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Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Die, Jar-Jar! Die!

What character in all of Star Wars is the most hated?  

Most will shout, "Jar Jar Binks" at the top of their lungs.  And they would be right, because Jar Jar Binks is without a doubt the shittiest character to ever be in any Star Wars film.  

He destroyed The Phantom Menace.  He destroyed the following two films as well.  Jar Jar Binks was sand rubbed into the eyes of the Star Wars faithful.  Just to hear his ignorant sayings and verbage was an assault on our senses.  

If you ever want to annoy somebody into punching you, speak to them in Jar Jar's voice, using his phrasing.  

"Meesa be wantin' da double cheeseburger, with some of dat bomb-bad Mt. Dew, okee-day!"  

Fuck!  Just writing that makes me want to stab a kitten with a spork.  

George Lucas needs to go back and edit out Jar Jar but he can't because he made his idiotic bumbling so intrinsic to the plot.  We're stuck with Jar Jar Binks.  

So as compensation for having to endure three movies and countless Clone Wars episodes featuring him, we fans deserve something in return--we deserve to see the death of Jar Jar.  

Not a reference.  No, sir!  Not some off-handed comment by Rey when reading a tablet, "Oh, look!  It says here that after the passing of Ambassador Jar Jar Binks, the key to the plot was taken to another silly-named planet."  

Bullshit!  

We deserve some kind of flashback or a holographic projection from a historical document where we get to see the brutal and savage execution of Jar Jar Binks while he screams in agony and is torn apart limb from limb.  

Jar Jar Binks must fucking die and we fans deserve to watch it all happen.  

That stupid walk of his, the way he stuffed his face with that long frog-like tongue, the way he tripped and fell over his own goddamned feet while somehow saving Anakin and Obi-Wan from death, those stupid long ears that looked like a jackrabbit after doing bong hits--he needs to fucking die in front of us.  

Jar Jar needs to be devoured by a pack of hungry rathtars who throw him around while he makes those insipid noises he always makes when he does something clumsy.  

"Meesa muy-muy dyin' from blood loss!"  

The rathtars can use their tentacles to rip his arms and legs off while he screams and shouts for Anakin to come save him only for us to hear Darth Vader's breathing in the background as Lord Vader watches in amusement.  Then, we hear him say, "It is done."  

FADE OUT

We fans will continue to suffer the legacy of Jar Jar Binks for decades to come until we know for sure he's dead and won't come back.  We need to know the shitheads writing the script don't suddenly decide Gungans can live for hundreds of years like Yoda because they'll do shit like that if you don't nip it in the bud right away.  Writers can be real assholes sometimes.  

Worse, Jar Jar Binks is like the protoplasm of bad writing, so if they're in a hole of some kind, the temptation to suddenly bring in Jar Jar to get people out of a jam is too great.  

"You mean I can bring in some bumbling fucktard to trip and fall like a buffoon and still help the dozen or so heroes escape from prison?  Well shit, let's do it!"  

Steven Moffat, I'm going to piss on your grave after you finally die.  But I digress...

Jar Jar cannot be erased.  He can't be edited out.  He must be killed.  Horribly, painfully, and with finality.  

We fans deserve this.  We demand it.  And dammit, it needs to be added to the next script!  What's thirty seconds of death in a movie that is promised to be dark and bloody?  We've got stormtroopers than can actually aim and hit something--let's use one of them!  

Or better yet--Chewbacca went to marksmanship training and figured out how to hit the fucking bullseye.  Let's let Chewy nuke the annoying Gungan.  

Or even better still--Leia kills him because he's fucking up an op and she can't stand to watch it anymore.  He's giving away their position with all of that buffoonery and she gets fed up so she blasts him in the back of the head twice and we all get on with our lives.  

Or the Emperor does it himself.  He invites Jar Jar to a meeting where he uses his electric force-shocks to fry Jar Jar Binks into bacon while laughing and shouting, "Die, Jar Jar!  Die!"  

There are so many ways for Jar Jar to die and we deserve just one of them.  Just one.  

