Goddamnit, I like Star Wars as much as the next douchebag, although I can safely say that my affection for the movies doesn’t get in my way with the ladies (although I might be a loser for other reasons. Fine.). You won’t find a light-saber collection on my wall, and you sure as shit won’t find me learning the fuckin’ Ewok phrase for “I asked for onions on my Spicy Chicken, you tool” out of some book.

What does piss me off is that George just keeps churning out the bullshit. Lego Star Wars video games? Clone Wars animated series? I did just diss Mel Brooks a few posts ago, but he had it right in Spaceballs in the scene where Yoghurt says:

“Take a look. We put the picture’s name on everything. Merchandising. Merchandising. Where the real money from the movie is made. Spaceballs-the T-shirt, Spaceballs-the Coloring Book, Spaceballs-the Lunch box, Spaceballs-the Breakfast Cereal, Spaceballs-the Flame Thrower.”
I want to sell Star Wars designer purses that resemble Ewok satchels (aka, Ewok onion bags, Ewok scros, Ewok nutpouches). Maybe canes made out of Wookie dongs. Jabba the Hutt butt plugs. (Speaking of butt plugs….) What about an R2-D2 butt plug? Maybe an X-wing dildo.

It doesn’t matter what it is. Fucking buy it and live the life.

“What about you, Spanky?” Yep. I’m Joe Pantoliano’s character in The Matrix. Duh–the matrix sucks. But give me my goddamned steak.