Editorial:
Star Wars Will Not Get You Laid
Editorial:
Star Wars Will Not Get You Laid
By Paul St. Fakename, Esq.
Son of Shaft
I’m sorry, did I just piss you off? Well fuck you and the Ewok you rode in on. If those furry midgets were any more pre-packaged for merchandising money, Michael Eisner would have pimped his own ass to hawk them on Main Street, USA. I will bet my ‘74 Chevette that the Phantom Menace turns out to be a fucking Vermont Teddy Bear on bad acid. Or, worse, it’s a Tickle Me Vader doll that gets freaky on the Nutrasweet. In fact I hear Jerry Falwell will be boycotting the movie live on Sesame Street, pointing out homoerotic leftist subplots and wondering very loudly why the Phantom Menace carries a purse.
Personally, I can’t wait to see George Lucas on Larry King Live trying to publicly defend why he named the lead character "Long Dong" Skywalker. No doubt Presidential hopeful Dan Quayle, a man unmatched in his ability to pick fights with fictional characters, will be calling for all Americans to look deep within themselves and ask why, then, did Long Dong do his Jedi training in San Francisco and, more importantly, did the movie really have to end with a circle jerk on the planet Lezbonia?
Here's my advice: Go to Star Wars wasted. "I can't believe I drank the whole thing" wasted. Nickname each and every stormtrooper. |
Sure, I think the Star Wars movies are well made. I know they’re great escapist vehicles. But I’m willing to wager cold hard cash that George Lucas makes a point of avoiding eye contact with most of the freaks that go to them. I believe "Boba Fett" is Albanian for "put down the comic book, you 40-something loser." Wake up and hide the wet spot, true believer: Stan Lee is not God; and a vacuum cleaner is not a sex toy.
For Christ’s sake, if you are going to have a maniacal devotion to a movie, it should at least be one universally acclaimed as a classic that will be imitated for centuries to come, like Full Metal Jacket or, better still, Fletch. I mean, how many times does a film come along where a white man can break free of the racial shackles that bind him and dream of one day having a big-ass Afro and playing center for the Lakers? Yeah, I still love your body, Larry.
Are you listening, George? You don’t need furballs to put asses in
the seats-- just Geena Davis and guy with goofy fake teeth. Or a sadistic bastard of a
drill sergeant hurling one-line insults funny enough to cause a stroke, yet simple enough
to shout at total strangers while stone cold hammered. Try it when you get pulled
over by the cops: "What in the name of Jesus H. Christ are you animals doing in my
head!?" Remember: a rubber room is a lot more comfortable than the drunk tank.
Here’s my advice: go to Star Wars wasted. I-can’t-believe-I-drank-the-whole-thing wasted. Throw up popcorn on everyone in a costume. Then sit next to them. When the movie starts, nickname each and every stormtrooper and loudly complain that "those bastards owe me money." Shout "Hey, Larry!" whenever the new Darth guy comes onscreen. Ask a diehard fan to hold your soda while you "play with Han, (wink) solo." Do whatever it takes to make this new Star Wars experience as memorable as their other 576.
Now here’s my advice for George Lucas-- forget the cute fuzzy little balls of walking revenue, and forget the nifty special effects. All we really want to see is some hot, nekked chick getting it on with a wookie. And by "we," of course, I do not mean me. Hell no! My mother is still alive, as far as I know. I meant the other editor of this rag. That kid with the German name. He’d also like a guest appearance by Darth Fletch.
So, may the Force be with you. And may it help you get a hummer.
Main Archive Table of Contents
1999 Issue Table of Contents
Barely
Enlightened Star Wars Will Not Get
You Laid Gutterballs
Employee Handbook How Much is Your Soul Worth? Gospel According to Jack Tips for Living
The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.