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!

Blind date

2005-09-29T21:52:00.000-07:00

I had my first blind date today. Her name was Canda, and I was supposed to pick her up at 3:00 P.M. The only problem I had was that she lived in a suburb near Mos Eisely, and I had no transportation to speak of. I contemplated this problem over a bowl of victory sausage. I read the paper while eating my breakfast, as usual, and stopped short at a very interesting ad for the local Goodwill. It seems that aside from clothing and household items, they also give away vehicles to the needy and destitute. That’s me!

I immediately gathered up my tax documents and headed to the local Goodwill office. They did, indeed, have several vehicles available, and after they perused my tax information and were satisfied that I was poor enough, they offered me a nifty little speeder for pennies on the credit. I was beside myself with excitement. They explained that the speeder was donated to charity by one Obi-Wan Kenobi. Oh, great! Now I’m using that murderer’s hand-me-downs!

I almost stopped the deal right there, but then the guy told me that Mr. Kenobi requested the speeder be given to someone truly needy, who would use it for good and noble purposes. Oh, really? I assume by good and noble he doesn’t mean driving it to the cantina and picking up women of questionable reputations. My buying this speeder would be the ultimate slap in his face! I explained to the salesperson that I needed the speeder to drive my paraplegic brother to physical therapy three times a week, and he was satisfied with this purpose. Wasted, Obi-Wan!

Rummaging through the glove compartment, I happened across Obi-Wan’s Jedi Temple security card. A lot of good that’s going to do him now, being a wanted man, and all. In fact, I think I heard that the Emperor converted the old Jedi Temple into a 24-hour fitness club for some of his high-ranking officers. Either way, I now had a speeder, and when I have the time, I’ll pimp it out to attract the ladies’ attention. For now, the only lady on my radar was Canda. Man, I hope that she’s hotter than Beru.

Not wanting to burden myself with bathing, I instead doused myself with cheap cologne. I grabbed the cleanest set of robes from the hamper and got dressed. Heading out to Canda’s house, I imagined that she was a knock-out beauty queen who would instantly fall in love with me. There was absolutely no reason to think it could go any other way!

I found her house and knocked on the door. A gorgeous blond greeted me, and my heart leapt in my chest. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Canda, but her younger sister, Brook. She invited me in and told me that Canda was on her way down. I was alive with anticipation. I mean, if Brook is her sister, then Canda must be hot, too. Right?

Wrong! When the beast descended the staircase, my first instinct was to run, and run fast. She was a fat Bantha, and her butt was so wide, I doubted it could squeeze into my speeder. Her face was a bit alarming, as well. No beauty, whatsoever, just fat, several chins, and sloppily-applied makeup. There was no way I was going to be seen in public with this space-cow. I delicately informed Canda that I was very displeased with her looks, and that she was fat piece of hog. This type of honesty didn’t go over very well. As Brook beat me mercilessly, I asked her if she’d like to go out with me, instead. She never did answer, so I’ll take that as a definite maybe.

Lars- out!

Dirty newspaper

2005-09-28T23:39:00.000-07:00

I awoke early today and went straight to the toilet, as usual. I was in the middle of my morning constitution when I heard a loud knock at the front door. I looked around for the toilet paper, but was dismayed to discover that we were all out. With all of this business with Dad, Beru, and Watto, I had neglected to re-stock our supplies. In extreme cases of emergency, I sometimes wipe with old newspapers, but they were in the supply closet. The knocking grew louder. I would have to do something, and quick.

Holding my robes up in a bunch in front of me, I came out of the bathroom and waddled to the closet. On my way back to the bathroom, I was shocked to see several men peering at me through my mangled blinds. Oh, man, I hope they didn’t see anything. I quickly wiped with the newspapers and stuffed them in the toilet. I then ran to the door to answer it.

The Mos Eisley Police greeted me with their badges, and I let them in. They had been here every day this week, looking for evidence that could implicate Dad as the Jawa serial killer. They couldn’t find anything as of yet, but that didn’t stop them from looking. They would always ask stupid questions, like why Dad had such an extensive collection of knives and swords, and I would ask them if they had ever seen Dad’s toenails. Then they would nosily inquire about my mutant Padme dog. They would usually grill me with these kinds of questions as I inhaled a bag of puffed pork, but seeing they weren’t going anywhere, would leave in frustration.

This time they brought along a rather cute female cop. I decided this was an opportunity to turn on the “Lars charm.” As she rummaged through Dad’s sock drawer, I asked her if it hurt when she fell from the sky. Without letting me finish, she told me to piss off. I then asked her if she’d like to grab a bite to eat when she got off of work. Coldly, she told me she doesn’t date guys who have poopy newspaper stuck to the back of their robes. I turned red as a slaughtered Jawa!

I immediately ran to the bathroom. Sure enough, an entire section of the paper was stuck to me with #2 all over it. I peeled it off, and was surprised to find the personals section. Even though I crashed and burned, it felt good to flirt with the female cop. Maybe I need to start dating again. With my fingernails, I removed all the #2 from the paper. When I couldn’t get it all, I licked the rest off and spit it in the sink. I eagerly perused all the personal ads. I found at least fifteen good leads.

When the cops left, I jumped on the phone. I spoke to a bunch of chicks, and agreed to meet some of them. Owen Lars will finally be a stud again. This may be just what I needed. One of the girls I called was actually a guy, and that really pissed me off. I told him if I ever saw him in the street, I would punch him in the butt. He told me to promise. What a freak!

Lars- out!

The truth shines in

2005-09-27T19:16:00.000-07:00

It’s just now that I’m over the initial shock of it all, and I can finally document the latest developments. Five days ago, as the newspaper article suggested, Dad, Beru, and Watto were arrested after the bloody shoot-out with police. The reporter who wrote the article took a few liberties in his rendition of the story, however. It seems that in his hurry to get this major story out, he didn’t fact-check, and what was initially reported was greatly embellished.

For example, although Beru did, indeed, get caught making out with Dad in the cantina, she never picked up a blaster rifle and never fired a shot. She was released after two days in the clink and turned over to her parents once the prosecuting attorney’s office realized they had nothing on her. I spent the last few days in Mos Eisely trying to sort through this mess, and was present when Beru was released. Because her parents were giving me dagger-eyes, we went off to the park to talk.

I asked the villainous woman why she was in Mos Eisely last Thursday and why she was making out with my father. Beru explained to me that she was on her way to my homestead to grab a few things she left behind when she moved away, and she stopped to get gas in Mos Eisely. She bumped into Watto and Dad as they were heading into the cantina. They offered her a drink, and she obliged. She stated that Dad must have put something in her drink while she was in the bathroom, because she soon began feeling and acting very strange.

Before she knew it, Dad was kissing her and Watto was making a home movie of it. When she finally snapped out of it, she was surrounded by bloody corpses. She cried as she told me the story. Before leaving, Beru made it quite clear that she didn’t want to have anything to do with me or my family ever again. I wasn’t sure, but I could almost swear she flipped me the bird as she drove away in her parent’s speeder.

As for Dad and Watto, the prosecutor seemed to have a pretty air-tight case against them. I got to visit with Dad for five minutes behind blaster-proof glass. I didn’t even know what to say to him. What a scumbag he is; trying to steal my old girlfriend! All Dad would say was that he desperately needed some death sticks, and that I needed to sneak them to him somehow. Yeah, right!

In a quest for the truth, I asked him point-blank if he was the Jawa serial killer, and he told me he wasn’t. I believed him. I spent a couple of days looking for a defense attorney, but one found me. Jase Vulcan, regarded as the shrewdest defense lawyer on Tatooine, sought me out and offered to represent Dad. It seems Mr. Vulcan loves the spotlight, and this case was by far the biggest thing to hit the news in the last twenty years. With his representation, I think Dad has half a chance.

Watto, on the other hand, has a court-appointed attorney who is fresh out of law school. He’s so screwed.

Lars- out!

The 100th shock!

2005-09-22T22:43:00.000-07:00

I just realized that this is the 100th time that I’ve sat here to document all the important happenings of my life. Ironically, it is on this landmark occasion that I find myself at a complete lack for words. What I saw on the front page of The Mos Eisely Gazette today shocked me to my very core. I’m rarely speechless, but I’m going to have to let the newspaper article speak for itself:

Mos Eisley Gazette, Anchorhead Edition, Thursday, September 22, 2005

Suspected Jawa killer captured

After a bloody shoot-out which left several Mos Eisely residents wounded and killed, police apprehended suspected Jawa killer Cliegg Lars. Lars, a long-time resident of the greater Mos Eisely area, was arrested just before sunsdown yesterday. He was held without bail overnight.

Also arrested were Watto Robertson, a resident of Mos Espa, and Beru Whitesun, a resident of Mos Viggo. The two are also being held as accomplices.

What should have been a simple arrest turned into a bloodbath after police received an anonymous tip that fingered Lars as the Jawa killer. That same anonymous source led police to the Cantina Bar and Grill, where Lars was drinking with Robertson and Whitesun. When police first approached Lars, he was lip-locked with Whitesun, who was sitting on his lap. Robertson, a Toydarian, hovered above the couple and video-taped them. When Lars noticed the police, he quickly pulled out a blaster rifle and began shooting.

At present count, Lars allegedly shot and killed twenty-five people in the cantina, alone, including four police officers. The bloody rampage continued on the streets of Mos Eisely, where Lars and the other two suspects opened fire on police reinforcements. A total of seventeen officers were wounded and killed before the trio was apprehended. Arraignment is set for Monday. Lars may also be charged in association with the mysterious death of his wife, Barb Lars, some eighteen years ago.

Police Chief Devo Brison said that in his thirty-five years on the force, he had never seen a bloodier day than today. “We lost a lot of good men here today. I hope they hang him [Lars], that winged freak, and that Beru girl he was making out so hot and heavy with, too“.

A memorial service for the victims of the shootings is being planned for Friday.

WTF??!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lars- out!

More mystery

2005-09-21T21:18:00.000-07:00

I was rummaging through dad’s personal stuff today, minding my own business, when I came upon something rather unusual. It was an old tin container simply labeled, “Things I don’t want Owen to ever see”. Curious, I pried open the container. Inside were a bunch of old photos. Most of them were of dad when he was very young, back when he had both of his legs and knew how to smile.

In several of the photos, dad was with a very beautiful young woman; my mother. I’ll admit that I don’t know much about my mother, as she died when I was six years old. All I know about her are the few things dad shared about her during the years, but he really doesn’t like to talk about her much. It seems that her death was really painful for him. Dad had told me that she had died in her sleep because she was overwhelmed with her naughty six year old son, and didn’t want to face life anymore. I always tried to not take that personally.

These photos were my first chance to see this happy young couple the way they really were. Somewhere in the middle of the pile of pictures was something rather queer. It was a photo of mom and a Jawa. At first, they were just posing together, but as I advanced through the rest of the photos, they got closer and closer. Finally, I came upon a snapshot of mom kissing the Jawa passionately on the mouth. Gross!

The next series of pictures was even worse. One showed dad with an angry stare as he caught the two kissing. The next showed dad choking the little robed creature as mom protested. Finally, I came across the worst photo of them all: a gruesome pic of mom lying in a pile of ketchup while dad stood over her with a sharp blade. What the heck was this, role-playing? And who took the pictures, anyway?

Confused, I decided I needed to confront dad about all of this. I had the right to know what really happened to my mother, and by the force, he was going to tell me. He wasn’t in his room, so I asked Carl where he was. He said dad went out to the cantina with Watto. Oh, great! They didn’t even invite me. I told Carl to warm up the rickshaw, as I needed a ride to Mos Eisely. But he explained that Padme had chewed the wheels off of it, and it was unusable.

I would just have to wait until dad returned. The minutes turned into hours as I paced the house, wondering what had really happened to my mother.

Lars- out!

Goodbye, Luke

2005-09-20T21:13:00.000-07:00

I got a strange letter in the mail today. It was from a family lawyer who claimed to represent Beru Whitesun in an adoption action. He stated that Beru wants to formally adopt Luke Skywalker, and that he must disclose this to me, seeing as how I raised him for the first few months of his life. The letter further stated that Beru doesn’t want me involved in this action in any way, and that if I feel like contesting the adoption, I would have to seek counsel of my own.

My first reaction to this letter was sadness. How could she do this to me? I was a good dad to Luke. I kept him fed, clothed, and sheltered. I held him twice and looked at him a handful of times. I’m not saying I was father of the year, but maybe of the month (July). How could she adopt him on her own and take all legal parental rights from me? It just didn’t sound right. This must be the work of those evil Whitesuns. We all know they never liked me, so it makes sense that they’re pressuring Beru to take this action.

I moped around the house all day in a deep depression. I decided to talk to dad about the matter, seeing as how he’s Luke’s grandfather-in-proxy. I found him in his workshop sharpening his knives, his back turned to me. I thought it might be funny to sneak up on him and spook him. His reaction was killer, literally. He spun in his chair faster than a womp rat in a turbine engine, swinging a freshly-sharpened machete. The edge of the blade grazed the side of my skull, taking with it a huge clump of my hair. Realizing it was me, he apologized, stating that he thought I was a Jawa. I wonder what he meant by that.

After the initial shock had passed, I showed him the letter from the attorney. He agreed that this must be another Whitesun ploy. He suggested we kill them all, but I felt that idea was a bit extreme. I asked him if we should get an attorney of our own and fight for custody of Luke, but dad said we simply didn’t have the money for such a legal battle. In fact, he said we had to face the fact that we would never see little Luke again. For some reason, those last words stung the worst.

All day I gave a lot of thought to this whole mess. Later, while petting Padme’s belly, I felt a very strange sensation. Without warning, water began flowing from my eyes at a tremendous rate. At first, I thought I was sick, and would ultimately die from this fluid loss. I consulted with Carl, and he told me it was nothing to be alarmed about; I was only crying. He further explained that human beings have tear ducts, and that they excrete water when a person is very sad. I told him I was thinking about Luke when it started. He said it was obvious that I miss my little boy.

You know, Carl was right. I do miss the little guy. In my sadness, I was tempted to blame myself for all of this, but soon dismissed it as self-projected guilt. Damn that human psyche! Dad was right, too. I have to get used to the idea that Luke is gone for good. Goodbye, my son. Live long, and prosper.

Lars- out!

Man's best friend

2005-09-19T22:39:00.000-07:00

Well, I can forget about Obi-Wan healing my Padme clone. After dad heard that the Jedi healed Carl’s face, he went straight to his house to be healed, himself. He asked Obi-Wan to help him grow his leg back, but the crazy wizard explained that the force doesn’t work like that. Apparently, a Jedi can only perform cosmetic healings. He further explained that he tried to heal Padme’s clone, but that the DNA was so much in conflict, it was futile. As far as dad, he would have to continue living with his disability.

After this dad was really depressed. He retrieved several sharp cutting instruments from his workshop and headed towards the Jawa encampment. He must want to barbeque with them. Later, I caught Carl looking at himself in the mirror, admiring his pretty face. I decided to let him keep his good looks since Beru’s no longer around. He has yet to thank me.

While I was eating lunch, Padme stumbled clumsily into the kitchen and sat across from me at the table. I could barely eat my food while looking at the hideous beast. She groaned incessantly as she stared at my food, as if she was hungry. I hadn’t fed her anything since bringing her home, hoping she’d starve to death. In a compassionate moment of weakness, I shared my food with her. She devoured it like a hungry animal. I then gave her some more, even offering her a cold beverage to wash it down. It was actually kind of fun watching her eat. I felt really good, like I did something nice.

Later, I took Padme outside, and threw sticks for her to fetch. She would sometimes catch the sticks in mid-air! It was a lot of fun. After that, I taught her to walk on all fours. I fashioned a makeshift leash from some old rope, and took her for a walk around the property. As we strolled the yard, we would occasionally stop so she could go #2. I’ll admit I was having a really good time.

I’ve never had my own pet before. Dad always said that pets make people weak, but I don’t think so anymore. My new Padme dog was bringing me a lot of joy. She’s even changed my outlook on life a bit. For example, when Carl was moving heavy parts earlier, I gave him a hand. We got to talking about life, and I learned a lot about him. He was sweating profusely, having had worked 36 hours straight, so I gave him the rest of the night off. He was very grateful.

I fed Padme once more before bed and left her a bowl of fresh water. I even let her sleep at the foot of my bed. I think I really love my new pet. Sleep tight, Padme.

Lars- out!

Dark chapter

2005-09-18T22:00:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of this weekend trying to come to terms with my new “family.” Dad was still around, but Beru and the baby were gone. Carl and the Padme reject, new additions to the Lars homestead, rounded out our unholy foursome. Carl even managed to completely fix my R2 unit, making us a family of five; a family that I hate so. I had the queer notion to call Beru on Saturday, just to see how she was, but quickly got the idea out of my head. After all, if she’s going to up and leave me for no reason, why should I contact her?

Yesterday, a big fight erupted between dad and Carl. Apparently, they both sought the company of the grotesque Padme clone, and were sick of the competition between them. I broke up the brawl, telling them that they were both acting like a couple of children. I suggested that they let Padme decide who she’d rather be with. Let’s examine her choices in more detail: on one hand, she has the young slave whose face was burnt off in a careless accident, and on the other hand is the bitter, crusty, 50 year old cripple with bad hygiene. Either way, it’s a raw deal.

I walked to the cantina today. It took me about five hours, but it was worth it, since I was out of spirits. It was nice to get away from those crazy people who live in my house. After a strong session of abusing alcohol and debauchery, I stumbled home. When I got there, I received the shock of a lifetime. Apparently, Obi-Wan came by while I was gone, and upon seeing Carl’s badly burned face, felt sorry for him. So what does he do? He heals Carl’s face using the force! Now the guy’s like new: a handsome mug with a proud Roman chin (whatever Rome is). The nerve of that scumbag Jedi, coming to MY house and healing MY slave!

Since then, dad’s been more jealous of Carl as ever. He keeps promising to kill Carl in his sleep, but that’s just tough talk. Dad could never kill another life form, it’s just not in him. It occurred to me later that if Obi-Wan could heal Carl, maybe he could heal Padme, making her hot, like she’s supposed to be. But I can’t go ask my sworn enemy for a favor, I have far too much pride. I’d have to come up with another, more clever way of getting him to do it.

Just before bed, the Padme zombie stumbled into my room and vomited blood all over my rug. Gross! I made Carl come clean it, but he said the rug was ruined. Just my luck; that rug really tied the room together.

Lars- out!

Changes

2005-09-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

I spent most of yesterday trying to deal with my new Padme problem. After waking up on Watto’s couch, I went to his back porch to check on the mutant freak we had left in a cage overnight. I was disheartened to find it still alive. I knew I had no course of action but to go back to Kun La and beg him to take the grotesque animal back. After all, it’s not like I can go home to dad and Beru with it. How would I explain its existence? No- there was no way I could keep it.

By the time we arrived at Kun La’s place, it was too late. He had already gone to the Mos Espa Courthouse and submitted paperwork putting me in charge of Padme. Even though she’s the equivalent of en eighteen year old girl, he put down that she’s a week old, which is technically the case. What a jerk Kun La turned out to be! I hate him! Before we left, he had the gall to tell me that if I want any other clones, he’ll give me a 25% discount. I told him to clone my middle finger!

