What in the name of facking Christ is this piece of facking shit?
You may have noticed, that was more than one word. Watching this abortion will make you forget things, such as how to count to one. Watching it all in one go, as I did, will not only make you forget things, but also possibly give you testicular cancer and then rip up your dead grandfather's priceless oldtime baseball card collection that you vowed to protect for him on his deathbed!
Yes, yes, we all know George Lucas is insane. We have only to look at his fucking haircut to figure that out. But when were the seeds of his destruction sown? Was it The Phantom Menace? As shit as that was, no. Young Indiana Jones Chronicles? Again, no. Was it Captain Eo, the short film conceptualised by Lucas and starring pop superstar/fucking disgrace Micheal Jackson as a space captain who travels the galaxy whilst performing raps with incoherent lyrics such as "Hoo-oo, come on, shamon, the chair is not my son, HOO-OO!"? No. The seeds were sown and then urinated upon in 1978, when the fabled Star Wars Holiday Special was broadcast to distraught families all across America. I shit you not, Lucas has attempted to track down every copy and destroy them, possibly by showing them photographs of himself naked. However, pirated copies exist, available at a friendly Kazaa near you!
What's wrong with this holiday spesh, you ask? On the surface, it seems to contain the ingredients for a surefire holiday favourite! Harrison Ford, Bea Arthur, Jefferson Starship, the list goes on like some sort of heaven-sent recipe for joy! On the contrary, this is perhaps the worst thing anyone has ever made available to anyone in the medium of performance art.
The plot revolves around Chewie's family. All look identical, but I have learned from websites that one is his wife, one is his son, and one is his father. His son looks like and old man's slipper with a pair of dog's eyes stapled to it. The three Wokies have adventures in their McDonald's-style treehouse home. That is all.
After being treated to a 20-minute domestic dispute, in which the Chewies yell at each other, without subtitles, we see Chewie's son walking along a railing outside their home. We nervously anticipate something bad happening. What is he falls off????? What if a bird flies up to him and tries to sell him cigarettes????? But then... nothing happens. It's like the "filmmakers" forgot what the hell they were doing halfway through the scene and abruptly changed the storyline.
Chewie's dad is given some sort of machine which displays to him his innermost pornographic desires. Inexplicably, his desires turn out to be a black woman wrapped in tin foil singing to him. This song sequence goes on for about ten minutes. We are not shown what Chewie's dad is doing during this performance, possibly because he is msturbating whilst moaning "black woman... black woman.... soooo hot....". That is, if they remembered to provide fucking subtitles. And it's impossible to understand the lyrics of the black woman's song, mostly because the sound quality is so fucking bad, or possibly because it's drowned out by the drumbeat of Chewie's dad's rapid Wookie masturbation.
Later, a Stormtroper sits down in front of a TV to enjoy a wee slice of Jefferson Starship. Starship perform a long and embarrassing song, the footage of their performance interspersed with scenes of the Stormtroper smiling and enjoying the song. This is evidence that Stormtroopers are retarded, and should not be allowed within five metres of scissors or television sets displaying Jefferson Starship concerts.
Then comes the centrepiece. It is not the centrepiece because it's any good, only because it takes for fucking long. Bea Arthur runs a bustling saloon. She then sings a song, a truly unforgettable song, which goes a little something like this:
"Is that a tear, friend?
Let's have a beer, friend!
No need to fear, friend!
I look vaguely like Leslie Nielsen, friend!"
Well, the first three lines are actually sung. Probably. I'm not sure, the song was drowned out by the sound of me cutting my own wrists whilst simultaneously drinking poison and shooting myself in the head.
This saloon scene is honestly sooooooooo damn long. I timed the song alone, and it goes for approximately five facking minutes. That's no counting the confusing scenes on either end, in which Bea Arthur is hit on by some drunk guy at the bar. She also meets Ludlow. This may not sound like much, but if you recall the character of Greedo from the first Star Wars film, then you will be outraged to know that rather than creating a new alien creature, the makers of this "special" just reused the old Greedo costume and changed his name to Ludlow. Had I been alive to witness this in 1978, I would surely have wept bitter tears of pain and regret for the future.
The special then abruptly ends with a long montage of the first Star Wars film. There is also footage of Carrie Fisher singing a long song, with Harrison Ford and Mark Hammill standing around looking solemn, possibly contemplating suicide after being contractually obliged to appear in such a shitty holiday special. Or perhaps Hamill had just had a glimpse into the future, where his career now consists entirely of cameo appearances in films wherein he is credited as playing "Cock-knocker". Whatever pays the bills...
In conclusion, let me tell you this little story of my childhood. I grew up on the mean streets of a New York ghetto. Every day I would put on my bare feet and walk fifty miles to school through knee-deep oceans of used crack needles and homeless people who keep yelling at me to "hook them up" with their "fix". Each day at school I was whipped with a wet towel whilst in the changing rooms and suspended on a flagpole naked while students threw rocks at me. Not just any rocks, rocks with scorpions on them. And the scorpions had guns. And they yelled at me and called me a "fag", whilst simultaenously shooting and stinging me, and the rocks also hit me, and the people on the ground laughed at me because I was naked and on a flagpole.
I would rather relive those schoolyears for a thousand lifetimes rather than sit through that Godawful shitty fucking shit fucking piece of shit Bea Arthur song again.
The aim of this article is to convince the government that the indiscriminate slaughter of total strangers by crazies with firearms should be not condemned by the law, but encouraged, if only because there is the tiny chance that George Lucas may be killed during one of the senseless rampages, and thus forbidden from every creating another Star Wars Holiday Special.
Yours with love and kisses - In His Blazer!
