Thursday, 18 March 2010

Dear George, take your money and fuck off please.

Yours sincerely, FILM.

Star Wars reminds me of a lovable pet. A family friend and companion. However, some way into its promising life it was taken out back and shot in the head for corporate greed. Then its body was beaten out of recognition with sticks, stones and cuddly toy franchises until it liquidified into a puddle of over-commercialised viscous fluid.

Now the rotten and stinking remains of the corpse have been uncovered and put on display again as Lucas announces he is bringing back Star Wars. No, not the marauding Avatar-envying 3D bastard, that was 4 whole minutes ago. It's the animated series for pre-school children.

I'm sure now you understand the convoluted metaphor used earlier and saw that it was good. There are two working titles at present, which are Star Wars: Galactic Heroes and Squishies. The latter seems to be a reference to the soft toy empire made completely without irony by a man convinced that the world needs more milk from a cow that died in the mid-eighties. Maybe also because Lucas is running out of post-colon suffixes for Star Wars.

Photographic evidence suggests that the profits from new Star Wars bastardisations are being stored in Lucas' chin; his 'moolah pouch', if you will.

My personal belief is that in an ironic twist of fate, he's becoming allergic to his own franchises, and will die as his mouth and nose are swallowed up by his own grotesquely swollen throat after 11 long years of slow anaphylaxis.

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