I decided to spend one more night at Watto’s, but had no fresh ideas upon waking today. This afternoon, Watto said I had to go, as Padme was frightening his space-dogs. During the ride home, Watto told me that he had redecorated his guest room for Beru. WHAT? Does he honestly still think I’m going to give him Beru? There’s no way in Mustafar; Beru’s much hotter than my Padme clone! I held my tongue, however, since I needed the ride home. When I get back, I’ll tell the jerk to piss off.

Everything was quiet when we got back to the homestead, besides my slave, Carl, tending to a broken moisture vaporator. I found it queer that Beru wasn’t out hanging laundry on the clothesline, something she does religiously at that time of day. We untied Padme and led her into her new home. I still didn’t know how to explain her to the family, so I’d just have to improvise. I received quite a shock when I went in the house, however; Beru was gone. She had taken the baby, all of her belongings, and even my puffed pork, just to spite me (I actually found the puffed pork in the cabinet later that night).

I found dad in his workshop; he was, once again, covered in ketchup. He told me that Beru had moved back with the Whitesuns. I asked him why he didn’t stop her, and he said he was busy killing Jawas. You know, that’s a very insensitive thing to say, especially since there’s a serial killer targeting Jawas right now. But why in the world did she leave? He said I told her to. What? I did no such thing! Beru obviously just can’t handle being the girlfriend of the coolest guy on Tatooine. Oh, well, I’ll do just fine without her.

Dad asked who my cute friend was, referring to Padme. Gross. Meanwhile, Watto was fuming because he couldn’t have Beru now. I told him to take a leap off of Beggar’s Canyon, something he didn’t take well. He immediately sucker-punched me in the butt and left. Later, I paced the empty house, contemplating this new change in my life. I decided it was for the best. Now I could be a bachelor, and I would no longer have to hear all that crying or smell all that poop, at least when dad’s not around, that is.

I went outside to check on Carl’s progress on the vaporator. I found him out there hitting on Padme. A few yards away, dad was staring at the couple, teeming with jealousy. If looks could kill, Carl would’ve been dead on the desert floor. What the heck had happened to my life? Where did I go wrong?

Lars- out!

GORILLA HANDS!

2005-09-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

Watto picked me up this morning as promised. Before leaving the homestead, I told Beru that we were over and that it was time to pack her things. In an unforeseen fit of hysteria, she begged me to explain why. I told her I didn’t have any time to explain; just to be gone by the time I got back. I told her that Watto had an empty room at his house if she desired. Actually, she won’t have a choice. As we pulled away in Watto’s speeder, Beru fell to her knees in the sand, wailing in agony and gnashing her teeth. All I could do was laugh. What a fool she was making of herself!

I had space-butterflies in my stomach the entire trip to Mos Espa. I wondered how my Padme would react when she first saw me. Would it be awkward at first, being turned over to a complete stranger? How would I introduce myself? Should I call myself Owen Lars, or perhaps, “The Larsinator”? What about, “Bone Crusher”? Oh, well, we would just play it by ear. By the time we pulled up at Kun La’s house, my heart was racing like a kettle-frog in a heat trap.

Kun La greeted us and led us into his laboratory. I expected to see my new Padme right away, but he explained she was going to the bathroom. He provided beverages for us while we waited for her to emerge. She took a long time, and made some un-forcely noises while in there. Many of the grunts didn’t even seem like they were coming from a human. I eyed Kun La suspiciously. He explained that because we used the unstable super-growth accelerator, Padme did not develop properly, leaving her somewhat disfigured. Just then…

The THING emerged from the bathroom.

In twenty-four years of living and breathing, I have NEVER, EVER seen anything as vile or ghastly as the new Padme Clone. It was downright hideous! It definitely looked like Padme, but had an extra half an eye that dripped down the sagging side of the face. The hair had not come in fully, leaving barren patches of boil-covered skull. The mouth and nose were so disfigured that they were difficult to discern; for all I knew, they were rearranged! The whole body was a mess: entire sections of skin missing, bones showing through on the forearms, legs, and mid-section, numerous scabs and lesions, and extremely poor posture.

The thing dragged its bum leg behind it as it walked, and its eyes sunk up into its head, as if it were brain-dead. It didn’t talk, only communicating through horrible groans and grunts. But perhaps the single most disturbing feature was that Padme had gorilla hands. ACTUAL GORILLA HANDS!

Kun La apologized for the inconvenience, and began giving me some care tips for Padme. I looked at him like he was crazy, but he insisted that in our contract I agreed to take possession of Padme when she reached eighteen, regardless of outcome. Apparently, I had signed a waiver because of the use of the super-growth accelerator. Kun La stated quite clearly that if I didn’t take Padme with me, he would take me to court for breach of contract. The last thing I need is more trouble in court.

So Watto and I tied Padme to the back of his speeder and headed to his house. I asked if I could stay the night so I could think what to do next. He agreed, as long as I kept Padme in a cage outside, which is what we did.

Lars- out!

She's eighteen...and she's mine!

2005-09-12T21:14:00.000-07:00

Today I got the call. I was rolling change that I had found in the sofa and at the bottom of dad’s night jar when Beru called out to me. She said somebody named Kun La was on the phone for me, and my heart leapt from my chest like a jack-in-the-box. I scampered to the phone and ripped it violently from Beru’s clutches. I listened intently as Kun La reported the very news I had been hoping to hear: my Padme was finished.

He said that she was now fully-grown; the equivalent of an eighteen year old girl. This morning, he took her off of the super-growth enhancer, so from now on she’ll age normally. I was so excited; I peed a little in my bloomers. He said I could pick her up at any time. Not having a vehicle at my disposal, I asked him if he could provide delivery. He only laughed and told me to come by at any time. After hanging up, Beru nosily asked who that was on the phone. I told my soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend it was Nunnya. She seemed confused, so I clarified: Nunnya Business!

I paced the house excitedly, trying to come up with a way to get to Mos Espa. I was going to change my underwear, but forgot. After a while, the pee dried, so no-harm, no-foul. Although Watto was most likely still mad at me about last week, I called him anyway. I begged the ugly little Toydarian to come pick me up, but he told me to go to Mustafar. I even promised to give him Luke, so he could use him as a slave when he got older. He said he wasn’t interested in raising a baby, but that there was ONE thing he did want: Beru.

He admitted that he always had a thing for her, and he’d love to marry her. I told him that he was a scumbag for harboring feelings for her all these years. I mean, what kind of person does that? But on second thought, I realized that I would no longer need Beru, so I agreed. Watto said his speeder was in the shop, so he couldn’t come get me until tomorrow. The anticipation was killing me, but I had no choice but to agree.

I spent the rest of the day frolicking around the house, humming a cheery tune and performing cartwheels, and the like. I was so happy I couldn’t even hold in my gas, not that I was trying to. Beru inquired as to my cheerful demeanor, but I offered no explanation. She seemed quite confused that I kept referring to her as, “Mrs. Watto.” Beru gets confused often; a trait I will not miss once she’s kicked to the curb tomorrow.

In the confines of my room, I stared at the ceiling and daydreamed about my life with Padme’s clone. What would we do first? A walk in the park holding hands? A kiss on the lips? I know- I’ll take her to the cantina right away and show her off to all the boys. They’ll be so jealous of me! As I pondered tomorrow’s events, one thing that Kun La said on the phone kept coming back to me. The last thing he said was that there was a minor defect in the cloning process. I asked him what it was, but he said he’d rather just show me. I wondered what it could be, but soon dismissed it. It’s probably something stupid, like a mole on the back of her neck. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.

Lars- out!

Angst

2005-09-11T23:48:00.000-07:00

I spent the afternoon in the cantina watching pod racing holo-casts. The cantina sprung for the pod racing Sunday Ticket, and now we can watch all the races at the same time. I was elated because my favorite pod racer won, despite a miserable season last year where he only won 4 out of 16 races. In the off-season he changed managers and his overall racing scheme, and it paid off today. It makes me look forward to the rest of the season.

High as a space-kite over the win, and a near-lethal amount of mixed drinks, I stumbled onto the dusty roads of Mos Eisely. It soon dawned on me that I didn’t have any money for a cab, having spent it all at the cantina. It was evident that I’d have to steal somebody’s vehicle. Near the hospital I spotted my salvation: a truck labeled, “Blood Mobile.” The truck was running and the driver was behind it, assisting several losers who were donating blood. They were all lying on little cots while blood was being drained from their arms to the blood tanks inside the truck.

Without hesitation, I jumped in the vehicle and hit the accelerator. The people giving blood let out a symphony of horrific screams as the I.V. tubes were ripped out of their arms. Through my rear-view mirror I could see fountains of blood cascading them as the driver tried desperately to save their lives. Oh, well, they shouldn’t have been giving blood in the FIRST place!

I decided to ditch the Blood Mobile a couple of miles from the homestead; closer to Obi-wan’s house than mine. Dismounting the vehicle, I was shocked to find that one of the blood donors had been dragged the entire way because his I.V. never detached properly. He was pale as my bed sheets (when they’re clean), and I thought him an Albino, that is, until I saw the blood trail he had left behind us on the desert floor. I almost felt bad for the guy, but then didn’t. I was almost home, and I had to concentrate on that.

My two-mile trek on foot didn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked. I was accosted by a gang of Tuskens, ones who were looking for trouble. Hopelessly outnumbered two to one, the fellows put the throw-down on me. Besides stealing my wallet, they also pummeled me viciously in the face as they administered a series of painful wedgies. Leaving me to die in the desert, they ran off laughing.

I managed to crawl back to the homestead, where Beru ran out to help me. After taking me inside and cleaning me up, I told her that this world is evil and unjust, and that good people like us don’t stand a chance. She agreed, and we shared a good cry.

Lars- out!

Jawa gumbo and new ink

2005-09-07T21:09:00.000-07:00

I got home this morning via public transportation. Beru came running out of the homestead; frantically going off about how worried she was that I didn’t come home last night. I gave her a credit and told her to call someone who cares (I later took it back from her; credits don’t grow in the sand, after all). I went to my room and made plans for my new girlfriend’s arrival. I decided not to kick Beru to the curb until my Padme clone arrives, just in case. She won’t get a lot of notice to move out, but because I’m a good guy, I’ll give her a couple of hours to clear her stuff out. That’s how I am; considerate.

It occurred to me that the new Padme may want to raise Luke, as she’s his real mother. That will totally suck for me, but I’d probably allow it, anyway. As for Beru, she’ll just have to find another baby to raise, if she wants, that is. If not, I’ll take her to court and drag her and the Whitesuns’ names through the tabloid press. I’ll make sure they have all the good dirt on Beru: how she did #2 that one time, and how her breath sometimes smells in the morning. I’m sure the muckrakers would have a field day with the eye booger she had last May. If Beru wants a fight, she better realize what a dirty opponent I can be!

Dad made dinner tonight. He prepared a new meal, one he called, “Jawa gumbo.” At first, I was skeptical, due to its name, but I realized it couldn’t have been Jawa meat, and tried it. It was out of this world! After tasting it, it was obvious it was made with space-chicken. Dad groaned like an animal as he ate his portion. He really liked it! Beru got sick after dinner and threw up in the toilet. I told her not to flush, as it’s a waste of water.

Later, once she felt better, Beru decided to take the baby to the park. She asked me if I’d like to come along. I held up my first three fingers and told her to, “read between the lines”. Once she had left, I used the opportunity to examine the pain on my back. All day I’ve had this horrible pain, and couldn’t explain it. Looking at it in the mirror, I was shocked to find a fresh tattoo which simply read, “Naughty by nature”. What the heck? I must have gotten so drunk last night that I didn’t remember getting the tat. Oh, well, it looked pretty cool.

I immediately cut a hole in the back of my robes so that my new tat would show. Now when people see me, they’ll know who’s cool.

Lars- out!

It has begun!

2005-09-06T23:52:00.000-07:00

I woke up at sunsrise and got ready for Watto to pick me up. I was so excited; I even took a shower to mark the occasion. In exchange for a ride to Mos Espa, I had to promise the little winged freak to treat him to a pod race in the afternoon. With the high price of fuel right now, I think I got the better end of the deal. He showed up as promised, and we headed off, Padme head in tote. I showed him the grotesque head a few times, pleased with how badly it scared him. Once we almost crashed when I threw it on his lap. Boy, did he freak out!

We drove straight to Kun La’s home. The cloner was doing a little gardening outside, and I immediately presented him with the head. He plucked a single strand of hair from the head, and told me to keep the rest. Great, what am I going to do with a severed human head? I chucked it haphazardly into the street just as a steamroller was driving past. The sound of the skull crushing was awesome.

Kun La led us into his basement workshop. He had obviously been busy, cloning everything from vegetables to pencils. He was even attempting to clone himself. I couldn’t even look at the freaky little zygote. He inserted the strand of hair into a glass sleeve and fed it into a machine. We went into his business office, and he accepted my down payment. After signing all the necessary waivers and paperwork, we were in business. I asked him when I could pick up my new girlfriend.

He told me to come back in nine years.

Um- EXCUSE ME? Nine years, are you crazy? He explained that with his growth enhancer, my Padme clone would be about eighteen years old in nine years, and that it would be unethical to turn her over to me any younger than that. None of this was explained to me before! I was about to grab the cloner’s skinny little neck and choke the life out of him when he proposed something else.

He said that he was working on a radical new super-growth enhancer, one that could give me an eighteen year old Padme in less than a week, but that it was highly experimental, and the results could be precarious. Apparently, experiments like these are what got our “mad scientist” banished from Kamino. I told him I didn’t care how unstable the experiment is; I want it done. Grudgingly, he agreed, but told me I would have to forfeit my warranty, and that it would cost more. I had to reach deep inside my robes and give him the money I was going to use at the pod race. But, oh well, it’s worth it.

We shook hands, and Kun La said he would call when my girlfriend reaches adulthood. Watto suggested we go straight to the stadium, as the race was about to start. I told him I no longer had any money. In anger, he punched me in the butt and left without me. I guess I’ll be staying in Mos Espa tonight. I wonder if there’s a cantina nearby.

Lars- out!

Death and mayhem

2005-09-05T20:52:00.000-07:00

After almost two weeks, I finally heard from Gab Bacruk. The pilot who was supposed to be here last week with Padme’s head called me to tell me that he was on his way, and that his mission was successful. I almost soiled my undergarments in excitement. When he finally arrived, we ventured off to the privacy of my room to talk.

He imparted to me the most sordid and exciting tale. Apparently, he spent several days trying to locate Padme’s final resting place. He hung out in many of Naboo’s finer bars and public forums soliciting information. He said he met a strange Gungan named Jar Jar Binks who wouldn’t stop talking about the senator, and about the very sad funeral. The only problem was that Gab couldn’t understand a word he said, and Gab had to hang out with the strange beast for several days in order to discern his dialect. Once he cracked the language code, the Gungan led him to Padme’s grave.

Once he started digging, the creature went crazy, and tried to stop him. Jar Jar screamed so loudly that he was waking up the nearby residents, so Gab had no choice but to stab the dumb animal in the heart with his rusty shovel. Apparently, it took a long time for Jar Jar to die. He moaned in pain incessantly as Gab dug up the grave. After a while, Gab had enough, and grabbed hold of Jar Jar’s mouth. He pulled his mandibles apart until his jaw broke, and then cut out his tongue with dad’s saw. Unbelievably, the creature still wasn’t dead, so Gab finally sawed off his head.

Alone at last, Gab finished digging up the casket. He forced open the lid, revealing Padme’s corpse, and proceeded to saw off its head. He said the body was quite decomposed, due to the lack of embalmment, and the head separated easily from the body. After he accomplished his dastardly deed, he put Jar Jar’s body in the casket, and reburied it. He did, however, keep Jar Jar’s head for a souvenir.

Without further ado, Gab opened up the ominous container he was toting to reveal the head of my future girlfriend. I’ll admit that the sight wasn’t pretty. She looked like a giant raisin with hair. I asked Gab why her hair was filled with wilted flower petals, and he told me it was some kind of burial tradition. He also showed me his Jar Jar head, explaining that he was going to mount it over his fireplace.

After spending several hours picking the petals out of Padme’s hair, I couldn’t resist showing the severed head to the baby. Luke seemed scared of his mother’s face, and began crying. This attracted Beru’s attention, so I ran to my room so she wouldn’t know what I was up to. Tomorrow I’ll deliver the head to Kun La for cloning. My life seems to be right on track. But I guess I deserve that because I’m a good person.

Lars- out!

Tatooine Day

2005-09-04T22:09:00.000-07:00

Today was Tatooine Day, a day set aside by the sand-hugging environmentalists to celebrate the beauty and majesty of Mother Tatooine. Give me a break. Usually I like to spend this day driving around and throwing un-biodegradable trash out of my speeder, but since I sold my speeder, I decided to simply scatter Styrofoam waste all over Obi-wan’s yard.

The loser spent most of the day at the Mos Eisley paper drive, collecting old newspapers for recycling purposes. He sat outside a tractor trailer in a chaste lounge, reminding everyone to “plant a tree.” What the heck is a tree? Wait until he gets home and sees the mess I made while he was gone. The look on his face will be precious. Owen wins, again!

Entering the kitchen, I discovered Beru washing out old cans and plastic milk jugs. At first, I thought she was doing it so I could have some extra snuff-spit receptacles, but was shocked to learn that they were donations for the recycling caravan. Mos Eisley County commissioned the Jawas to use their sand crawlers as temporary collection vehicles, and the Jawas were paid to drive to each residence and pick up glass, metal, aluminum, plastic, and paper. But I will be damned if this house is going to participate!

Angrily, I set all the plastic containers on fire. This seemed like a good idea at the time, but in practice left a lot to be desired. The fire quickly got out of control, and the fumes of the melted plastic forced us all outside. Dad was on the toilet at the time, and he had to vacate the bathroom mid-wipe. He still smelled of feces when he got outside, and I reminded him that he was nasty, vile old man.

The fire died down, but the smell was so bad we couldn’t go back inside. Just then, the recycling sand crawler rolled up on us. Two Jawas got out, asking if we had any donations. I told them to piss off. Strangely, dad began grunting like someone possessed while in the presence of the Jawas. He told them that he had some donations for them, and led them to his workshop. Dad’s such a traitor; giving in to the left like that!

We were able to re-enter the house after a couple of hours. Dad and the Jawas never returned from the workshop. Man, he must have a ton of donations! He emerged later, covered in ketchup. He said the Jawas sold him their sand crawler, and that I need to go dump it in a creek. Dumbfounded, two questions ran wild in my mind. #1: Where is he getting all this ketchup from, and #2: What’s a creek?

Lars- out!

Imperfect Beru

2005-09-01T23:19:00.000-07:00

It has become quite clear to me as of late that Beru is in desperate need of some serious plastic surgery. I think this has been going on for a while, and I let it get out of control, but now’s the time to nip it in the bud; the fat bud, that is. When I say Beru is imperfect, I do not exaggerate. In fact, I have recently conducted research which led me to the conclusion that she has around 600 major and minor physical flaws.

Now, I realize that no one’s perfect, so I don’t expect her to correct all these flaws, but if we could end up somewhere in the high 500’s, that would be great. Let’s face it, she’s not 21 anymore, and at 23, she’s pushing the age barrier for me. There are a lot of chicks out there who have just turned eighteen, who have no kids, and are therefore much better than Beru. I say it’s high time “granny” gets the work done before she is carted off to the glue factory.

We men have it so much better off, as our aging is much more graceful. An aging woman is a disgrace to any reasonable person, while an aging man is someone dignified and wise. Our gray hairs are symbolic of growth and maturity, but on a woman they represent the coldest fact of life: that death comes to us all.