It's time for us fans to stand up for our canon.  Star Wars belongs to us.  We've spent enough of our time and money keeping it alive and it's about time we had some kind of reward.  Forget action figures we have to shell money out to buy or some licensed Official Merchandise.  It's time the writing reflected our love of the Star Wars universe.  

It's not about anger and rage, or even hatred.  It's about fucking respect.  When a writer gives us a shitty character like Jar Jar Binks, they don't respect us, and they sure as fuck don't care.  We do, though.  We care a lot.  And it's time they showed us fans a little respect.  

I hope you all share this.  Pass it around.  Let's get Jar Jar's head rolling so we'll finally get some kind of closure on having to suffer through the worst character ever created.  





  

Sunday, January 3, 2016

The Year of the Mad Shitter and 2016


I'm glad 2015 is finally over.  It was a demented chimpanzee cranked up on meth while running around a party of adults with a machete and hacking at all of our ankles.  Filthy little bastard!  It wore a t-shirt that said "ZIPPY" in bold red letters and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shoot the fucker and save us all.

I don't know where a chimpanzee would get meth, or a t-shirt like that, or even a machete.  I'm pretty sure some swarthy asshole outside the party thought it would be fun.  There's always that one asshole who wants to give a primate a heavy drug and a weapon just to add life to a party.  And that greasy motherfucker ruins it all the time for us.

He is the bastard half-brother to Death and the distant cousin to Fate.  He was never given a proper name but I'm sure he thinks he's funny as hell.  One of these days I'm going to lure him into the back of my van where I'll give the dirty shit a bath and wax every strand of hair off his swarmy little body. Then, I'll dress him in plaid pants and a print shirt from the 70's, with a pair of white vinyl loafers before shoving him out into the public on a bright, sunny day.
 
And that, folks, pretty much sums up my headspace--I'm angry about an aspect of life.  I hold life itself in contempt.

The Judge Dredd comic book had a great villain named Judge Death.  He was from an alternate dimension where the Judges realized all crime was committed by the living, so they judged everybody alive, and sentenced them to die.  It was brilliant.



Sure, I'm angry about 2015, but angry in a way that you are after somebody takes a shit outside your doorway and runs off because you can't see who did it.  The world is full of mad shitters and 2015 was the Year of the Mad Shitter.  Somebody was shitting on our doorstep and running away before we could figure out who needed to be shot.  Piles of shit were everywhere!  In doorways, cabinets, in the middle of the floor, on the hoods of our cars.  Everywhere!  

Nothing is more depraved than a mad shitter.  And I'm almost positive the original reason Springfield Armory developed the newer M1 variants was because of the prevalence of mad shitters in our society.  

Imagine every other day or so finding a pile of crap where you least expected.  Every day, almost. Piles and piles strung out all over because somebody was so angry at you they felt the need to get back at you, but they didn't have the balls to face you or at least make their name known.  

You scream, you curse, you shout, you make oaths of revenge to anybody who will listen.  But you never know who took a shit on the hood of your car while you were asleep.  

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I would recap 2015.  I think that pretty much sums it up.  

I'm not going to let 2016 even start with me.  I'm still pissed off.  I had high hopes for this last year and it turned into a disappointing flash in the pan.  So instead of me looking around for somebody to shoot and asking, "What the fuck just happened?" I am going to be pro-active and aggressive.  

I pronounce 2016 to be The Year of Aggression.

I am going to be aggressive in all facets of my life.  You name it, I'm going to be aggressive about it. Except for work.  But the rest of my life, you bet.  I'm going to submit more stories and I'm going to publish more stories, dammit.  I'm going to have shit ready.  

And ladies, get ready, because no more of this nice-guy bullshit.  I'm gonna slap some asses and honk some boobs.  My goal for 2016 is to have three pregnancy scares and to break four hearts.  I want somebody to demand I take a paternity test!  I want somebody at work to be knocked up and to have my name on the long list of potential daddies. 

I'm going to leave 2016 on a sidewalk at night, crying, and too shocked to talk about what the bad man in the van did to it.