

Lars- out!

Anakin's lightsaber

2005-10-03T20:11:00.000-07:00

I paced the house all day trying to come up with a fool-proof plan to kill Wass Kombil. Not wanting to get caught and join Dad in jail, I didn’t want to rush into it. When I went outside to check on Carl’s farming, inspiration hit me like a meteor. Since Carl’s my slave, as has to do anything I say, why not just let HIM kill the Jawa witness? I approached the matter delicately, not wanting to scare him off.

I caught him up to speed about Dad’s charges, and about how this lying witness’ testimony may be enough to seal his fate. Carl, who always liked Dad (don’t ask me why), agreed to do the hit. He did have some apprehension, however, as he has few skills when it comes to stealth and assassination. Jokingly, I told him to go next door and get some Jedi training from Obi-Wan. He took me seriously, and before I could react, he was halfway to Kenobi’s place.

Carl was gone a long time, and when he returned, he was confident as ever. He said he told Obi-Wan that he wanted to be a Jedi, but it was explained to him that he first needed to be strong with the force. As he sat on Obi-Wan’s couch, he felt something hard between the seats. As the Jedi master went to fetch the tea, Carl realized he was sitting on a lightsaber handle. Quick to think, he shoved the lightsaber down the front of his pants.

When Obi-Wan returned with the tea, Carl jumped up, nervous. It seems he was worried that Obi-Wan would know what he did. But upon seeing Carl with the strange shape in his shorts, Obi-Wan told Carl to leave immediately, saying that he “wasn’t like that.” Whatever that means.

Carl showed me the lightsaber, and my heart leapt in my chest. On the handle was inscribed a single name, “Anakin.” I couldn’t believe it. Not only did Obi-Wan kill my brother and throw him in lava, but he kept his weapon, as well. Tears almost formed in my eyes as I held the lightsaber. I knew that this must be providence smiling down on me. Now I can have Carl kill Wass Kombil, then train him to use the weapon like a pro so he can later kill Obi-Wan. Life is good!

Carl and I planned the Wass assassination for at least three minutes, and then he was off. We planned to meet in Mos Eisely once the deed was done. Dad’s going to owe me big-time for this. Maybe I’ll make him sign the farm over to me. That would be sweet!

Lars- out!

A horrible favor

2005-10-02T21:16:00.000-07:00

My slave, Carl, finally came back from the hospital yesterday. He had stayed the entire night there with Landa as she got several hundred stitches in her foot. After her family came to see her, he walked back the entire fifty miles to the homestead. He told me that she was doing all right, but that she was pretty mad at me. There may be a lawsuit, as well. Great, just what I need. Carl was dead tired from being up all night and walking a total of one hundred miles, so I immediately put him to work. I spent the rest of the day relaxing and catching up on my pod racing scores.

I got to sleep in today, but was awoken by a phone call from Jase Vulcan, Dad’s attorney. He said that as part of his defense strategy, he would like me to be a character witness for Dad. He wanted me to talk about how great a father Cliegg was while I was growing up, and what a stellar example of a man he was for me. In other words, he asked me to commit perjury. I told him I’d have to think about it.

One of the charges against Dad particularly bothered me; the claim that he may have murdered my mother, Barb, when I was six years old. It bothered me so bad that I drove my speeder to the Mos Eisley jail to have a visit with him. I found Dad to be in good spirits, but when I mentioned Mom, he clammed up. It was hard for him to talk about, so I let off.

He changed the subject quickly, saying that he knew who the anonymous source was that tipped the police off. Apparently, the mystery snitch was a Jawa named Wass Kombil. Kombil claims that he was hiding behind some rocks and watched as Dad brutally stabbed two Jawas just outside Beggar’s Canyon. This witness was going to be the cornerstone of the prosecution’s case, and Dad said that the jury would be likely to believe him, giving his impeccable reputation in the community.