Here’s what I, having done little research, think Beru needs done:

Abdominoplasty:

Procedure: Flatten abdomen by removing excess fat and skin and tightening muscles of abdominal wall.

Chemical Peel:

Procedure: Restore wrinkled, blemished, unevenly pigmented, or suns-damaged facial skin, using a chemical solution to peel away skin's top layers. Works best on fair, thin skin with superficial wrinkles.

Dermabrasion:

Procedure: Mechanical scraping of the top layers of skin using a high-speed rotary wheel. Softens sharp edges of surface irregularities, including acne and other scars and fine wrinkles, especially around the mouth.

Rhytidectomy:

Procedure: Improving sagging facial skin, jowls, and loose neck skin by removing excess fat, tightening muscles, redraping skin. Most often done on men and women over 40 (or 23, in this case).

Facial Implants:

Procedure: Change the basic shape and balance of the face using carefully shaped implants to build up a receding chin, add prominence to cheekbones, or reshape the jawline.

Liposuction:

Procedure: Improve body shape by removing exercise-resistant fat deposits with a tube and vacuum device. Can be performed using the tumescent technique, in which targeted fat cells are infused with saline containing solution with a local anesthetic before liposuction to reduce post-operative bruising and swelling. Common locations for liposuction include chin, cheeks, neck, upper arms, above breasts, abdomen, buttocks, hips, thighs, knees, calves, ankles.

This is just for starters, as I realize recovery time is a factor. More procedures can, and will be slated for next month. I feel that after Beru gets all of these surgeries done, she may start feeling like a woman that deserves to have a man like me for a boyfriend.

Not to toot my own horn, but I think it’s rather big of me to think of her feelings in this way. I do, however, have a back-up plan in case any of these surgeries backfire, and she’s horribly scarred for life. I’ll simply kick her out of the homestead and grow my very own Padme. Well, actually- I’ll do that anyway, but in the meantime, I just want Beru to feel good about herself. That’s what I’m all about. We’ll go see the plastic surgeon tomorrow- unless Gab calls, that is.

Lars- out!

Acid face

2005-08-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

I got a new slave today, to replace the one that died. This one was much stronger and younger, but too good-looking for my taste. I expressed this concern to the vendor. He suggested that said slave could be made to experience a facial acid bath, should I desire. I so desired. The whelp was led to an area out of sight, and was administered the treatment. The screams were magnificent. I almost felt bad, but I can’t let Beru be attracted by another man. That’s just how it is.

I took the deformed lad back to the homestead and put him to work. Unfortunately, a side-effect of the necessary acid treatment was that the slave was left without a tongue, so he no longer speaks. He still, however, can follow simple instructions, so I’m happy. Beru had the nerve to ask what was wrong with his face, and I told her that she was fat.

Later, in my study, I received a call. I was hoping that it was Gab, telling me that he had returned from Naboo with Padme’s head. Instead, it was Kun La, the cloner, asking if I was any closer to obtaining DNA for my experiment. I told him I was very close, and would get back to him soon. This got me thinking about Gab, and how it’s been a week already. What seems to be the holdup? I wish I knew.

I went out to the south range to check on the slave (Carl, I think), and was disheartened to find he had accomplished very little. I asked him what the deal-io was, and he kept pointing to his face, as if he was very uncomfortable. How I hate a complainer! I picked up the nearest stick and began swatting the loser in the face, making it red (der). With all the force I could muster, I bludgeoned him with the instrument until sweat ran down from my armpits. How I hate to sweat! In anger, I beat him harder.

Exhausted from the workout, I retired to my quarters. I curled up in my bed with a fresh bag of puffed pork. Without announcement, dad entered my room and began screaming at me for not paying the electric or the lawn care bills. He really made me feel bad with his yelling, and I wondered what I had ever done to anybody to deserve such treatment. Dad’s so completely insensitive.

Not having the money for the bills, I relied on an old trick. I wrote out two checks, one to Tatooine Electric, and one to Bob’s Lawn and Garden. But I purposely sent the lawn care check to the electric company, and vice-versa. When the two receive the mistakenly sent checks, they will return them to me, allowing me at least another week before I have to pay.

Always shooting moves- that’s the Owen way.

Lars- out!

A worthless slave

2005-08-29T20:49:00.000-07:00

I decided today that we need to get a new slave to help out with the farming. I’ve just been too busy lately to keep it up, with my Padme cloning experiment, pod racing season, and my drinking. I will have to make sure, however, that dad has no part of the selection process. The last time he chose a slave, he opted for a semi-attractive, middle-aged woman over a very strong man. Then, shockingly, he freed her and married her. What a loser.

In the living room, Beru was mopping up vast quantities of blood. I don’t know where it came from, in fact, I stopped asking questions some time ago. I told her I was off to the market square to buy a slave. She told me to get one that speaks Bocce. I told her to shut her pie-hole.

There was a very poor selection of slaves at the market square. They were all human, save for one nasty Rodian. I almost wanted to select him, just so I could beat him, but that wasn’t the reason I needed a slave; not this time, at least. I almost picked a strapping young lad, but he was too attractive, and I don’t want Beru getting any “ideas.” I finally had to go with a weak old man. He was hunched over, skinny, and moved slowly. He did, however, speak Bocce. He was almost a steal at twenty credits. At first I wasn’t sure, but when I heard about the ten day money back guarantee, I was sold.

I helped the withering old fart into my speeder, as he didn’t fit in the trunk, and we were off. When we got to the homestead, I immediately propped him up against a moisture vaporator, and gave him a crash-course in moisture farming. I left him to his work, and headed inside to escape the vicious heat. I told dad about the slave, and he asked me if she was hot. I told him that “she” was a he, and no, he wasn’t hot. Angrily, he stabbed me in the patella with his exacto-knife. Dang, that hurt.

Later, I returned to the farm to check on the old man’s progress. I was quite dismayed with my findings. Not only did the worthless old goat get little, if any moisture collected, but he was also dead. I didn’t worry too much, though, as I would be able to get my money back. Being too late to return to Mos Eisely, I would have to wait until the morning. I decided not to leave the body outside all night, as it would be fair game for predators, and I might not get my money back if it’s torn to shreds.

Instead, I put the stinky old corpse in the baby’s crib. It will be quite funny to see Luke’s reaction when he wakes up next to a dead body. Oh- the joys of fatherhood!

Lars- out!

The blackest rose

2005-08-28T23:57:00.000-07:00

Today’s newspaper featured an article on the front page about how Beru’s dad, Mr. Whitesun, has decided to sue the state of Tatooine for false imprisonment. His complaint alleges that he was detained erroneously, and during his detainment, he was “abused” by his fellow inmates. Mr. Whitesun did not elaborate as to the nature of the abuse, but one could easily speculate, due to the fact that his walking is now much different, that it involved name-calling, and, the force forbid, “mama insults.”

Tatooine County is all on-edge about the whole debacle, embarrassed by the bad press. Mr. Whitesun, with all of his wealth, has apparently hired the best “rainmaker” money can buy, and in a land void of rain, nonetheless. This dynamic and enigmatic attorney, Mr. Cochran, has quite a reputation for letting clients, especially guilty ones, off the hook. Credits are the key on Tatooine. To have and have not is our mantra…those WITH will have, those WITHOUT will suffer. It’s always been that way. Please do not take into consideration that the ones without do not care for working, as it seems to impede on their lifestyles quite a bit.

We should always try to be tolerant of those lesser than us, especially if they come from squalor, a broken home, or a multi-ethnic background. We should strive to be more open to the half-Jawa- half-Rodian in our kids’ elementary school, as our world is changing every day. Even the best golfer on Tatooine, Lion Forest, has to deal with prejudice on a daily basis. As wealthy as he is, some people still hate him for his ethnicity, alone. What weak-minded fools! As for me, I’m beyond all such biases, due the fact that I despise all life forms the same.

I totally accept all the other species on our planet, and hope they strive in their efforts to be successful as a people. In my opinion, they are no different than me, Beru, or dad. I just hope to the force that I don’t have to live in the same neighborhood with them, that I don’t encounter them in public, that I never, ever pick up any slang from them, that their influence will never reach into popular music, and that Luke will never dabble with their “dark” culture. Other than that, they are all FINE with me!

We have much to learn from these “unique” citizens, and I hope that when someone schedules a meet-and-greet with some of the local civic leaders of said minorities, that I can be the first to shake hands with said leaders (with the use of a latex glove, of course).

I’m sure that some of them must have some really interesting stories, almost like us, “real people” would!

Lars- out!

The post of divine forgiveness

2005-08-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-24T22:56:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-23T23:30:00.000-07:00

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

2005-08-22T21:57:00.000-07:00

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!

2005-08-21T22:45:00.000-07:00

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!

An innocent man

2005-08-19T23:32:00.000-07:00

They say that defense wins championships; that’s why dad is such a jerk! He’s all bragging today about how the Farmer’s Union of Tatooine wants to present an award to him for being a good farmer and a stand-up citizen. Are you kidding, the guy has one leg! Besides, I’m the one that does all the farming; dad hasn’t done a thing since Shmi died.

His new thing is going around the house asking everyone, “How many prestigious awards were YOU honored with today?” Of course, the answer’s always, “none.” At that point, he’ll cackle in your face and call you a loser. When he did it to Mrs. Whitesun, she began to cry.

Paleduto is pissing me off, as well. She had the nerve to dispose of her soiled feminine napkin in MY toilet, and didn’t even have the courtesy to flush it. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at; it was like someone miscarried, or something. What a filthy woman! I hope I never have to be related to her.

At about noon, everyone left for the courthouse. I stayed behind today, not wanting to subject myself to that torture. Dad stayed behind, claiming that every woman he had ever loved had been killed. That had nothing to do with it; he just likes to keep reminding us. Dad went off to his room to begin practicing his acceptance speech. He asked me if he could borrow my R2 unit, to help hold his note cards. I told him that R2 is a sophisticated Astromech droid, and there’s no way I’m going allow him to be used for such a trivial purpose. Incensed, dad slammed the door in my face.

Later, dad emerged from his room, ornery as ever. He probably misplaced his death sticks stash again. He flew off the handle when he walked in the living room to see R2 picking the toe-jam out from between my toes with one of his attachments. A huge argument ensued, in which dad told me he wished he was a Sith, so he could kill me with blue lightning. In return, I told the rotten old man to move to Hoth and freeze to death.

The fight was just becoming physical when Beru and the Whitesuns walked in the door. They had brought a surprise with them: Mr. Whitesun. At first, I thought they had busted him out of the clink, and I was strangely turned on by Beru, but when I heard that wasn’t the case at all, the attraction vanished.

In actuality, Mr. Whitesun was exonerated and released after three more Jawas were found savagely murdered early this morning. Looks like the police had the wrong guy, all together. For some strange reason, dad looked really nervous after hearing this, and sped off to his room. He didn’t slam the door.

Lars- out!

Blind justice

2005-08-18T21:42:00.000-07:00

I stayed at a posh resort last night, where my every whim was catered to, and my last wish was granted. This place was awesome! I was treated like the royal duke of Tatooine, a feeling that I have never known in all my years. It seems that when you throw money around, people respond differently to you. Who knew? Unfortunately, I was already too drunk to enjoy it, and feel I may have cheated myself ever so slightly.

A particularly brazen bellhop actually put his hand out in a deliberate attempt to collect a gratuity! I told the SOB (because he was of a much smaller frame and weight class than me) that he needed to back off before I punched him in the butt. The manager soon got involved, and I was “asked” to leave. I made a huge scene in the lobby, which ended with me mooning the entire staff. I’ll never go to that hotel again!

Trolling the sun-drenched dirt roads of Mos Eisely, I was surprised to see Beru and dad in front of the courthouse. They were there with Mrs. Whitesun and Paledueto. Apparently, it was day one of Mr. Whitesun’s murder trial. Cool, I’ll go watch it with them, and then I’ll have a ride home. I joined the group, who inquired as to my absence and to the loss of my speeder. I told them that I was accosted by a roving band of Sith. I think they bought it.

The courtroom was packed with dozens of Jawas. A sudden quiet fell over the crowd when Mr. Whitesun was led into the room in shackles. His defense lawyer, “Snoopy” McFarland, Considered by many to be the best on Tatooine, dazzled the jury with a brilliant opening statement. After that, however, it started getting really boring. I decided to pass the time making vulgar sounds by cupping my hands together. Whenever someone would look at me, I’d point at Beru. After what seemed an eternity, the judge recessed court for the day. I’ll make sure not to come back tomorrow.

On the steps outside the courthouse, a major fracas ensued. A group of Jawa protesters began throwing their feces at Mrs. Whitesun. It looked like a lot of fun, so I joined them. I managed to hit her square in the face with her mouth open. She was not amused. The ride home was uncomfortable because Mrs. Whitesun smelled like crap really bad. What a nasty woman!

Later on, I received a call from Kun La, the Kaminoan cloner I met at the pod race. He asked if I had any luck procuring DNA for my proposed clone. I told him that I was still working on it. In fact, the idea struck me that I should use the leftover money from my speeder sale to hire a pilot who’s willing to fly to Naboo for me. I feel I’m getting a lot closer to the day when I’ll have my very own Padme!

Lars- out!

A generic post

2005-08-17T23:31:00.000-07:00

I ran away from home today. No longer desiring to be a “doormat” for my ungrateful family, I headed off into the suns. Before I left, I packed up a couple of bags of puffed pork, my snuff, my spittoon, my electro binoculars, my R2 unit, and my egg holder (it holds eggs). Beru was busy with her family, and dad was busy being a jerk, so nobody noticed my leaving. A small part of me wanted to say goodbye to the baby, but I blew my nose and got that idea out of my head really quick. I jumped in my speeder, which had a full tank of gas (siphoned from Obi-wan’s swoop bike, no less), and left Dodge.

I drove straight to the Mos Eisely spaceport station. Upon my arrival at said station, I quickly found a buyer for my speeder. The creature offered me 1200 credits for the hunk of junk, and I accepted. That would be more than enough money for me to land a ticket to a nearby planet, such as Alkuhhity, or the very famous Ginnertstalltion. My heart raced in excitement, most likely due to the fact that I’ve never left this planet. I would finally, after twenty-some-odd years, be a space-traveler. I couldn’t wait!

I approached the ticket clerk with great earnest. The woman, an ill-tempered Rodian with gangly skin, asked me for my passport. My heart sank, as I do not possess a passport, yet couldn’t, even if I wanted to, because of my probation. In no uncertain terms, the broad told me to go to Mustafar, something I did not take very well. Without cursing her entire bloodline, I told the woman that at least two of her subsequent descendants will most likely inherent a degenerative disease that can only be cured by Peptol-Bismol, a remedy not known in this galaxy. Want to screw with Owen Lars? I’ll teach you!

Having to go #2 really bad, I ventured to the spaceport men‘s room. Upon entering the vial chamber, I almost gagged at the sight of a thousand whiteheads covering the main bathroom mirror. At first, I didn’t know what it was, but after a fellow human popped a zit that squirted all over the mirror, I became enlightened. Nasty! It was very hard to view my very attractive facial features through a sea of white paste.

Trying hard to forget the grotesque image, I stood in front of the urinal, hoping to the force that my enlarged prostate would allow my urine to flow freely, and in one direction. All went fine, that is, until I caught glimpse of the most treacherous of beasts! In front of me, in my direct viewing area, was a collection of boogers so heinous and vulgar, that it nearly caused me to become physically ill. The tapestry of nose-garbage was arrayed in such a problematic way that I felt it must have been created by a deliberate artist. The shades of lime, green, and aqua were scattered in a symphony of tumultuous symmetry, one that could not happen by sheer happenstance. No, this “booger-leaver” knew what he was doing. In fact, he confirmed that suspicion by etching the following words in blood, I mean, marker:

“These are my boogers, and I purposely arranged them this way to upset you. Why? Because I think it’s funny! Keep staring at my boogers, it only helps my little project to succeed. In case you weren’t listening, I did this on purpose!”

At this point, I was so disturbed that I decided to just go home. Unfortunately, I no longer had my speeder, but did have a nice chunk of change in my trousers/robes. Maybe I should go look for a swank hotel to chill in tonight. Maybe by the morning, I’ll be able to make heads or tails about all this crapola that’s coming down the pipes. Maybe…

Maybe…

Lars- out!

A sickness so clandestine, it must be real!

2005-08-16T22:01:00.000-07:00

The euphoria of last night’s family outing was soon dampened by a simple meal that we all shared in unison today. Not wanting to leave for home without Mr. Whitesun, Paledueto and Mrs. Whitesun are still with us. At breakfast today, dad started in with one of his favorite stories: the one in which he first finds out that my mother is pregnant with me, and begs her to terminate the pregnancy. Not viewing that as a plausible option, my mother opts to keep her baby, much to the chagrin of Cliegg. Dad likes to point out that “the old broad” should have listened to him, because I couldn’t spell my name by the age of three months. This was, to him, a sign that I was a freak of nature, and should be disposed of like one of Beru’s feminine napkins. You know, sometimes I wish that dad could just be quiet at meals, especially when we have company. No one wants to eat taters -n- ketchup with abortion images in their head.

Slightly embarrassed, I left the homestead, seeking the quiet solitude of the barren wasteland known as the Dune Sea. Sometimes at night, I venture out here to shoot off my bottle rockets; but this time, I came seeking an inner sanctuary. Dad’s so mean to me, it isn’t even funny. What did I ever do to him? As the hours crawled by, I began to think that my life was now out of my control. I seem to be controlled by the whimsical intentions of such self-serving persons such as dad, Beru, and Luke. And who’s Luke, anyway? He’s not anybody of consequence! He’ll never make a bit of difference in this galaxy!

He’s only here to grow big and strong, and one day be the best farmhand Tatooine has ever seen. In fact, this loser “son” of mine is nothing more than a very clever droid, one that obeys all instructions, yet understands his place in the Lars “hierarchy”. His only faults are that he needs to eat and that he has very few utility compartments in his chest, unlike his droid counterparts. In fact, I’ve found that I can store little, if any tools within his body. What a major defect!

Speaking of major defect, part of me wants to just run away right now, and never look back on this horrible homestead of ill-dreamed desire. Why should I live with a dad that hates me, a girlfriend that, most likely, cheats on me (with my brother’s killer, no less), and a baby that whines like a girl when he doesn’t get his way? Maybe there’s no place for an Owen Lars on Tatooine. Maybe I should just leave, and kiss off these familiar enemies, once and for all. Not to sound like a sissy-boy, but my eyes are really watering, now. I fear that I’m about to do something rash. Part of me hopes I don’t, and yet most of me hopes I do.

Most of me wins! Goodbye, Tatooine! I’m SO out of here!

Lars- out!

Lavender meadows

2005-08-15T22:56:00.000-07:00

The Tatooine County Fair started today. We look forward to this event every year, although this year things are different. Beru and I now have a child, so our experience at the fair will have to go beyond cheap well drinks and making out under the Bantha- Rodeo bleachers. No, now we are parents, and we have to behave as responsible adults. I was really excited that the baby was about to discover his first fair: a magical time for any youngster. I don’t know anybody who doesn’t remember their first monster-speeder show, or what it’s like when an undernourished, drug-addicted teenage runaway tries to guess your weight. Yes, my friends, it’s magic!

Beru almost didn’t go, claiming that she was still upset about her father being held as a suspect for the senseless slayings of over a dozen innocent Jawas. That happened almost 24 hours ago! Get over it, already. I finally had to force her to come, but she insisted that her mother and Paledueto accompany us, as well. This last point, I had to concede. Dad stayed home, however, and my attempts to change his mind were fruitless. He must be just so disturbed about what Mr. Whitesun had done. Poor dad; the jerk.

Anyway, we all ended up having a really good time. I won a large stuffed Ewok for the baby, after only spending 235 credits on a game where you guess your OWN weight. By the 235th time, I hit the nail right on the head! Do I know my body, or what? I told Beru to play, but she refused. She must be ashamed of her “thunder thighs”. Oh well, it’s her fault. She should stop eating all that puffed pork.

I even had a great time with Mrs. Whitesun and Paledueto, believe it or not. You know, there are many facets to those two women that I never knew. In fact, they’re downright fascinating! For example, did you know that Paledueto wants to be a stage actress? No, neither did I, but it’s true! And did you know that Mrs. Whitesun was once a tug-caller for Tatooine Motors, before she met Mr. Whitesun, of course? It’s true, she was.

By the end of our excursion, I had a newfound respect for the two ladies. I also felt very proud to escort these three lovely women through a fun-filled afternoon of whimsical delight. This year’s fair was truly better than any in the past! By the end, I felt the strange compulsion to pick up my dear, sweet Luke. I kissed his face and told him that I would forever-more protect him from the evils of the world. It was a beautiful moment; one that I will cherish forever.

Lars- out!

A dark lord among us!

2005-08-14T22:50:00.000-07:00

Nobody wanted to talk to me this morning, due to the misunderstanding with Paledueto in the bathroom. In fact, the dumb girl refused to look me in the eye, due to embarrassment. Beru’s dad gave me several evil looks, and her mom kicked me in the shins twice. Dad was even mad at me because he woke up covered in urine. What nerve he has! The nasty part is that dad didn’t shower. Everyone had to hold their noses when he glided by. He really smelled like piss.

Despite the thick tension in the air, the day went by without a hitch. Beru and her family passed the time catching up and looking at old photo albums. The proud grandparents played with their sissy grandson, being entertained for hours on end by staring at him doing nothing. What a waste of time. For the most part they left me and dad alone, and we liked it that way. In fact, no contact had to be made, that is, until dinner time.

Dinner time. What can I tell you about that?

Beru had prepared a stellar meal, one that had been planned ever since the news of her parent’s visit surfaced. She went all out, even managing to decorate the dining room in a neo-classical design, something the ancient Tatooinites may have called home. The place-settings and cutlery were impeccable. The glow of the fire sticks which burned under the paper umbrellas was a soothing, yet elegant touch. The contrast in lighting was a subtle blend of warm colors and brilliant, sharp contrasts that seemed to elevate one’s perception, while leaving them in an almost hypnotic and euphoric state. Then…

Dad farted.

That’s all that it took to ruin Beru’s dinner. The faces of our guests told the tale: they were mortified. I glanced over to Beru; her face displayed a genuine quality of betrayal, shame, and unbelief. To calm her down, I told her that the meal was perfect, and that anyone would be crazy to pass it up. But that wasn’t enough, because by this point, dad was already playing “footsies” with Paledueto under the table. He probably wouldn’t have gotten caught, but he mistook Mr. Whitesun’s foot for Paledueto’s. In response, Mr. Whitesun kicked dad in the groin super-hard. At that moment, it was on! No one kicks my dad in the friendlys just because he hits on the pre-pubescent daughter of a well-respected businessman who also happens to be the father of the girlfriend that I am currently dating: at least, that is, until I can clone my very own Padme. In other words, step off, rich guy!

Without hesitating, I lunged at the tight-wad with all of my might. Dad soon got involved, kicking Mr. Whitesun in the face repeatedly with his one leg. Mrs. Whitesun, the fat space-swine, screamed for help…What a worthless gesture; dad slapped her across the chops like she was a man. Her lips, which were already chapped because of our latest sandstorm, broke open like a dam about to burst (on a planet with water, no doubt), and sprayed over us like a sea of red rain. We were soon covered with the fat woman’s blood. The police came by shortly after, having been alerted by a tip that someone at our estate was the Jawa serial killer.

First impressions DO matter, I’ll tell you that! Within seconds, the police were able to identify Mr. Whitesun as the elusive killer. Their evidence? Well, let’s just say that they got a plethora of circumstantial, or as I like to refer to it as, definite evidence on the guy that was almost my father-in-law. The S.O.B. had the nerve to keep all of the evidence hidden in my dad’s room! Evidence that included, but was not limited to: brown robes, Jawa blood, Jawa teeth, Jawa eyes, tape recordings of my dad killing Jawas, dead Jawa corpses, dead eyewitnesses that had witnessed the senseless slayings, photos and videos (obviously photo-shopped) of dad mutilating the animals, and other audio/video means of pinning the blame on my poor, sweet father. I know the man is an A-hole, but there is no way he could kill another life form! Except, maybe, Mr. Whitesun. But even then, he’d have to be certain he could get away with it. That’s how he is: noble.

Long story short; Mr. Whitesun was hauled off by the M.E.P.D. I never liked the guy, but I probably would never have seen him as a serial killer. A jerk, yes, but never a killer. This evening turned out to be REALLY messed up, even for the Lars household! And not just because dad farted; but that certainly played a part.

Lars- out!

Unwanted guests

2005-08-13T23:17:00.000-07:00

Like most days, I started today with a good, violent vomit. I think this a good way to relieve my body of excessive levels of toxins, such as those found in my alcoholic beverages. Some times, near the end, there’s some blood present, but not much. In my hurry to get it all out, I carelessly sprayed the bright-yellow liquid all over the toilet, walls, and ceiling. I yelled for Beru to come clean it up. As she scrubbed up my bile on her hands and knees, I watched to make sure she got it all. If I had a credit for every time she misses a spot of my puke, I’d be wealthy enough to hire a maid and could kick Beru to the curb. Beru asked me politely not to vomit tomorrow morning, as her parents will be staying here tonight. I told her to piss off.

After lunch, we all hopped in the speeder (dad and the baby on Beru’s lap) and headed to Mos Eisley. We met the Whitesuns at a very posh resort where the “we have more money than we know what to do with” convention was held earlier today. Her parents and her sister ran out to greet her, hugging her and kissing the baby. When I approached the group, however, their smiles disappeared. They never liked me; they’re just jealous. In cold tones they acknowledged me and dad’s presence, then went right back to their joyous reunion with Beru. Beru’s sister, Paledueto, looked as hideous as ever, with her black-dyed hair, stupid glasses, and lipstick so red, you’d think she was a woman of ill repute. I can’t stand her. If she was hot, I could probably stand her.

After the awkward reunion, the Whitesuns rented a fancy speeder and followed me back to the homestead. I purposely drove really fast, hoping to lose them, but in the middle of the Dune Sea, it’s hard to lose someone. Since they ate at their convention, we weren’t required to feed their fat faces (especially Mrs. Whitesun, she’s a space-cow.; on many occasions, I told Beru that if I even suspect that she’s gaining weight, I’m breaking up with her). Instead of having a dinner tonight, it was decided that we would have a “family” meal tomorrow. Whatever.

I had to sleep with dad in his room tonight. I know what you’re thinking: why would I allow those obnoxious Whitesuns use of my room, when the obvious thing to do would be to make them sleep in the workshop? It’s very simple: I put a whole bunch of itching powder between the sheets of my bed. When they wake up itching like crazy, I’ll tell them that I have a bad case of space-lice. That will freak them right out!

It didn’t take me long to realize I had made a mistake. First off, dad’s room reeked of rotting corpses, for some reason. Secondly, dad had broken his space-cot, forcing me to sleep in the same bed with him. His night-jar was placed strategically between us. I told dad that I drew the line at him leaving the lid off, but he punched me in the eyebrow because of the suggestion. He fell right asleep, snoring like a chainsaw. Before long, he began talking in his sleep, talking about how he wants to brutally slaughter every Jawa he sees and eat their innards. Man, dad’s watching way too much news. But the final straw was when the night-jar fell over, soaking the back of my night-robes.

In disgust, I slipped off all my clothes and ran into the bathroom to take a hot shower. I didn’t realize that Paledueto was using the bathroom at the time. She screamed bloody murder, causing her parents and Beru to awaken. Admittedly, when they all stormed the bathroom, the scene must have looked bad. In fact, Beru kept saying, “Why, Owen, why?” I tried to explain that dad had peed on me. They didn’t believe me. I hate them all.

Lars- out!

The Whitesuns

2005-08-12T21:41:00.000-07:00

Well, I got the clone trooper helmet’s communicator to work, but all I got was static. The Empire must be too far out of range. I’ll just have to keep trying until they’re closer to the planet. Oh, well, I got time. I couldn’t resist the urge, however, to wear the mask for a little while. I ran all over the house, pretending I was a clone trooper. Then I moved the show outside, having little adventures in the backyard. I couldn’t tell you how many cool somersaults I did, but it was a lot.

I also had some fun scaring the baby. Every time he saw me in the helmet he started crying. To make the experience even more frightful for him, I shrieked like a Tusken Raider. He soon became hysterical, and Beru had to tend to him. I told her to shut that baby up. Luke’s such a wimp; he’s not brave and courageous like me. Maybe he’ll grow up to be a space-ballerina, or something.

I heard some terrible news today. It seems that Beru’s family, the Whitesuns, want to pay us a visit this weekend. Mr. Whitesun has a convention to attend in Mos Eisley tomorrow, and is bringing the rest of the family so that they can visit us after. Great! That’s all I needed. We don’t see them that often, as they live on the other side of Tatooine; the rich side. I just hate when they show up here with all their manners and class. It makes me sick! As you could probably imagine, dad doesn’t get along with them, either. In fact, he downright hates them. Especially Mr. Whitesun, who always makes dad feel inferior. This will be an interesting weekend.

Beru has been ecstatic ever since she heard the news. This will be the first time her parents have seen the new baby. She spent most of the day cleaning the house, singing as she worked. I was afraid that she was getting too happy, so I knocked her down a peg or two by telling her that she was nowhere near the woman that Padme was, in looks or in class. She stopped singing.

When I broke the news about the Whitesuns to dad, he became irate. He told me that I was worthless for ever getting involved with Beru and her arrogant family. Now, why does he want to go and hurt somebody’s feelings, like that? I didn’t do anything to him. In frustration, he slammed the door in my face. What a jerk!

Before bed, Beru told the baby all about his “grandparents”. Beru’s so stupid: babies don’t understand anything when you talk to them. What a galactic waste of time. She told me she hoped the visit with her parents would go smoother than last time, when dad got drunk and kept hitting on her little sister. I told her nothing like that would happen this time, and that we’d all be on our best behavior, so as not to embarrass her in front of her lovely family.

But I was lying.

Lars- out!

Beru does the #2!

2005-08-11T21:37:00.000-07:00

I awoke early today, due to an irregular itching in my anal region. The same thing occurred just days ago, but I dismissed that as “failure to wash syndrome”. The weird thing about this was that I had bathed just last night, and my “exit only” should have been clean as a whistle. In the end, I had to “pin” the blame on pin worms, no pun intended; those nasty night-stalkers that make your nether-regions pucker in fear. This time, the smell of my putrid phalanges was so bad that I immediately washed them with bleach and rubbing alcohol. There was no opportunity for me to make Beru smell the infected digits, much to the chagrin of my “bad” self; the one that hopes that Beru will never escape the rancid aroma of a grown man’s irresponsibly-kept anus hole.

I received a wonderful phone call this morning. Austin, the electronics expert that was working on my clone trooper helmet, called to tell me that he had fixed my communicator. My spirits were lifted due to this great piece of news. Living so far from Mos Espa, I asked him if he could wait until next week before I picked up said helmet. About the best piece of news came next. He said that my pal, Watto, was coming into my neck of the woods today, and if it was alright with me, he’d just give the helmet to Watto to deliver, then I could just pay the winged freak, instead. OHHHHHH, yes!

I couldn’t wait until my communicator helmet arrived, and the very anticipation caused me to pace the living room, dining room, basketball court, solarium, home theatre, sauna, heated indoor pool, recreation room, all seven inner courtyards, hedge mazes, greenrooms, disco parlors, and all other rooms that I do not own, nor have ever seen. In fact, I don’t even know what I have just said.

Watto arrived quite late, even for my standards. I told him to piss off; after he had handed me the helmet, that is. He demanded some kind of payment, but I told him that if he didn’t back the force off, he would suffer the same fate that I imposed on his dear sister, Rotta. Alarmed, he demanded clarification as to my bold statement, but because I was already drunk, I resorted to my final trump card: a really nasty picture of him dressed scantily in a seductive pose. Scared as a hummingbird, the freak fluttered off. Watto’s a jackass, don’t mind him. He’s all talk and little action; unlike me.

I finally had a plausible way to contact The Empire. At last, after these two grueling months, I could finally hold my head up high and rat out my worthless Jedi neighbor. I was so excited; I thought I’d piss my robes. Beru couldn’t sleep, due to an unseemly sunsburn she had acquired, unfortunately due to her own recklessness. Desperately needing her to go away while I attempted my contact, I told the female dog that she was looking rather “thick” tonight, and that she should probably go weigh herself. In tears, Beru fled the living room. She must have gotten a drop of hot sauce in her eye. She’s such a clumsy ho.

I tinkered with the white-armored helmet for about two minutes, hardly enough time to figure out the futuristic mechanism, when Beru exited the bathroom. Without thinking, that cankerous girlfriend of mine left the Jon door open. Within seconds, the aroma of her “Butt Leavings” filled the air. Whoa, what a stench that was! In my twenty-some years as a living organism, I have never smelled anything quite as foul as that. And this is coming from somebody who’s quite familiar with the smell of dad’s “night jar”.

Without hesitation, I let Beru know how nasty she was for doing such a thing. She seemed rather embarrassed, but that didn’t quell my tirade. The bird does the dirty #2?! I was shocked to my very essence! During the last three years, I was never made privy to the fact that she had this kind of nastiness in her. At this point, I’m totally disgusted, and from this point on, I will find it very hard to even hold hands with her! What a sick chick I ended up with! She makes Rotta seem like a supermodel. Oh, Beru, you’re so nasty beyond belief. How I long for the day when I can cast you aside for a much more beautiful woman, one that doesn’t feel the need to defecate any time it suits her. In fact, during the whole period that Padme and I were acquainted, I don’t remember her using the bathroom facilities even once, whether to do #1 or #2. She’s probably just way classier than you could ever dream to be. As soon as I collect some Padme DNA, it’s all over between me and Beru. And good riddance, I say. You know what really sucks? I got to pee real bad, but cannot, due to the foul stench left by an uncaring, sick woman posing as a loving girlfriend. Why in the name of the force was I paired with such a venomous woman? It must be some kind of celestial joke.

Lars- out!

A letter from Dagobah

2005-08-10T22:18:00.000-07:00

My quest to find a pilot at the cantina proved fruitless. In fact, the entire bar was shut down after a surprise visit by the Health Inspector. The cantina failed the inspection in every major category. The biggest infringement of Health Department guidelines came when it was discovered that the “Volcano Nachos” were made with Bantha meat. Gross. I’ll never order those again. Still needing a drink, I was forced to buy package liquor and drink it in an alley with some Ithorians. One tried to get fresh with me, so I left.

I spent a good part of today organizing my sock drawer. It was way too hot to go out farming, so I made Beru and the baby do it, instead. Once again, Beru failed to take the necessary precautions, and the baby got a nasty sunsburn. Later, dad realized that I had eaten the last of his sunsflower seeds, and read me the riot act. I was in no mood for his tirade, so I flung him out of his chair and began kicking him. In retaliation, he bit my ankle hard enough to draw blood. It was pretty much a typical day, that is, until the mail arrived.

The mailman accidentally left an envelope addressed to Obi-wan in our mailbox. The postmark was from the Dagobah System, and the sender was someone called, “Yoda”. I eagerly opened the letter and read it. It took me a while to sift through it, due to an unusually high level of bad grammar. Most of it was fluff; Yoda complaining about swamps and being bored, and he even inquired as to how Obi-wan’s communications with the dead were going. Crazy wizards! But the big shock was still to come.

At the end of the letter, Yoda implored Obi-wan to come visit him soon, and to ask the Lars family if they would allow him to bring Luke on the trip so they could give him a Pre-Jedi Training Assessment, otherwise known as the PJTA. EXCUSE ME? Who does this guy think he is? If he thinks I’m going to let that murderer take my precious son, Luke, to some distant planet, he’s crazy! Why, so he can brutally butcher him, as well? And if they think I’m going to let them train Luke to be a Jedi, they’re smoking death sticks! In anger, I ripped the letter into a million pieces and threw them into the wind.

I was fuming all evening. To make myself feel better, I took my aggravation out on Beru. The nerve of those Jedi! I’m glad they’re all rotting in a Coruscant prison. Hopefully I’ll get my clone trooper helmet back soon, so I can communicate with The Empire and let them know where to find Obi-wan and his illiterate colleague. Before bed, I had to go outside and pick up a million pieces of shredded paper. The garbage men are slobs.

Lars- out!

The family from Mustafar

2005-08-09T22:55:00.000-07:00

DNA. Where in blazes am I going to find samples of Padme’s DNA? First, I’ll have to find out where they buried her. Since she was from Naboo, it’s probably safe to assume that they laid her to rest there. The problem is that I can’t leave the planet as a condition of my probation. Besides, I’ve never left Tatooine, and therefore I don’t have a passport. I’ll have to find a pilot down at the cantina that’s willing to travel to Naboo, find Padme’s grave, dig up her body, and cut off one of her arms. No- her head. I will have to proceed cautiously in selecting the perfect pilot for the mission.

Dad was in an especially weird mood today. After lunch, I caught him rubbing red paint all over his face. Half-dozen little brown robes were strewn carelessly around his room. Why is he collecting those? They couldn’t possibly fit him. When he noticed me watching him, he told me that my birth was a mistake and slammed his bedroom door. In a totally unrelated story, the Jawa serial killer has struck again, this time slaughtering a family of six innocent Jawas.

Beru was in the kitchen doing dishes. She was whistling a cheery tune as she worked. I told the annoying woman to shut her trap. Man, I can’t wait until I have my very own Padme so I can send Beru packing. Let her go raise the baby in the projects, for all I care. Padme is way hotter than Beru; she’s an obvious upgrade.

I got a bunch of farming done, collecting over 3 ¾ ounces of water. I was so proud of myself, I ran inside to show Beru. One of the baby’s toys was carelessly left out in the walkway, and wouldn’t you know it, I tripped over it. Not only did I lose all the water, but the glass shattered in my hand, causing me to bleed profusely. In a fit of rage, I tore the baby a new one. Beru implored me to stop yelling at him, so I told her to piss off. During the commotion, dad came out of his room, and upon seeing my bloody hand, began licking the blood off my fingers like a starving Ugnaught. What the heck has gotten into him? I pushed the nasty SOB away, announcing to all of them that they can burn in Mustafar.

My distain with my family has reached new heights. I need to replace them all, as they do nothing for me. It seems like I was born to serve others, or something. I pondered all these thoughts as Beru gave me a very long and thorough massage. Afterwards, she asked if I could rub her neck for a second, as she had a painful crick. I told her no. Instead, I let her give me the rest of her money, so I could go drink at the cantina. She said all she had left was money for space-diapers. I told her to the baby could relieve himself in a plastic bag, for all I care. My need was much more urgent. I needed to find a pilot, and pilots expect you to buy them drinks.