I asked Dad why this Jawa would completely make up this story in order to get Dad convicted. Dad said it was because he owed the Jawa money. This made sense, as Dad owes everybody money. Then, shockingly, Dad asked me the strangest question of them all: he asked me if I love him. Leery, I said yes. He then said that if I truly loved him, I would “get rid” of this witness, so that Dad could go free. I turned white as a baby ghost. Before I could answer, the guard broke up our visit, saying Dad’s time was up. Walking away, Dad flashed me a loving smile.

I walked down to a local bar to think. The cantina was still closed because of the massacre, but even if it was opened, I’d probably be too embarrassed to go in there. After my thirteenth well drink, I decided that there was no other way; I’d have to kill Wass Kombil. But even if I did this dirty deed, wouldn’t they still be able to prosecute Dad for killing all those police officers? There were a dozen questions floating around in my head; too many for me to worry about. I would just concentrate on getting rid of this witness, and Jase Vulcan would have to take care of the rest. But how do I kill another being in cold blood? It’s just not in my genes!

Lars- out!

The Landa incident

2005-09-30T20:26:00.000-07:00

I had my second blind date today. She wasn’t extremely hot, but she wasn’t horribly ugly, either, so I went out with her with the idea that once I found a hotter girl I’d drop her like a sack of breakfast metals. I agreed to meet her in the Mos Eisely town square at noon. I spied on her from a distance, and once I was satisfied that she wasn’t a nasty pig, I approached her. Her name was Landa.

Landa was pretty cool, I guess. Her uncle was a moisture farmer who died in a tragic farming accident several years ago. Right before that, Dad had helped him fix a moisture vaporator that was shorting out. The next day, that same vaporator shocked him to death. Dad’s no electrician. We spent hours talking about moisture, condensation, and the like. She really knew her stuff. The date was going really well, so I decided to take her home and show her the place.

When we first pulled up to the homestead, Carl greeted us. He had been outside working in the twin suns, and was shirtless and covered in sweat. His ripped muscles were accentuated from the light bouncing off his wet upper body. He looked like the cover of a racy men’s calendar. I prayed that Landa wouldn’t see him, but it was too late. Not only did she see him, but the tramp couldn’t stop staring at him. Angered, I told Carl to find something to do in the workshop, and directed the harlot inside the house.

While we were sitting on the couch, I used one of my famous Lars tricks; I pretended to stretch, and when I had finished, I cleverly landed my arm around her. First base! She seemed receptive to this, so I held her hand. Second base! Before I knew it, I was blowing in her ear really hard, and she didn’t fight it. Third base, we’re getting closer! Finally, I sucked up all my courage and began kissing her. Home run!!!!

We kissed for a long time, and all was going well, until Padme walked in, that is. Landa must have seen the deranged Padme clone-dog from the corner of her eye, because she began screaming like a banshee. I tried to explain that there was nothing to be afraid of, that Padme was nothing more than a weird-looking dog-thing, but that didn’t help calm her hysteria. I knew that the only device that could help me now was the truth.

I sat Landa down and explained to her that I always had the hots for my dead sister-in-law, so I hired a pilot to exhume her body and cut off her head in order to clone her, but in my haste to have a fully-grown Padme, I insisted on a risky growth-acceleration process that left her mutated and deformed. By the dreadful way Landa was staring at me, I immediately regretted using the truth. Disgusted, she got up to leave.

Unfortunately, Padme mistook this for aggression, and began to bite Landa’s ankle really hard. The screams could have woken the dead! I tried pulling Padme off of her, but it was useless. It was Carl who finally pulled them apart. Landa’s ankle was dripping in blood, so Carl decided to take her to the hospital. He asked for the keys to my speeder, but I told him that my insurance doesn’t allow for another driver. Without missing a beat, Carl picked Landa up and began running to the hospital. I hope he realizes that it’s fifty miles away.

It’s just before bed, and Carl still hasn’t returned. By the way, that insurance thing was a lie; everyone knows my insurance policy lapsed ages ago! I just didn’t want to waste the gas. I wonder if Landa will ever make out with me again. She probably will; I’m a great kisser.

Lars- out!