Lars- out!

The Kaminoan

2005-08-08T20:59:00.000-07:00

I played with the communicator in the clone trooper helmet all last night and some of today, yet could not get it to function. I even got R2 to look at it, but he’s not working so well since the last time I took him apart. Finally, I had no choice but to send it out to a guy that Watto knows who is good with electronics. This afternoon, I made the long voyage to Mos Espa and met Watto for lunch. I was under the impression that Watto was going to pay, so I purposely ordered the most expensive things on the menu, even though I didn’t want them. When it came time for the bill, Watto “conveniently” had to use the restroom. He was gone a long time, forcing me to pay. The jerk even had the nerve to order the most expensive things on the menu, even though he didn’t want them. What kind of person does that?

We dropped the helmet off at Watto’s friend’s shop. He told me it might take a few days for him to fix it. Great. Since I was already in town, we decided to go watch a pod race. Watto had to change his clothes, so we first went to his apartment. While he got dressed in his bedroom, I rummaged through his personal belongings, looking for money to “borrow”. I didn’t find any credits, but I did find something rather interesting. Under a stack of bills in his junk drawer was a stack of photographs. They were glamour photos of Watto in all kinds of provocative poses. What the heck? I chuckled at the sheer ridiculousness of Watto in his undies, looking over his shoulder with a brooding stare. I decided to keep a couple of them in order to blackmail him later.

Once at the pod race, we bought our tickets and found our seats. Every time I go to an event like this, I always end up sitting next to a weird or stinky alien; today was no different. My seat was right next to a Kaminoan. Those tall and skinny life forms freak me out. But this one was pretty cool. He introduced himself as Kun La, and said that he used to work as a cloner on Kamino. He was fired by the Prime Minister, Lama Su, for conducting rather strange experiments with the clones. He retired to Tatooine because he was sick of being surrounded by water. What an extremist.

To be honest, I enjoyed talking to Kun more than the race, itself. He gave me his card, and told me that if I ever wanted a clone made, he’d do it for me, as he still has all of his old equipment. During the drive home, a lightning bolt went off in my head. If only I could find some of her DNA, I could have my very own Padme!

Lars- out!

The helmet of salvation

2005-08-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

Today was going to be the day; the end was growing near for my nemesis, Kenobi. I woke up early, and was giddy as a schoolgirl. As I blow-dried my hair, I fantasized about what life will be like once Obi-wan’s in the hands of The Empire. I was so excited, I giggled to my self in the bathroom mirror. Not wanting to miss this rare opportunity to get a message to The Empire, I decided to leave for Mos Eisley early.

I eagerly jumped in my speeder and turned the ignition, but the speeder failed to start. Great! I would have used dad’s beat-up speeder, but lately there has been a horrible smell in it, almost like rotting corpses. I decided it would be best just to fix my speeder, as I still had a couple of hours before Governor Tarkin’s arrival. The repairs were more difficult than I thought they’d be, so I ended up Tusken-rigging it. With very little time left, I finally got the thing working. I sped to Mos Eisley as fast as I could.

When I arrived at the flea market, there was already a huge crowd. In the center of the sea of people were several Republic gun ships, or Imperial gun ships, rather. A squad of clone troopers was escorting droids and slaves onto the ships. A dignified man with a hollow, almost skeletal face addressed the crowd, thanking them for their donations. That must be Governor Tarkin. I had to get to him, but the crowd was so massive.

I pushed and shoved through the crowd, sometimes knocking over an old woman or a child, but politely asking the men to let me pass. I was almost to Tarkin, and could smell the sweet scent of victory. All I had to do was get past a group of Jawas, but they’d be easy to knock over. I pushed one down, but the others didn’t take too kindly to it. They viciously attacked me, kicking my kneecaps and punching me in the butt. I told them I was going to kill them all, and this was my first mistake. A nearby police officer overheard me, and must have thought I was the Jawa serial killer. A swarm of Mos Eisley police jumped me and put me in handcuffs. Governor Tarkin looked on as the cops made the arrest. I tried to yell out to him that Obi-wan is here on Tatooine, but he didn’t hear me over the screaming cops. Police brutality!

I was sent to the police station and was interrogated for a long time. I explained the situation, and because of lack of evidence, they released me. They told me not to leave town, though. Where would I go? I’m on probation! Free at last, I raced back to the flea market, hoping that Tarkin was still there. But, of course, he wasn’t. The massive crowd had dispersed, and my one chance to get a message to The Empire had vanished. Or had it? A clone trooper had left his helmet behind. Inside it I found a communicator, but couldn’t figure out how it worked. If only I could learn to use it, I may be able to communicate with The Empire. Kenobi’s not off the hook quite yet.

Lars- out!

The Empire

2005-08-06T21:26:00.000-07:00

What a day of revelations! In the paper today was a story about the new “Galactic Empire”. It seems the story that Obi-wan told dad was true, about how Chancellor Palpatine crowned himself emperor. I guess Obi-wan didn’t lie about that one thing, but he still killed my brother; and I still suspect that he’s messing around with Beru. Anyway, back to the story. Apparently, all these changes were made a couple of months ago, but being way out her in the Outer Rim, we hear everything late.

The gist of the article was that was that The Empire is in the midst of building a gigantic battle station, but is severely understaffed. They are presently looking for people who are willing to donate their droids or their slaves to assist in the construction of the massive structure. In return, all willing participants will have their names added to The Empire’s weekly newsletter, and will be invited to a special “meet and greet”, where they will get to have lunch and hang out with an actual dark lord of the Sith.

The guy spear-heading the project, a dude named Governor Tarkin, will be in town tomorrow with a battalion of clone troopers to pick up the donations. My eyes lit up when I read that last part. When Tarkin gets here, I can let him know that Obi-wan is hiding out here on Tatooine. Then his clone troopers will arrest him and I’ll be rid of the menace for good! I might even get a reward; who knows? Either way, I was really psyched. The article said Governor Tarkin would be arriving at the Mos Eisley Flea Market at 3 PM. He asked that all donations be waiting in the parking lot when he arrives. I will be the first one there!

At dinner, the whole family discussed the new Empire. Beru was not very happy about it, saying that people could lose their freedoms. Dad said he respected the Sith, and would even like to join them, that is if his cheapskate son would ever buy him a bionic leg. As for me, I don’t care; it doesn’t affect me. Republic, Empire, condo association, it’s all the same to me. But if I had to choose, I’d go with The Empire, just because it’s a cool-sounding name.

After dinner, I walked by dad and purposely let some gas go in his face. He got so angry that he punched me in the butt. I could have cared less, though, as I’m walking on air. By this time tomorrow, my brother’s killer will be in the hands of The Empire. Hopefully they’ll torture him a little. Or a lot.

Lars- out!

Thy brother's wife

2005-08-05T22:12:00.000-07:00

I had a terrible dream last night. I awoke in a cold sweat and my heart was racing at 26,766 miles per hour. The dream was so vivid that I had to accept it as a premonition, much like the powerful dreams that my brother, Anakin, used to have. The ones he had about his mother, Shmi, were so intense that he forsook his Jedi obligations to come here to Tatooine to try and rescue her. This story is widely known throughout these parts, for it was the first time I met my step-brother, and the last time. He came here with his hot girlfriend and his R2 unit, and left with my protocol droid. Although our meeting was brief, I still feel that some of his “force” may have rubbed off on me, and that’s why I’m having these chilling nightmares.

There has been a flurry of rumors that when Anakin left to find his mother, something my dad, Cliegg, failed miserably in, that I took advantage of the situation, and hit on his girlfriend while he was gone. Just to assure everyone, nothing could be further from the truth. I remember that evening like it was yesterday. The suns were going down, and Anakin had just been told that his mother had been kidnapped by Tusken Raiders about a month earlier. I was so ashamed that dad had failed so brilliantly in his rescue attempt. But that’s dad; untrustworthy. Without hesitation, Anakin borrowed my swoop bike and headed towards the Tusken camps. I so believed in Anakin’s mission that I didn’t even charge him for the Swoop gas. Unfortunately, this is where the nasty rumors begin.

In the latest version, concocted solely by my detractors; namely, dad and Beru, I convinced the bird (I believe her name was Padme), that her beau would likely never return, and that if she decided to be my girl, I would kick Beru to the curb. There was even talk that I tried to kiss her, but all of these claims are patently false. In reality, I had a bit to drink, but cannot remember making any “moves” on the young lassie. I’ll admit, freely, that I found her quite attractive, and that a very small part of me hoped Anakin would never return from the Raider’s camp. But he did, and at that point, I laid the whole Queen of Naboo thing to rest. That’s not to say that I don’t think about her from time to time, but now that I know she’s dead, and now that I’m raising her son, Luke, the attraction just isn’t quite the same. It’s very close, but still not the same.

Beru seemed jealous of her, as she should be. I think she suspected that something was going on, even though it wasn’t. Padme was way hotter than Beru, and I would have changed girlfriends in an instant, had the opportunity presented itself. But, unfortunately, we met under very auspicious circumstances, and it was hardly the time and place to land a new “booty call”. Beru was lucky that the “Clone Wars” were just commencing. Otherwise, Padme and I may have found ourselves to be great lovers.

I wish she wouldn’t have died in childbirth. She was so hot. So very, very hot! I think about her all the time. Sometimes, when I’ve had too much to drink, I like to remind Beru of how hot that bird was. She never seems to like it, but that’s her problem. Beru doesn’t deal with “constructive criticism” very well. She’s so juvenile.

Anyway, to explain what my powerful dreams are, and what they mean, would take too much time. But I will try to capsulate it like this: Anakin’s bird goes way out of her way to seduce me, and being such a softy, I let her. Then the fate of the entire galaxy rests on my next decision: should I dump Beru and keep the hotter bird? The answer is SO simple! Yes! Man, I wish all of this was more real! Due to these extreme premonitions, I think something great is about to come my way. I can’t tell what, exactly, but something. Either way, that bird was fit as Mustafar! See above photo if you don’t believe me.

Lars- out!

A throbbing headache

2005-08-04T20:27:00.000-07:00

I drank quite a bit last night, so much so that I vomited violently this morning. The strength of the upchuck was so great that I busted a blood vessel in my eye. My pores reeked of alcohol; my armpits, especially. They smelled just like a pretty strong mixed drink, without an umbrella, but with an extra wedge of lime. Living on Tatooine is great, especially when you are hung-over. There’s nothing like waking up with a throbbing headache and walking outside to face not one, but two blazing suns! The brightness seemed almost impossible, as if it would burn a hole in my corneas. After only a couple of moments, I had to go back inside and plant my face inside my space-toilet for what seemed hours.

At about half past noon, Beru came to me to see if I was all right. She was carrying a load of dad’s laundry with her. I was a little curious as to why all his clothes were covered in ketchup. I just don’t get it; we don’t even keep ketchup in the house. Not even when we have space-meatloaf. Or was he hunting without me, again? I wouldn’t be surprised. Dad’s not too loyal. I’m glad that his fiancé accidentally died. He deserves it.

A few hours later, I was feeling much better. I even managed a bit of farming, nothing to write home about, you understand, but the effort was there. Or, at least I tried to feign effort. Either way, as far as the family knew, I was trying. Dad was out all day, and returned about half past six. His glider-chair was obviously on turbo-mode, as he nearly plowed me over, but I could have sworn I saw him holding what looked like a full-scale replica of a Jawa in his lap. Now where does dad find the money for an authentic alien replication, when we can’t even pay the speeder insurance bill? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the expensive figure was actually moving in a lifelike way. What does that mean? It must mean that dad paid extra to add animatronics to his new “collectable”. Well, I’ll tell you what, if he has money to pay for that, I hope he can pitch in a couple of credits to help with gas and wine. If not, then he’s a selfish swine!

A while later, I heard a lot of strange noises coming from dad’s room. I think he’s been trying to learn Jawa-ese lately, as I heard what seemed to be a recording of the Jawa language playing in very realistic decibel levels. Probably his new mannequin came with a voice feature, as well. Must have cost a pretty shilling, I’d guess. In a totally unrelated story, the police still have no leads in that Jawa serial killer matter.

Lars- out!

A bloody shock!

2005-08-03T21:42:00.000-07:00

I had a very unpleasant sleep last night. I awoke several times due to an irregular itching in my nether regions. That old Jedi proverb is true, “He who goes to bed with itchy butt wakes up with stinky finger.” I got up very early today, early enough to enjoy breakfast with the rest of the family. Before washing my hands, I forced Beru to smell my fingers several times. She was a bit disgusted. It was really funny. All of us ate our cereal together. Dad pointed out that he loves the word cereal, but favors an alternate spelling; whatever that means. He seemed a bit ornery this morning, making several harsh comments about Jawas. I found it a tad tasteless, given the present circumstances that the Jawas are dealing with. His favorite comment was, “The only good Jawa is a dead Jawa”. He repeated this line fourteen and a half times during the meal. Dad’s so tactless. What a time to go off on Jawas. Why can’t he choose his moments better?

Halfway through the meal, I decided to break the news to dad that his Jawa friends were brutally murdered. I expected him to break down in tears, but instead I saw what almost looked like a proud grin on his face. Damn the human psyche; it sometimes causes us to react in an antithesis way! Poor dad; his friends were now gone, but his mourning would have to wait until his hysterical laughter had subsided. Damn the human psyche!

As dad glided away from the table, whistling, a metallic object fell from his robe pocket. He didn’t notice the occurrence, so I picked it up in order to return it to him. I was beside myself, however, upon learning what the object was. It was a large, serrated hunting knife covered in ketchup. Upon closer examination, all the pieces of the puzzle came together in one fell swoop. At that moment, I knew exactly what had been going on! How could I have been so stupid? How could I have not seen the signs? This whole time, the truth was staring at me point-blank, and I was oblivious to it. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe it. But here was the cold, hard truth screaming in my face for attention. A truth I conveniently ignored, out of ignorance, no doubt. The ketchup on the blade wasn’t ketchup, at all. It was blood! Blood from an innocent creature that my father, Cliegg Lars, had slain in cold blood.

In a moment of complete clarity, I decided that I needed to confront him, immediately. I practically kicked down his bedroom door and grabbed him by the collar forcefully. “How could you, How could you?”, is all I could let out in my anguish. The fear on his face was palpable. He had been found out, that much was clear. He started to beg forgiveness, but I told him to save it. There was very little he could do at that point to earn my forgiveness. When I was a young boy, dad used to take me out hunting all the time. We would kill Womp-Rats, Duermies, and space-squirrels, but never once did dad go out hunting without me! The very fact that his latest hunting expedition was a solo one broke my heart. How could he go out and hunt these very delicious animals without me being there? I don’t know if I can ever forgive him. Unexpectedly, dad seemed almost relieved after my tirade had finished. It was almost as though he thought my suspicions lie elsewhere. Where in Mustafar would that be? Dad’s so weird! Must be the death-sticks! Go smoke another one, pops, you friggin’ loser! Tonight you lost a hunting buddy. That’s what you did!

Lars- out!

Dead Jawas

2005-08-02T21:51:00.000-07:00

This whole Jawa mess is starting to get out of control. They found another two bodies last night. Word is that the police are using their shortest officers to dress as Jawas in hopes of luring the serial killer. But the problem is that they never know where he’s going to strike. Because Jawas are nomads, they have no real home base. The sand crawlers they travel around in are pretty solid fortresses, so they seem to be protected as long as they stay inside them; or so we thought. That theory was proved wrong today.

The newest victims, a family of Jawas selling scrap metal from their sand crawler, were found dead inside the massive vehicle. When the Mos Eisley P.D. found the abandoned sand crawler, it was parked less than a quarter-mile from our property. The police questioned us, living so close, and all. They wanted to know if we had heard or seen anything. They explained to us that the newest victims must have known their killer, for there were no signs of forced entry. Also, the killer left no tracks, which suggests to the police that he rides on some type of glider-apparatus. Beru and I spoke to the cops, but dad wouldn’t come out of his room, stating that he was sick.

We were shown photos of the grizzly crime scene. I immediately recognized the family of Jawas; for they’re the same ones that dad deals with all the time. In fact, he knows them very well; he’ll be heartbroken when he hears about this. As soon as the police left, dad left his bedroom and nearly ran me over with his glider-chair in his haste to leave the house. He seemed to be perspiring a lot, and he had spilled what seemed to be ketchup all over the sleeve of his robe. What a slob! I asked him where he was going, but he was already too far away in the distance.

Later, when I was in dad’s room looking for hidden money, I happened across something queer under his bed. It was a brown robe with a hood, something that would fit a midget. It was ripped in several place and covered in ketchup. What a strange thing to keep under one’s bed. Dad is such an eccentric.

I really hope they catch this serial killer, but it may not happen for a while. With very little clues and absolutely no leads, it’ll most likely be an arduous road ahead. This guy is obviously very smart, and covers all bases. Oh, well, it’s not my problem; I’m not a Jawa.

Lars- out!

The P.O. droid

2005-08-01T22:45:00.000-07:00

I had to visit my P.O. today. I headed to Mos Eisley early so I wouldn’t have to wait in a long line when I got there. My probation oversight fees were due today, but I didn’t have any money. I wasn’t worried, however, as I’ve sweet-talked the guy many times in the past with success. I usually just come up with some cockamamie excuse, and he almost always buys it. While waiting my turn, I read some of the newspaper. It seems like they found another dead Jawa. That brings the total up to seven. The Jawa community is understandably nervous, having a serial killer out there targeting it. Even though I can’t stand Jawas because they’re different from me, I still think this guy is a real sicko. Further into the article, it stated that the police have no leads. They should go question Obi-wan; he loves to kill!

It was finally my turn, and upon walking into his office, my heart nearly stopped. My pushover P.O. had been replaced by a droid! He was nothing like the old guy; this one was cold and down-to-business. There wasn’t any, “How’s Beru and Luke”, or, “Did you catch that pod race last night”, the droid got right down to brass tacks. He asked for my oversight fee, and even opened up a credit card slot in his chest for easy payment. I explained to him that I didn’t have any money, and began offering an excuse when he stopped me short. He told me cut-and-dry that if didn’t come up with the money in one hour, he would issue an arrest warrant for violation of probation.

Great! How on Tatooine would I come up 89 credits in an hour? I went straight to the cantina to ask some of my buddies for a loan. They all had a good laugh, saying that I was the kind of guy you could give a credit to and never have to worry about seeing it again. I finally had to resort to begging them, but to no avail. I told them all to go to Mustafar and left the bar, slamming the door behind me. I only had 35 minutes left. What was I going to do?

As I stood on the road pondering my next play, Lady Luck paid me a visit. She arrived in the form of an old lady who asked me if I could help her cross the street. Around her shoulder was a fairly large purse, and her wallet was partially sticking out of it. I told the senile old bag that I would be more than happy to assist her. As we walked, my hand stealthly made its way to the wallet. I slowly grabbed it and tucked it inside my robes. When we reached the other side, she was so grateful for the assistance that she offered to give me a tip. As she began to search for her wallet, I told her that it wasn’t necessary. But she insisted, so I took off running. In my haste to leave the scene, I plowed over a group of handicapped kids on a field trip. My bad.

I got back to the P.O.’s office just in time. The woman’s wallet contained over 100 credits, more than enough for my fee. As I was leaving, the P.O. reminded me that I need to have 20 hours of community service logged by next month’s meeting. Frickin’ P.O. droids!

Lars- out!

Bad checks and bad neighbors

2005-07-31T21:00:00.000-07:00

I had to do the grocery shopping today. Beru used to do it, but she would always spend too much money buying nonsense like baby food. Not that I like doing it, but if Beru continues, she’ll put us in the poor house. Armed with a fistful of space-coupons, I entered Mos Eisley Foods. The experience started off bad, as they were fresh out of puffed pork. Next, I dropped a jar of tomato sauce on the ground, and it shattered, spraying sauce all over my sandals and robes. The clean-up droid wasn’t at all friendly, and gave me a look as if to suggest that I dropped the jar on purpose. What a jerk. Then, as I was walking down the cereal aisle, an old lady hit me right in the ankles with her cart. The pain was excruciating! In anger, I turned, grabbed her cart, and violently flipped it over. She would end spending the next twenty minutes cleaning up the mess.

When I finally got to the check-out, my debit card was declined. I offered to write them a check, but they got me on their “bad checks” list. In fact, there’s a pretty good-sized photo of me behind every register in the store. They must think I’m handsome. With no credits on me, I asked if I could just pay them the next time I came to the store. The girl behind the register laughed. In anger, I violently flipped the cart over and walked out.

When I got home, Beru asked me where all the groceries were. I told her to piss off. Dad was in his room, sobbing. Dang! When’s he going to get over that, already. I went out to do some farming, but found that my heart wasn’t into it. I went into the living room to look for change in the sofa so I could buy some space-snuff, when the most familiar scent entered my nose. It was Obi-wan’s cologne! The S.O.B. was here, in my house! I confronted Beru immediately. She admitted that he had come by to leave dad a condolence card. She showed me the card, and I immediately tore it to pieces. I just know something went on between those two while I was gone, and in front of my sweet, precious Luke, at that. But I knew better than to expect honesty from the wench, so I went into my room and slammed the door behind me.

It seems like I can’t even leave the house anymore. Everyone is so rotten to me. Later, dad passed out on Rotta’s newly dug grave. Oh, great, so we’re starting that again!

Lars- out!

Another funeral

2005-07-30T20:57:00.000-07:00

We attended Rotta’s funeral today. It was sooooooo boring! The preacher droid went on forever about what she meant to people and how she’s at peace now, and some other boring things. Dad insisted that we bury her on our property, next to where he “thinks” Shmi is buried. Watto was o.k. with it, something strange as dad only knew her about a week. I think Watto just didn’t want to pay for the burial. Nice way to treat family, huh? During the long ceremony, dad wailed like a baby every time Rotta’s name was spoken. Beru and Watto cried too, but not so dramatically as dad. I mean, it was almost like he was pretending. The whole thing was so boring that I even picked up the baby so that I could play with him. Beru was shocked, this being only the second time I’ve held him.

Because the casket was so tiny, we only needed two pall-bearers to carry it out of the house. Watto and I received the “honor”. As we proceeded to the burial site, I noticed that the casket was made out of that rare metal that’s selling well right now, the same used in Shmi’s casket. Watto gave me a look as if to say, “don’t even think about it”. Dad’s speech was pathetic because he sobbed through the whole thing. I rolled my eyes every time he mentioned how much he loved her. What a loser. Watto’s speech was shorter, but no less pathetic. He went on about how their parents would take them on family vacations when they were little, and how they’d sit in the back of the speeder wagon and play road games. Spare me, please! It seemed like it would never end.

My relief came when the baby unexpectedly had a bowel movement. Without hesitation, I announced that I had to go inside and change it. Beru was even more surprised at this, as I had never changed a diaper, and furthermore don’t know where the diapers are kept. Once inside, I laid the baby in his basinet, and headed out the back door. Luckily, my speeder was parked back there. I put it in neutral and pushed it about twenty yards so no one would hear the engine start. Once I was far enough away, I cranked it up and drove straight to the local pod race. As luck would have it, I arrived just as the last race ended. Stupid Rotta!

Lars- out!

Aftermath

2005-07-29T22:34:00.000-07:00

Things were bad today. Dad has this paranoid suspicion that Rotta was poisoned. After she died, dad sent her silly little body to one of the best coroners on Tatooine to try to determine the cause of death. The autopsy findings, released just today,were that she had a high concentration of Altopedamine in her system, a chemical commonly found in Womp-Rat poison. Upon hearing this news, dad cursed the force and vowed to bring Rotta's killer to justice. He decided to begin his own private investigation. One by one, he interviewed everyone who was at the party, asking them if they had heard or seen anything unusual. He specifically wanted to know if anybody had seen someone place a cup of fruit punch above the pantry.

As far as the cup, itself, dad sent it out to the lab to be dusted for fingerprints. Luckily, I used a glove when handling it because I had an open sore on my finger, and I didn't want the poison to come in contact with it. In fact, I wasn't at all worried that dad would suspect me. That is, not until dad interviewed Watto.

Watto claimed that he thought he saw me run out to my workshop and re-emerge with a cup of fruit punch, possibly wearing a latex glove. But Watto couldn't be 100% sure, as he had enjoyed several cocktail prior to the sighting. At least for now, dad's not pointing fingers at me. But he is watching me, I'll tell you that much. As dad's investigation continues, I will have to be careful not to appear guilty. Besides, I have nothing to be ashamed of. It's not like I did anything wrong. I mean, I didn't tell her to drink the punch. If anything, dad should be thanking me. She was nasty!

The funeral is set for tomorrow. That really sucks, as tomorrow is the first preseason pod race. If I can find a way to sneak away early, I may only miss the first few laps. In reality, I only need to watch the end so that I see who wins. That way, I will know who to root for in the next race.

Lars- out!

Tragedy at the homestead

2005-07-28T22:07:00.000-07:00

When I awoke this morning, the house was already alive with activity. Beru and Rotta were decorating the living room with streamers and banners. When something needed to be taped up in a high place, Rotta would flutter her nasty little wings and fly up to do it. Dad was in the kitchen dressing up Luke like the New Year's baby. That made no sense, it being an engagement party, and all. The pantry was over-filled with all kinds of delicious snacks and beverages. They must have spent a small fortune on the groceries. I guess the electric bill will be paid late, again. A palpable excitement filled the air. There was genuine happiness in the homestead, so much that it was making me feel ill.

Watto was the first guest to arrive. He was carrying a large box adorned with a bright red bow. He begged the newly-engaged couple to open their present immediately. It was a fancy baby stroller. EXCUSE ME? He explained that the gift was for later, when they decide to have kids. It seems Watto is eager to become an uncle. What a jerk! Before long, the house was crammed with all sorts of lifeforms. Everybody toasted the lovebirds.

While the party raged on, I kept my eyes trained on the front door. What would I do when Obi-wan arrived? Would I run up to him and smash his face in? Or would I simply ignore him, thereby showing my disdain for him? No, better yet, I would poison him! That's it! Without hesitation, I made way to my workshop where I always keep a small amount of Womp-Rat poison. I mixed a teaspoon of the deadly powder in a cup of fruit punch, and waited for the unsuspecting Jedi to arrive. Anakin would finally be avenged! So that no one would accidentally drink it, I put the cup up high above the pantry.

I waited forever for him to arrive. After awhile, it was obvious that he wasn't coming. He's probably scared of me; as he should be. Bored with the stupid party, I went to my bathroom to relieve myself of a #2. When I came back to the living room, I was informed that Obi-wan had stopped by. Apparently, he was running late for a function and couldn't stay. He did, however, leave a present. It was a metal sculpture of dad and Rotta that he had carved with his lightsaber. The likenesses were uncanny. Dad actually shed a tear at the thoughtfulness of the gift. Obi-wan's such a show-off! Well, He got lucky. I guess he gets to live another day.

Sometime later, it occurred to me that I better throw out the poisoned punch. Before I could, however, a large thump resonated from the kitchen. The whole party turned to see Rotta lying face-down on the kitchen floor. Something had caused her to fall out of the air. Everybody raced to her aid, but it was too late. She was dead. In her scrawny claw was a cup of fruit punch that she had gotten from the top of the pantry. Uh-oh! Amidst the chaos, I was able to slip away to my room. I decided this was an excellent opportunity to take a nap. I couldn't sleep, though, due to dad's crying and wailing. Why can't he just be quiet?

Lars- out!

An unholy union

2005-07-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

I didn’t sleep well last night. Beru got me up this morning, inquiring about R2’s head. I told her that the baby must have done it. I can’t remember all that happened last night, but R2’s parts were strewn all over the house today. Beru asked about the cut on my palm, but I cleverly told her that I cut myself shaving. She started going on about how strange I’ve been acting lately. I just wanted her to be quiet, as my head was throbbing. I went outside for some peace, but the suns were so bright, it made my headache worse.

I spent a good part of the day putting R2 back together. Afterwards, Beru complained that nothing on the droid was working. He couldn’t even make sounds. I’ll be sure to take a look at him later, after I’ve had a couple of drinks and my nerves are calm.

Dad showed up this afternoon with Rotta. The freaky couple had a “surprise” announcement. It seems dad proposed to her, and she accepted. Rotta gushed about how romantic the proposal was. It seems dad took her to the shooting range last night. In the parking lot, right next to the garbage dumpster, dad got down on one stump and popped the question. When he tried to get back up, however, he lost his balance and rolled over onto a bunch of broken glass. Rotta said she never heard so many curses and profanities in her life. After a brief stay in the hospital, the couple traveled to Mos Espa to visit Watto. Dad wanted to get his blessing, being Rotta’s oldest brother. Watto heartily welcomed him into the family. Dad’s such a nerd.

After Rotta had bored me to death with her story, she announced that they were throwing an engagement bash tomorrow; here at the homestead. They got together a guest list, which included all the usual life forms; people from the cantina, dad’s therapist, my P.O., and several of Rotta’s friends. It was bad enough that all these scumbags were going to be in my house, but my heart stopped when I noticed the very last name on the list: Ben Kenobi. I went off! There is no way on Tatooine that Obi-wan is coming to this party! A huge argument ensued between dad and me. At the end, dad was adamant that his “other son” must be invited.

In anger, I went to my room and slammed the door. It’s unfathomable that this Jedi can murder my brother and try to steal my girlfriend, and we’re going to have him over for beverages and snacks! I was so enraged, I could have spit fire! Well, I’ll tell you ONE thing that Obi-wan won’t get. I’ll make sure to hide all my bags of puffed pork before the party. That will show him! That will show them all!

Lars- out!

Blood on the dome

2005-07-26T22:42:00.000-07:00

Last night was virtually a nightmare. I wanted to wait until the old lady was sleeping before messing with R2. But as luck would have it, this was the one night she picked to stay up late. She claimed she wasn’t tired, and wanted to “cuddle” with me as we watched holo-videos on parenting and couple relations. What a fine actress Beru has become! Realizing that this would ultimately ruin my chances of uncovering the truth, I excused myself. I made a bee-line for the kitchen, where I downed several helpings of refried beans, curdled milk, and expired cheese. I returned to my position on the couch, but it didn’t take long for the food to produce the desired effect. Within minutes, my intestines were doing an evacuation drill, of sorts, and it did not set at all well with Beru. It was not long before she declared that she was tired, and needed to go to bed. I don’t blame her; as the stench lingered in the air, it almost made ME sick and nauseous.

Finally, the ball and chain was in bed, and I could devote my attention to finding the secret love messages inside of R2. I found him in my workshop refitting steel bolts, as he was programmed to do. Upon approaching the droid, however, he cowered from me as if I had meant to do him harm. What in blazes would make him act in such a manner? Obviously, dad had “hurt” him in some way; that sick, one-legged freak! R2 was very standoffish, not allowing me near him for a proper inspection. I knew the only way to get to the bottom of this was to put the little taupe S.O.B. out of commission. Acting as if I was on my way out of the garage, I turned around so quickly that the machine never knew what hit him. With all the energy I could muster, I kicked him solid in the back of the dome. The blow, luckily, was enough to knock his sorry behind out.

With R2 unconscious, I took every nut and bolt apart, thinking that starting from scratch was my best move. Unfortunately, I had once again enjoyed the company of many mixed drinks during the disassembly process, and could no longer focus on the details of re-assembling a broken betrayal-droid. In my anger and frustration, I slit open my left palm with a jagged R2 piece. With the blood, I penned the words, “I know”, on R2’s domed head. With all the force I could muster, I yanked R2’s head off of his torso. I placed this same dome in Beru’s bed tonight. I hope that when she awakens and sees it, she’ll realize that Owen Lars isn’t just some jackass she can turn on and off like a moisture vaporator switch. No way sister! Think again, you filthy skank!

Lars- out!

Spare parts

2005-07-25T18:18:00.000-07:00

Last night, after Beru went to sleep, I immediately seized the opportunity to begin dissecting my R2 unit. I dragged the little metallic monster into my workshop with the sole purpose of discovering secret messages between my beloved Beru and the murderer of my brother, Obi-wan. Having already supplied myself with several very strong mixed drinks, my patience level was high, and I knew that the road to discovery was well within my grasp. That evil Kenobi will soon rue the day he came into my contact!

I spent many hours dismantling several of R2’s systems, hoping to find the holo-message that I was sure was there. I even disassembled his rocket boosters, just in case. After much time had passed, I had taken the droid totally apart, and my room was filled with loose parts. It was at this time that the drinks began affecting me, and I could no longer concentrate on what I was doing. In my inebriated state, I attempted to put the machine back together. It didn’t go very well, as my judgment was clouded. I may have put some pieces back in the wrong places.

This morning, Beru needed R2 to vacuum the living room, but he instead began shocking the baby with a strong electrical current. She asked me what was wrong with him, and I told her I saw dad tinkering around with him. With my faculties restored, I realized what a poor job I had done in putting him back together. Everything was in the wrong place; even his domed head was upside-down. To make it worse, I found a pile of spare parts in my bedroom. I would have to take a look at him later.

Dad awoke in a chipper mood today. He was whistling a love song as he readied himself in the bathroom. Undoubtedly, Rotta was on her way to pick him up. It’s starting to piss me off how happy dad is lately. At breakfast, he asked me how I would feel about having a new step-mother. I told him to take a leap off of Beggar’s Canyon. I mean, really; first he marries some dumb slave, and now he wants to marry that winged freak, Rotta. What a waste of space he is. Having lost my appetite, I went back to my room, slamming the door behind me. In retrospect, I don’t know why I slammed the door. I stared at the pile of R2 parts, not knowing if I could put them back in the right places. The poor droid may never be the same.

Lars- out!

The Astromech Affair

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

It has been 2 days, and there has been no contact between Beru and Obi-wan. I know this because I have been watching her every move. If something IS going on, they would need to find a clever means of communicating without me knowing. Although I witnessed Beru hand-deliver a love letter to him on Friday, she would not be able to do that all the time, as I would eventually be wise to it. So how are they communicating? That very question has been plaguing my mind.

I immersed myself in my farming today to get my mind back on track. While I was tending to the south range, I spotted R2 trudging along in the desert. He was coming back home from the direction of Obi-wan’s place. What in blazes was he doing there? Then it hit me like a ton of space-bricks. They must be using the droid to secretly deliver love messages to each other. I saw it all so clear. Each of the star-crossed lovers would record a holo-message about how much they love and need each other, and send the droid on its way. There’s no doubt that the messages would include plans and ideas about how best to murder me in my sleep in order to get me out of the way. Et tu, Beru?

I immediately dropped everything and followed the droid inside. Beru, upon spotting R2, stated that she needed his services. I’ll bet! I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. I told her that before R2 could help her with “the dishes”, I needed his help in the bathroom. This didn’t seem too odd, as R2 has helped me wipe in the past. Once in the bathroom, I began playing with all of his gadgets, trying to find the hologram-playback feature. Not being too familiar with the inner machinations of astromech droids, I was having very little luck.

Having spent too much time in the bathroom as it was, I decided I would tinker with my domed friend later, when Beru was asleep. In the meantime, I put a piece of duct tape over the image display lens. Beru would never see Obi-wan’s message, not if I can help it. Before exiting the bathroom, I placed a piece of toilet paper in R2’s utility claw just to cover all the bases.

I spent the rest of the afternoon looking for R2’s instruction manual. While I was searching for it in dad’s dresser drawers, I found a diamond ring, still in its box. It was very small; the kind that would fit on the finger of a nasty Toydarian. Oh, please don’t tell me dad wants to marry Watto’s sister! What else could happen?

Lars- out!

All I see is RED!

2005-07-23T22:42:00.000-07:00

O.K. I realize you all are expecting me to “lose it” at any minute. Well, that’s just not going to be the case. Although my gimp father is dating a grotesque hummingbird, and the woman I’ve devoted myself to all these seasons is now sticking a dagger in my spinal column, I remain composed. Com- frickin’- posed! This whole Obi-wan and Beru thing may still prove to be a humorous misunderstanding…I’m kind of hoping it is. I’m just still not willing to believe that my sweet Beru would cheat on me; and with Obi-wan, of all people. For the past six weeks or so, she’s heard my lectures about the wayward Jedi, and how dangerous he really is.

By now, Beru surely knows that he is nothing but a murdering swine. I speak of my brother, Anakin, often. Beru, without a doubt, has heard the tale of the first meeting I had with my “bro” about a thousand times. The details of the story have evolved numerous times, but to my deepest chagrin, Beru has her own personal account, having also been a witness. I’m not exactly sure if these accounts gel. But, then again, she can sometimes be a liar. That’s how broads are; liars.

Anyway, with dishonesty in mind, I feel it’s fair to assume that Obi-wan had officially set his Jedi-radar on my bird long ago. That sick, twisted neighbor of mine can rot in Mustafar before I’ll let him obtain the greatest conquest I have ever had. Beru belongs to me, because I say so. The broad has no right to move on or go anywhere else. If she ever does get this betrayal “bug” in her, it’ll be because the wizard, Obi-wan, subconsciously planted it in her. Kenobi is a cancerous bastard that infects not only his host, but the other cell organisms around him. He really is a piece of work! I’m just starting to realize that he has a power that is definitely unorthodox; and if I can manage to scrape together the right combination of hard-lining citizens to my cause, the burden would no longer be mine, alone. Let’s all just be honest. We want him dead, don’t we? Yes. We, do! Let’s all strive together to make it happen!

Lars- out!

The ultimate betrayal!

2005-07-22T20:27:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s official; dad and Rotta are an “item”. Apparently, all the negative stuff I told her about dad produced the opposite effect. She actually felt sorry for him, and claimed that he was only like that because he was lonely. She even understood about the “night jar”, saying she understood him using one due to his “handicap”. They went out again today. Dad got all spruced up; he even bathed! I fear he’s getting too serious.

When they returned, they came into the living room, where I was picking at my toenails. They sat right next to me on the couch and began cuddling. I tried not to watch as he caressed her limp little arms and her wings. With my peripheral vision, I saw dad nudge her hairy little chin and begin giving her slow, wet kisses. The smacking noise of their lips engaging made me nauseous. I ran outside and slammed the front door in protest. How disgusting!

I trolled the property, making sure all the moisture evaporators were working properly. Noticing a shape moving on the horizon, I got out my electro-binoculars to take a gander. It was my arch-nemesis, Obi-wan, taking his herbie-curbie to the curb. What a jerk! He probably has the garbage receptacle filled with limbs of his dead friends. As I watched the murdering S.O.B. walking back to his house, the most unbelievable thing happened. Beru, driving my speeder, pulled up to his front door. I watched her jump out of the speeder and hand him what looked like a piece of paper. The two conversed for what seemed like forever. Although I am no lip-reading expert, I could have sworn that Obi-wan said, “Owen doesn’t know”. Owen doesn’t know? What’s that mean?! What’s going on here?

I began hyperventilating as I slowly started realizing what I was seeing. The two were messing around! How could I have been so blind to have not seen it? Beru finally left, leaving behind a smiling Obi-wan. My blood boiled over. What was I going to do? I decided not to mention this to Beru; not yet, at least. First, I would need some hard evidence to throw in her face. It would become my highest priority to get to the bottom of this. Nobody makes a cuckold out of Owen Lars!

Lars- out!

Dad's date

2005-07-21T22:57:00.000-07:00

Dad’s about a jerk! I simply asked him for an advance on my allowance this morning, and he went off on me! He let me know in stern tones that I don’t deserve an allowance, given my age, and that he doesn’t have any money, anyhow. I was totally irritated by this, especially since I needed money to pay my P.O. next week. This probation oversight thing is going to kill me, I’ll tell you that. Even as he yelled at me, I sensed something was afoul. After a bit of digging, I realized what it was: dad was nervous because he had a date! Excuse me? With who? Who’s this sleazy tramp he’s going out with? I couldn’t wait to hear the answer.

With Beru and that baby as witnesses, dad admitted that he was going out for the night with none other than Watto’s sister, Rotta! Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey?! That’s about the ugliest Toydarian I’ve ever seen in my life! How in Mustafar did those two hook up? And when? What in the name of the force was going on? Beru seemed as shocked as me. Even the baby let out some bad gas in that instant, a sure sign that the situation seemed a bit “off balance” to him. What on Tatooine was dad thinking? Is he trying to get attention, or what? How could a love between these two very different species even work, in a practical sense? I felt so sick, I feared I’d vomit. Dad, always the champion of segregation in the past, was now becoming the “Lion Forest” of his generation! Ohhh- I’m starting to feel really sick.

After going through the 9 psychological stages in a record 4.7 seconds, I knew it was time to take serious action. I immediately called Watto, and eagerly filled him in. He had the nerve to tell me that he already knew about this unholy union, and that, in fact, he was all for it. He used words like, “honorable”, and “down-to-Tatooine”, to describe dad. I asked him if he was smoking space-crack. He said, “No”.

Dad put on his best cologne and waited by the door for her to arrive. She had to pick him up since he doesn’t drive. When she arrived, she flew into the house and gave dad a huge kiss on the mouth. I vomited. The odd couple was gone for several hours. When dad returned, he was smiling and singing, behaving like a young lad with a school-yard crush. I haven’t seen him this happy in years, not since Shmi was alive. I decided that all of this had to end, and quickly. When dad went to sleep, I called Rotta, and told her all the bad stuff about dad that I could think of. She seemed especially disgusted when I told her about his “night jar”. Hopefully, she’ll never call again. We’ll see.

Lars- out!

The truth about dad's leg

2005-07-20T21:34:00.000-07:00

Dad was on my last nerve today. All I needed him to do was call the electric to get an extension, and he outright refused. The whole thing culminated into a huge argument, which ended up with him throwing that whole Shmi thing back in my face. Once in a while, dad likes to remind me that I didn’t join the posse when Shmi was kidnapped by Tusken Raiders. I remember that day like it was yesterday. Dad rounded up a bunch of nearby farmers, loaded the speeder with old hunting blasters, and told me to get in. I explained to him that it was harvest, and I needed to put in a full day of farming. Besides, I had a horrendous headache. Pissed off, he took off without me.

Later, dad returned with only a few survivors. What wimps; they couldn’t even beat an unarmed tribe of sand people! Dad’s leg was badly damaged, but it looked reparable. Dad begged me to drive him to the hospital, but our insurance coverage had lapsed, and I didn’t feel like incurring a large medical bill due to dad’s carelessness. I remember telling dad that the wound was superficial enough that I, myself, could operate on it. I got Beru to bring me some hot water and several towels, not the good ones, but the ones I used to clean up after the speeder with the oil leak. Dad was screaming in agony, and poor Beru had to hold him down as I “operated”. All dad really needed was a small suture across his knee, but I guess I was overzealous, this being my first surgery, and all. It was kind of like cutting hair: you want to make both sides even, but sometimes you cut one side too short, and have to even out the other side.

I found myself doing strange things like cutting through tendons and bone. The screams were horrific! When the botched surgery was over, dad’s leg was lying next to him on the bed. It was then I realized that I had done something wrong. I apologized to dad and instructed beru to take him to the hospital. I was so distressed that I had to take a nap. I awoke when they got back. Dad’s “stump” was bandaged, and he had this really cool glider-chair. Lucky! I wish I could ride around in one of those. I told him there was no reason to thank me. Inexplicably, he punched me in the butt really hard.

Lars- out!

Back in true form!

2005-07-19T23:59:00.000-07:00

It was a rough night. I woke up in the dumpster, reeking of hot sewage and with a crick in my neck. To make matters worse, I realized that it WAS a dead Jawa I had been sleeping on. I later found out that there’s a serial killer on the loose taking out Jawas all over town. I didn’t call the police, as I had just left them. I’m sure someone will find the body.

I hitched a ride to my homestead with another farmer who knew my dad. Apparently, dad owed him lots of money, and he’d take the opportunity of taking me home to get his money back. Yeah, right. Dad with money? During the ride, I daydreamed about holding Beru and telling her of all the great changes in my life. I also couldn’t wait to see Luke. How I missed him, so. When I got there, I immediately ran into the living room to hug my beloved, but stopped short upon seeing Luke lying on the floor, tearing up a brand-new bag of puffed pork. Almost the entire bag had been dumped out and strewn about the floor. I went off! I began shouting at Beru, cursing her very family name! The baby started crying, and I went off on him, too.

My lengthy tirade was interrupted, however, by a large crashing sound that seemed to come from dad’s room. Upon investigating, I was shocked to find dad and the farmer he owes money to wrestling on the ground. In the scuffle, they had broken a lamp and tore down several of dad’s knick-knack shelves. My first instinct was to jump in and help dad, but I admit it was quite amusing to watch him losing a fight. The farmer gave dad such a hard punch to the face that it made me cringe. It was obvious that his nose was broken. Oh, well, that’s what you get!

After stealing several of dad’s possessions, the farmer headed off. Beru came to me to apologize, but I told her it was too late. I warned her sternly to keep that baby away from my stuff in the future. When Beru left to take dad to the hospital, I decided it was time for a drink. I went back to the cantina, telling all my cohorts that last night’s drama was only an elaborate practical joke. They all had a great laugh, and began buying me rounds. I told them the REAL story of my weekend in jail: how my cell-mates tried to lynch me, and how I kicked all of their butts, and how they waited on me hand and foot from that point on, giving me their commissary food and what-not. All my cantina buddies cheered.

Later, someone at the bar mentioned that Obi-wan was in town earlier, teaching blind kids how to read brail. What a showboat! You will never know how much I hate that S.O.B.!

Lars- out!

An unpopular "new me"

2005-07-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

The force is real, and it came through for me in a REAL way today. I went to court for my arraignment, and was nervous, to be sure, but also ready to receive my just punishment. Instead, a miraculous thing happened. Judge Smay, usually known as a “tough” judge, was apparently having a good day. He saw my demeanor and the fine way I conducted myself, and believed that I had reformed. He totally let me off easy, only adding on an extra six months to my ongoing probation. He even shook my hand at the end of the proceedings, a sign that he not only trusted that I had changed, but also had an enormous amount of respect for me. My heart swelled, yet again. I walked out of the jail totally renewed. Since dad and Beru knew nothing of my current situation, there was no one there to greet me. Without a ride home, I traveled on foot through the sin-infested streets of Mos Eisely. Unfortunately, I had to walk past the cantina, my old “den of sin and corruption”. I tried to walk past it swiftly, but temptation reared its ugly head in the form of Watto, who was apparently stepping outside to do #1 on the stony walls outside the pub. He happened to spot me, and beckoned me inside for a drink. I tried to explain to him that I had changed, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I decided to go inside in order to convert the sinners I once hung with to the force.

At first, things were cool. My old friends listened to my conversion story with great earnest. They seemed to be bored, however, when I mentioned that I was now a different man; for some reason, they didn’t seem to like that, at all. After a few ticks, they inexplicably turned on me, calling me a Jedi book of wisdom-thumper, and a force-freak. Without provocation, they began hurling heavy wine tins and empty bottles at my head. I barely escaped from the place unscathed. I had to seek refuge in a nearby dumpster, as the cantina patrons grabbed torches and followed me through the dark allies of suburban Mos Eisley. Luckily, they bypassed my hiding place, leaving me to wonder. What had just happened? How had I offended my pals to the point that they were willing to do bodily harm against me? What did I say wrong? If only I could make it back to my homestead; back to my loving Beru, my son, Luke, and my wonderful, respected father, Cleigg. Then I would be happy. But I’m sure that will happen, tomorrow. For now, I won’t take any chances. I will sleep in this dumpster tonight, and then secure transport home in the morning. I don’t mind it; except I’m almost positive I’m lying on top of the body of a dead Jawa.

Lars- A little scared right now

A new man!

2005-07-17T21:37:00.000-07:00

Today, I completed the list of people I needed to ask for forgiveness. It took a long time, and filled several pages, but I got it done. For some obscure reason, Beru and dad’s name appeared multiple times, as did Luke’s. Also on the list were Watto, Shmi (for an insurmountable number of reasons), Anakin, Anakin’s broad, (the one he brought to our house that one time), C-3PO, but I promise, I can’t imagine why (did I hear that he had his memory erased….I hope so), and a score of people I knew in high school. I realize some of these folks have passed on into the force, which may make my job harder. But I’m thinking, since Obi-wan can talk to ghosts, perhaps he can “channel” their spirits for me, allowing me to do a beyond-the-grave, “my bad“. The list went on: there seemed to be many people and creatures from the cantina that I may have, and probably did, harm, as well as some senior citizens I may have “duped,“ in my efforts to earn an extra buck. I was overwhelmed by the infinite number of individuals that I had stepped on during my climb up the moisture farmer ladder. I now saw it all so clear. I pretty much had betrayed everyone that I had ever loved, and done so without regard to their feelings or their well-being. I was such a wretched soul! But the force saved me, and no longer will I walk in darkness.

I stand before a judge tomorrow. I will stand up straight, with my head held high, not for the things that I have done, but for the lesson that I have learned from said wrong-doings. I know I will most likely be told that I will have to stay in jail until my trial ends, and then some, due to the probation violation. But, all that I expect. I just pray to the force that whatever time I spend incarcerated, I will use to try to convert others to the force. Already, I feel that the walrus-man, the one who won’t stop staring at me, needs guidance, and I feel he can only find it through the force. I will make it a point to convert him, myself.

Through the grace of the force, I was finally able to reach Beru tonight. For once, dad didn’t answer the phone, and therefore couldn’t deny the charges. She readily accepted, and we began to converse. But as luck would have it, the phone bill was way overdo, and before we could even begin speaking, Tatooine Bell had interrupted our service, cutting off the call. The only thing I heard Beru say was, “I do”, in answer to whether or not she’d accept the charges. But it was that, “I do” that still resonates in my mind cavity even now. It’s that same, “I do” that I can’t wait to hear from her when we tie the knot. The nuptial will be soon, as soon as I can get out of here, that is. If released, I won’t waste any time making things right with my space-bird. I’ll tell you all right now: Beru’s my lady, and I will always be her one-and-only man. My heart is glad, now, I can most assuredly tell you that. Things will soon be very different in the Lars household. My heart is swelling…

Lars- wishing you the peace and serenity that I feel!

Finding my religion

2005-07-16T20:47:00.000-07:00

This is the second day of my incarceration, and I’m starting to think this whole thing might just be a blessing in disguise. For one thing, I am sobering up and thinking more clearly. Last night, after the lights went out, I had a good, quiet cry, and called out to the force to comfort me in my time of need. I began feeling a peace inside me, and I started seeing the many errors I’ve made in my life. I woke up feeling much different this morning. I vowed, as the force as my witness, that I would change, and become a man that Beru could love, dad could respect, and Luke could look up to. I realize now that Luke will use me as a role model, and it will be my duty in his formidable years to be a positive example for him to emulate. I’m even coming to terms with the fact that I need to forgive Obi-wan for savagely butchering my brother. Once I get released from here, I should probably go to his house so we can begin a healthy dialogue. I need to see things from his viewpoint, not just through mine. Who knows, perhaps we’ll become wonderful friends, and he can teach me Jedi tricks and let me swing his laser-sword.

My day of quiet introspection was hampered only by a few minor problems. First, the food was atrocious. My cell-mates didn’t eat much, as today was “commissary night”, where inmates get to purchase many delicious food products with the money in their commissary accounts. Unfortunately, my account was empty. I called Watto to ask him to deposit money in my account. He emphatically refused. The old Owen would have told him to rot on Mustafar, but I simply told him that I understood, and thanked him for his friendship. I think he was confused. Anyway, while the other inmates were enjoying delicious bags of puffed pork and exotic pasties, I was eating space-Spam for the third time. Oh, how I longed for just a taste of their delicacies, but I did this to myself, and I deserve it.

What I didn’t deserve, however, was being made uncomfortable all day by a creepy walrus-man who stared at me intently the whole time. Even while he was going #2, his intense gaze never quit. I cleverly hung my sheet in front of him, explaining he could use it as a make-shift partition, and thereby have some privacy, but he immediately tore it down and continued to stare at me. I pretended not to notice, but it certainly bothered me. I think I’m going to stay up all night, just to be safe.

Lars- signing off, now. Goodnight, all.

The Clink!

2005-07-15T21:51:00.000-07:00

Well, I’m in jail. The Mos Eisley Police came to the house late this afternoon with a warrant. Unfortunately, it was dad who answered the door, and he eagerly showed the cops to my room. I tried hiding under my bed, but part of my robe was sticking out, and they found me. As they cuffed me and brought me out to their police speeder, dad hurled insults at me, calling me a “loser” and a “felon”. Beru started crying, and I told her I’d be back within the hour. But as luck would have it, court had just convened for the weekend, so I wouldn’t get to stand in front of a judge for an arraignment until Monday morning.

So I’m here for the weekend, at least. I’m afraid I’ll probably end up doing some time for the probation violation. I’m doing my best not to cry. What went wrong in my life? How could have things gotten so out of control? I miss Beru and Luke so badly. I even miss dad. The way he smiles when he finds the toy at the bottom of a cereal box; it can light up the room. I miss holding Luke, like I did that one time, and watching Beru interact with him. Oh, and Beru- her I miss the most. Man, do I love her. As soon as I get out, I’m going to buy her the biggest engagement ring I can find and make her my wife. Then we’ll all be happy, and live in peace forever.

I found myself worrying about Luke a lot, with his sickness, and all. Oh, I should be there with him, taking care of him! I keep trying to call home, but I can only call collect, and dad keeps refusing to accept the charges. If only Beru would answer! I need to talk to her; tell her how much I love her. It’s almost lights out. Since I have 4 cell-mates and there’s no partition for the space-toilet, I’ve been holding my bladder all day. When everyone goes to bed, I can go to the bathroom. I pray it’s soon. Maybe then I can cry, too. I’ll have to be really quiet about it.

Lars- out!

Owen the Hutt

2005-07-14T23:31:00.000-07:00

Jabba the Hutt had a massive heart attack today. His doctors said that his main aortal valve was 99% clogged, and that he was lucky to be alive. He had some chest pains earlier in the week, but after he had digested a nasty sand-frog, he began feeling a sharp pain from his left arm to the left tip of his tail. No one saw this coming, not even his nutritionist, who had previously stated that the Hutt was in prime condition. I was made privy to this information due to a call from my “friend”, Watto. Even as he delivered the news, I sensed something was amiss with the shifty Toydarian. When pressed, he confided in me that he was still very much broken up about his aunt’s passing. He had the gall to ask me if I’d be a pall-bearer at her funeral, which was scheduled for tomorrow. I told him, “no”.

Should Jabba die, the entire Tatooine underworld would be shaken to its core! Jabba’s the biggest provider of protection in these parts, and there are many aspiring gangsters that are salivating to fill his shoes, if he wore them, that is. By the way, before I forget…The baby DID spend the night in the hospital last night. Seems he had all kinds of things wrong with him, but I don’t know what, exactly. Beru could fill you in on this better than I could. He’s back with us, now, I think. But I could be wrong. Anyway, back to important matters. I don’t want to “jump the blaster” here, but if Jabba were to die, I think the new guy in charge would need a personal moisture-farming expert to help with updating the almanac, and all. I approached Jabba with this in the past, but he’s too “old school” to realize its potential value.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but if the hunk of lard did pass into the force, it may help me out considerably. This may turn out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me, I feel. There’s no reason to believe that anything can go wrong, at this point. Crazier things have happened, but you may now be looking at the newest member of Jabba’s Palace. Owen the Hutt. I like the sound of that.

Lars- out!

A nice drive home

2005-07-13T22:45:00.000-07:00

Beru informed me this morning that the baby was sick. He apparently contracted a case of dust-mouth, a common illness when you live in the desert. She asked me to take her to town so they could see a doctor, but I reminded her that there is a warrant out for my arrest, and I can’t risk driving. She asked if she could use the speeder, but I told her that I had forgotten to renew the tags, and they’re now expired. She finally ended going with dad in his beat-up speeder, the one he just got working again. Since it’s only a two-seater, Beru drove as dad held the baby on his lap. With my rotten family away for the afternoon, I could finally relax.

After thumbing through the latest issue of “Speeder Trader” magazine, I started to get bored. I was innocently rummaging through dad’s room when I found some strange pills near his pillow. When I located the bottle, I was shocked to discover that they were prescription menstrual pain pills made out to Shmi Lars! Dang, dad will take anything! What a loser; he needs rehab, is what he needs!

After a couple of hours, there was still no word of the “fam“. Where could they be? Almost in horror, I remembered that I forgot to buy my space-lottery tickets, and there was a drawing this evening. Without any hesitation, I jumped in my speeder and drove to the Mos Eisley liquor store where I buy my tickets. After playing my numbers, I thought it would be a good idea to buy some “spirits” for the drive home. As I walked out of the store, I spotted Beru and dad walking back to their speeder. Beru was frantic, talking about how the baby was really sick, and they had to do all these tests, and something else I didn’t understand. Actually, I really wasn’t listening that much. My mind was on that beautiful bottle I was about to crack open. For some reason, Beru was crying. Dad did something mean to her, no doubt.

I had a great drive back. As I prepared for bed this evening, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard the baby crying all evening. Could it have stayed in the hospital? Oh, well, I’ll probably find out tomorrow.

Lars- out!

Pod racing season

2005-07-12T22:16:00.000-07:00

Well, it’s almost pod racing season, and I’m starting to get really excited. My favorite pod racer is Klotos the Weequay. He’s the planetary champion right now. Even though Sebulba the Dug wins all the local Mos Espa races, besides that one that Anakin won, he could never touch Klotos. I’ve been a huge fan of his since he won his first planetary championship 3 seasons ago. Before he won, I hated him, but once he won I declared myself a super-fan, and went out and bought his jersey. Then the next year he didn’t do so well, and I hated him again and became a fan of the new champion. But he bounced back last year, and I was once again his number one fan. Through thick and thin!

I generally go to the cantina to watch the holo-casts of the races. Dad comes too, but before we get there, I need to make sure he didn’t bring the mortgage money with him, as he’s a degenerate gambler. Perhaps pod racing’s the one thing dad and I have in common, and enjoy sharing with each other. On the way to the cantina, we’ll talk about the latest injury report and the line. He almost always mentions the Anakin race, when he beat Sebulba, and refers to Anakin as “the son he never had”. But this year will be different, as Beru won’t be joining us. I mean, I’m not listening to a screaming baby during my races! She’ll have to stay home, and we’ll fill her in later.

Pre-season is just about to start, and I can’t even wait! Dad’s starting to get excited, too. A lot of people don’t know this, but when Shmi was kidnapped by the Tusken Raiders, dad waited 3 days before rounding up a posse to rescue her. You know why? It was the play-offs. That’s the power of pod racing!

Lars- out!

Serious Allegations

2005-07-11T23:44:00.000-07:00

I received a really bad piece of mail today. It was a letter from the Mos Eisley Courthouse informing me that a bench warrant had been issued for my arrest for “failure to appear” in court. Shoot! I never did get around to calling them, probably due to all the problems with dad, the baby, and Obi-wan. It’s all their fault! And to think, all because of an innocent speeder accident. Had I not been on probation at the time of the accident, I would have been all right. I had some trouble a few years ago, and was put on five years probation. When I met Beru, she asked what I had done. I told her that there were some very serious allegations made against me- that’s all! That’s all she needed to know about it.

I paced the living room nervously, playing paddle-ball to help calm my nerves. I soon came to realize that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like the Mos Eisley Police were going to come all the way out here to arrest me. I’m sure they have better things to do, like catching criminals. Feeling better, I went out to do some farming. Dad was out on the south range holding an old tire with a rope tied to it. He had this crazy idea to put up a “tire swing” for the baby, but was now wandering around aimlessly, slowly realizing there was nothing to tie it to. What an idiot. He’s on this baby fix now, saying how it’s Shmi’s grandson, and how we need to love it. Whatever. Dad’s such a jerk. By tomorrow, he won’t even remember the baby’s name. That’s how he is.

Later, Watto called me. He was sobbing, saying that his aunt had died, or something. I could have cared less.

Lars- out!

Mr. Hothead

2005-07-10T23:04:00.000-07:00

Today was the annual Tatooine Hot Sauce-Cooking Contest. Aspiring chefs from all over the planet meet in Mos Eisley at this time of year to attempt to be crowned “Mr. Hothead”. There’s a grand prize of 6000 credits for the winner, along with a year’s supply of BBQ-flavored puffed pork. Every year I enter my secret recipe, “Owen’s Own”, but I never seem to place in the top ten. Dad, on the other hand, enters his own secret sauce, and always finishes well. Last year he got second place, and this year he claims he perfected it enough to win. Whatever happens, I can’t let that happen! I’d rather a Tusken Raider take the grand prize than dad.

For the past several months, I’ve tried to perfect my sauce while simultaneously trying to sabotage dad’s. When dad was in rehab about 10 days ago, I was able to contaminate his entire stockpile of sauce by adding to it a bucket full of dirty toilet water. Don’t worry about the wasted water; it was due to be flushed, anyway. Dad didn’t seem to notice the change in flavor, and still thinks he’ll win the entire competition. Lately, I cringe every time dad lets the baby sample his sauce. Poor Beru tried it, too. I didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Only fourteen life forms entered the contest this year. I guess when you live on a planet void of water, hot sauce isn’t the smartest thing to make, but we just can’t think of a better idea. I had a crappy old booth next to the garbage dumpster, while dad, because of his disability, was given an ultra-modern handicapped-accessible stage in the middle of town square. The Mos Eisley Chamber of Commerce kisses his butt so bad just because he’s crippled! Whatever. I’ll still beat him. My sauce will knock his sock off!

Unfortunately for me, Watto was one of the judges. He’s still mad that I went around town calling his sister an ugly Toydarian, so I felt he’d judge me harshly. Shevo, the cantina bartender was also a judge, but he’s upset with me for not paying my excessive bar tab when I said I would. As my luck would have it, the final judge was a Jawa that I bullied around in high school. To make it worse, his best friend is the father of the girl whose toy I tried to take yesterday, and his grandmother is the lady I sold the glider-chair to, the one that paid too much for it.

Feeling I had no chance, I did the only thing I could in my situation. I snuck over to dad’s stand and dumped his entire vat of hot sauce on the ground. Unexpectedly, some of it got in his face, stinging his eyes like a thousand volcanic embers. As I ran all the way home, I felt proud of myself for not losing.

Lars- out!

Baby Skywalker

2005-07-09T21:01:00.000-07:00

Since today was the one month anniversary of the baby’s arrival, Beru thought it would be nice for me to hold it for the first time. Despite my protest, I was forced to sit on the sofa as Beru handed me the little stinky thing. It was like a filthy bantha when it’s first born, but a lot smaller, of course. I didn’t know I was supposed to support its neck, and its head dropped awkwardly to one side. My understanding is that because this is Anakin’s son, he’s supposed to be strong in the force. Some baby Jedi; doesn’t even have neck muscles strong enough to hold up its own noggin! I was really bored sitting there watching little Skywalker doing nothing. We bonded for a while, but after twelve seconds, I told Beru I had enough.

Beru wanted to go out to celebrate, anywhere but the cantina, as she put it. So we went to a public park so the baby could lie on its back on the sand and do nothing. It was so boring! A family that was playing there was leaving, and their little girl left behind a really cool toy. Awesome, now I wouldn’t have to buy Luke a present. I was stuffing the toy in my robes when the girl came back for it. She saw what I was doing, but I told her finders-keepers. She started crying and begging me to give it back to her, and I told her to piss off. Then her dad came over and began yelling at me. I told him to take a leap off a sand crawler, and without any warning, he smacked me in the neck and punched me hard in the butt. Beru was screaming, the baby and the little girl were crying, you know how it is…ugly scene.

The guy ended up stealing my new toy, and Beru was inexplicably angry with me. In the end, Beru bought the baby a really expensive toy, just to piss me off. To get even with her, when we got home, I hid her asthma medicine. Let’s see how she reacts next time she has a major attack! Serves her right!

Lars- out!

Family portrait

2005-07-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

You know, the force-forbid I should have just one peaceful day in my life, incident-free! Today started horribly. Dad stopped up the space-toilet and wanted me to unclog it. It was truly disgusting! It was discovered that dad had flushed down a bunch of death stick butts and an old pair of underwear. I assume he soiled the underwear, and got rid of them in embarrassment. I really resent the fact that my girlfriend had the stick her arm up that nasty toilet just because dad’s a gross slob.

After a hard day of work on the farm, all I wanted to do was sit back with a bag of puffed-pork and relax. Imagine my shock when Beru came out of the bathroom all dressed up. I asked her what the occasion was, and she said we had an appointment for a family portrait, and that she had told me three times about it. I don’t remember. Being that tomorrow is the one month anniversary of us getting the baby; she wanted all of us, even dad, to have our photo taken. Dad had obviously forgotten, as he looked like crap, and was probably high. Beru had dressed the baby in a little sailor outfit; he looked stupid. Grudgingly, I threw on a fresh robe and we waited for the photographer to show up.

The lady was really hot. Almost immediately, dad began hitting on her, asking her if she’d ever been a slave. She told him she was married, and then he began insulting her with vile curses, calling her a “tease” and a “skank“. The lady didn’t appreciate it, and tried to hurry the picture along. She got us to pose in the living room. I insisted on having my hunting knife in the picture, even though the lady was against it.

Right before the photo was snapped, the baby threw up all over dad. Infuriated, dad tried to grab the baby to harm it, but Beru pulled it away just in time. Instead, dad grabbed my nipple and twisted it hard. In retaliation, I kneed him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The fight lasted a good while, until Beru noticed that the lady had left. Leaving the baby in its vomit, we ran after her, but it was too late. Because dad’s such a jerk, we waited until he went to sleep tonight, then got a local artist to come by and paint only me, Beru, and the baby. It turned out pretty good, except you can’t see my hunting knife.

Lars- out!

Kenobi's finale?

2005-07-07T21:18:00.000-07:00

Dad came home today. He was really mad because his disability check didn’t arrive, and even threatened the mailman. He quickly scampered inside to call the benefits office. He verbally plowed through several employees, trying to get an answer. That’s just like him, he can pay everybody back late, if at all, but if HIS check’s just one day late, watch out! He even had the nerve to ask me if I had cashed it! I told him I was highly insulted and to never speak to me again. The only grounds for his baseless accusation was that I had done this several times before. So infuriated that I could scream, I stormed out the door.

With dad busy on the phone, I decided to direct my energy to my most pressing concern: the cold-blooded killer next door. I knew I wouldn’t live in peace until I got rid of Anakin’s murderer. After some brain-storming, I came up with the perfect plan. I would scare him away! Since I had seen Obi-wan leave earlier, and his swoop bike was still gone, I snuck over there and placed a note on his front door with space-tape. The note read, simply:

“We know you’re here, Kenobi. We’re sending clone troopers over right now to arrest you. Signed, The Empire”.

I galloped home, knowing that as soon as Ob-wan saw the note, he would flee like a scared Ugnaught. I waited all day, watching his property with my electro-binoculars. The only time I wasn’t watching was when I sat to eat, and wouldn’t you know it, that’s when dad decides to go visit his “new son”. Dad found the note and brought it back to me. I denied putting it there, but he didn’t believe me. He told me Obi-wan was a good man, and that I’m crap. So I called him crap. Then he grabbed me by the robe and bit my arm super hard, enough to draw blood! I pushed him off of his glider-chair and started kicking him violently in the eye. Beru started screaming, the baby started to cry, in all, it was a nasty scene. Looks like Ob-wan gets to stay one more day, all thanks to dad!

Lars- out!

Disability check

2005-07-06T22:10:00.000-07:00

Dad had to stay in the hospital another day due to complications resulting from his Wookie blood transfusion. Some of the side-effects included howling and excessive hair growth. Dad has this unfair notion that the whole thing was MY fault, but that’s probably the medicine talking, so I’ll try not to take it to heart. I received a pleasant surprise when I went to the mailbox: dad’s disability check. Without hesitating, I forged dad’s name on the back and went and cashed it. Having a bit of extra loot to throw around, I decided to take Beru out on the town. She’s still pretty upset about me not getting her an engagement ring, so I thought treating her to a night out would get me off the hook.

With baby in tote, we drove to the best truck stop in Anchor head. I let Beru order anything she wanted, reminding her that fatty foods make fatty women. She had a plain salad without dressing. I enjoyed a huge plate of steak and eggs, with a side of space-grits. The meal was pleasant except for the baby, who kept crying really loud for no reason. Everyone was staring at us; I was so embarrassed. Then it did a bad #2, stinking the whole place up. Everyone kept looking at me, as if I had done it. I made Beru change the diaper at the table, so everyone would know it wasn’t me.

The place had a gift shop, and I bought Beru a cool coffee mug with her name on it. Actually, they didn’t have “Beru”, so I got her one that said “Bettie”. She insisted that she didn’t want it, but I knew she was just being modest. She told me I should probably buy a little something for the baby, but I reminded her that earlier I bought him diapers and formula. Honestly, like I’m going to spend money on a baby that’s not even mine.

All in all, it was a good evening. I scored some brownie points with “Bettie“, and enjoyed a delicious meal to boot. As for the baby, if he ever embarrasses me in public like that again, I’ll work him to the bone when he’s older, and never let him go to any schools or academies, even if all his friends do!

Lars- out!

Wookie blood

2005-07-05T20:30:00.000-07:00

I had to visit dad in the hospital today. He had apparently lost a great deal of blood due to some “accident”. He was found lying on Shmi’s grave by my neighbor and arch-nemesis Obi-wan, who claimed to have “sensed” the danger. Whatever. Anyway, he carried him all the way to Mos Eisley General. The doctor said that had he got there any later, dad would’ve died. Obi-wan should mind his own business!

I slept in late, due to my long evening yesterday. The intrusive call from the hospital came while I was having a fantastic dream. I was furious to discover that they needed me to go all the way there. When I arrived, the doctor said that dad needed a blood transfusion, and it’d be best if the blood came from a relative; namely, me. I have a terrific fear of needles and giving blood, so it was NOT going to happen. I informed the doctor that I contracted Hepatitis recently, and hadn’t got around to curing it yet.

Unfortunately, the hospital was low on blood, and dad had a rare blood type, at that. The only option was to extract the blood from a sick Wookie who had volunteered. The transfusion took a long time, and I was getting really bored. I told the doctor I had an emergency at home, and to call me if dad comes out of this thing all right.

That Obi-wan has some nerve trying to be the “hero”. To make it worse, the wizard visited dad later in the hospital and gave him a brand new glider chair as a gift, to replace the one that dad “lost”. The chair was a huge upgrade from the last one, complete with turbo boost and cup holders. He must’ve spent a fortune on it, all to make ME look bad. I’m getting extremely close to my breaking point with this guy! MAN I hate him!

Lars- out!

Owen the hero

2005-07-04T23:55:00.000-07:00

The old goat finally fell asleep at 2 in the morning next to Shmi’s gravesite. Unfortunately for me, he had passed out in his chair, the very chair I needed to steal from him and then sell. I gently shoved him out of the chair, allowing his bloated body to plummet to the ground. On his way down, his head accidentally hit the sharp corner of his dead wife’s gravestone. Blood began pouring out of his forehead, but he didn’t even wake up. He was in some sort of death sticks-induced coma. Having little time to deal with this nonsense, I placed a handful of dirt on the wound, hoping it would help with the clotting process. Grabbing the glider chair and tying it to the back of the speeder with space-bungee, I headed into town. I was sure dad would be fine, but if not, I would see what I could do when I got back.

I spent several hours trolling the empty streets of Mos Eisley looking for a buyer. I finally resorted to pounding on all the doors at the nursing home, hoping to wake an interested client. At one door, an old lady who had obviously been asleep greeted me. I was in luck, as she stated that her glider-chair was breaking down on her. She went to give me the cash, but handed me too many bills, probably due to her failing eyesight. Cleverly, I told her that she had short-changed me, and she fell for it. After all was said and done, she had paid three times the price that we had agreed upon. I almost felt bad when she stared into her empty purse and stated that she didn’t know how she was going to buy her medicine now. Oh, well, at least she got a nifty chair out of it, so she can’t complain.

It wasn’t until 5 in the morning that I arrived at Jabba the Hutt’s palace with the money. Since it was after business hours, I placed an envelope with the cash inside of the drop box. I was now free of my debt, and could keep my life. As a side-bonus, Beru and the baby could keep theirs, as well. Although I was tired, I felt really good during the ride back home. Once again, I had saved the day! DANGIT!!! I forgot to put my name on the envelope!

Lars- out!

Hutt trouble

2005-07-03T23:33:00.000-07:00

I awoke in a very agitated state this morning. Watto, who had the nerve to ask me for the money I owed him the other day, had apparently sold the note to a shylock from Jabba’s palace. The shylock, a huge beast of a beast, was pounding on the front door early this morning. I explained to him that I had no money, as we haven’t farmed enough moisture yet. I sarcastically asked him if I should cry in a bucket and go sell that. He wasn’t happy about that, and proceeded to “work me over” for a good while in front of Beru and the baby. Unbelievably, at no point did Beru attempt to jump in and help me!

Before leaving, the beast told me I had 24 hours to pay back the money or he’d feed us all to the Rancor. As soon as he was out of earshot, I cursed his family, then “thanked” Beru for “having my back”. I immediately called that winged traitor, Watto. He told me I was never going to repay him, and this was his way of getting his money back. I screamed curses at him until my throat was raw, slamming the phone down with all the teeming rage inside me.

I began racking my brain, trying to come up with a way to get the money. The Hutts were serious-type gangsters, and if they say they’re going to kill you, they mean it. Beru was not on board one bit with my plan to sell the baby on the black market. The only other thing of value that we have is dad’s glider-chair. But I would have to wait until he passed out before I could get it from him.

It’s now almost midnight, and dad’s still up. If I don’t have this money by tomorrow, I’m a dead man. Recently I smelled some death stick smoke coming from dad’s room. That’s good; he can’t last too much longer.

Lars- out!

Wedding bells?

2005-07-02T23:54:00.000-07:00

Beru keeps hounding me to marry her. This unwanted discussion pops up from time to time, but seems more routine since that baby entered our lives. She says he needs a proper home, with a real mother and father. She also wants us to legally adopt him, something that’s going to cost a bunch of money, no doubt. When she gets on these tirades, I try to block it out, but today she was especially persistent.

To get her off my back, I told her I was going into town to look at wedding rings. She was so delighted she began crying. As I made my way to the speeder, she kept on about how happy I had made her, and what this meant to her, blah, blah, blah. When I got to Mos Eisley, I made a bee-line for the cantina. All my mates were there, and we had a great time cutting up and frolicking. After we closed the place down, I went home to find dad once again passed out on Shmi’s grave. This time he hadn’t tried to dig her up with his bare hands. Beru came outside to greet me, as she had stayed up worrying about me.

I explained to Beru that I had searched all over town, but they were all out of engagement rings. She didn’t believe me. Some trust our relationship has! In anger, I went inside, tripping clumsily over the sleeping baby’s basinet. Needless to say, Luke woke up; screaming so loud he almost woke up Shmi, Anakin, and Obi-wan’s Jedi friend. So now as I write this, the whole homestead’s in tears, all because of Beru. I hope she’s happy, she got what she wanted!

Lars- out!

Sniper attack!

2005-07-01T20:08:00.000-07:00

I fell victim to a deadly sniping incident this morning. I had to visit Mos Eisley to buy some spare parts for the moisture vaporator located on the West-West corner of the farm. My contact there gets stuff that “falls off trucks”, and sells them to me cheap. On my way to his shop, I suddenly felt a powerful burning sensation in my right buttock. Immediately after, I felt the same thing in my right hip. I glanced at the nearby windows and soon discovered the tortfeasor: a Braskian Millwom. The Millwom is a small, furry creature with the propensity to deal great bodily harm to others. Its cuddly exterior is the perfect cover to hide its malicious intentions. Its weapon of choice is an X-14 sniper rifle, not charged enough to kill, but just to inflict serious pain. The little S.O.B. was perched on a window ledge just above me. I turned around to avoid the assault, just to catch two more rounds, this time in my LEFT buttock and hip. I cursed his family as I writhed in pain on the dusty road. At long last a nasty Rodian came to my aid, trying to pull me to safety. I told him to keep his filthy green hands off of me; I’d rather keep getting shot than have his groder hands touching me. So he left me there, and I got shot a bunch more times.

They never did catch the assailant, the Mos Eisley po-po said they had bigger crimes to solve. Just like the filth! Never there when you need them, but when you write a completely innocent bad check, they’re at your door to take you downtown. I’ll tell you, if I ever catch that Millwom, I’ll rip its fur off with my teeth and filet its flesh over R2’s flamethrower attachment.

When I got home, bruised and broken, I vented my anger on Beru. She allows me to do that. I would’ve done it to dad, but he was busy sharpening his switch-blades, so I decided to leave him alone. After that, I felt so much better. Beru’s a good sport.

Lars- out!