Tag Archives: Han Solo

Unmellow Yellow: A Star Wars Story

11 Apr

 

Unmellow Yellow

 

Han Solo had a 10 Parsec

 

long dong

vertically hairy

and Black Vest-idly

strong

 

He named it Chewbacca

but the Chewbacca you remember

from childhood is a figment

of Han Solo’s overly exaggerated mind

 

 

so, as a separate entity, the thick Wookie

that sat beside him co-piloting

the Millenium Falcon

doesn’t actually exist

(not in the way in which we perceive it)

 

 

Chewbacca is in reality a simple manifestation

of Han Solo’s grand thoughts about his own penis

a grand thought

so strong that it became

a shared vision

 

 

we all went along with it

 

It’s like Jimmy Stewart in Harvey

only Jimmy saw the rabbit

 

it’s like that, except on a much larger scale

because Han Solo wasn’t alone

we all saw Chewbacca!

even though he wasn’t there

or, in a sense, he was there

 

but not in the way our culturally connected minds perceived him to be there

 

he was there, in the literal sense, tucked inside

Han Solo’s pants

 

even though we perceived Chewie, as Han Solo did

as an eight foot tall best pal who’s posture slightly

stiffened every time Princess Lea entered and room

and haimishly gargled at all of Han’s jokes

 

we all saw it, ergo:

we’re all

in every sense

and in all actuality

totally nuts

 

and speaking of nuts

what kind of man nicknames his dick

Chewie?

 

The Unmellow Universe

is not only a coward

and hesitantly expanding

 

it’s judging us, about shit like this

unjustly

and thinking things like

if it had it to do all over again

 

it would’ve liked to have gotten a degree in Psychology

or something like that

 

instead of becoming what it is

an enormously nervous Tea Cup

that contains Everything

 

including Cocky Bastards

with Talking Teddy Bear dick

fantasies

 

so powerful

that everyone he comes

into celluloid contact with

 

as if dazzled by the variant amount

of loneliness and special effects

 

wind up believing

in the fantasy

too

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Me Too Night at Love Shovel Ranch Poem

17 Jul

witness1

Me Too Night at Love Shovel Ranch Poem

for Jonathan Montgomery, inventor of Me Too Poetics, Marcus If, inventor of Love Shovel Ranch, and Jewel

 

Reality makes no sense to me!

Nothingness is just another shit bar

Death is a bad pick up line

 

I’m sorry about damn near everything!

 

I walk out the door most days

as if the morning was a goddamn arctic sled race

and somebody’s just murdered all my dogs

 

I’m always alone!

 

I find it almost impossible to talk to women I want to sleep with

and I find it almost more impossible to talk to the women I don’t

 

I haven’t slept in years!

 

and when I do sleep

I wake up every 45 minutes

because everything I’ve ever lost

haunts me and post all this leaving

I’m so goddamned broken

I find it impossible

to accept other people’s love

 

I watch people in love

like I’m watching a big budget

dinosaur movie that’s lost

its 3rd act

there’s no happy ending in which

some of the characters

make it through

to the end

 

everything’s pre and post shoe drop

the dangerous set up

followed by an endless

digital film parade

of chaos and extinct

monsters devouring everything individually

and prehistorical butt plugs

and rage-y type doom

 

I feel like my atoms

are held together with

dollar store duct tape

every time I’m required

to socialize

 

I’m so fucking lost!

 

the other day

I watched a bus leave a bird

behind at a bus stop because the bird

didn’t have correct change

or maybe it had change

but couldn’t carry it to the bus stop

 

in which case the bus left the bird

because it didn’t have pockets

 

and that’s a horrible reason

to leave something

 

but still a better reason

than most of us are given

 

we are

the pocket lonely

and left

 

I’ve never fucked

a ferris wheel

and this morning

I have to admit:

I regret this

 

Back in high school I once fooled around

with an older girl who went to Ferris College

but that’s not really the same thing

 

unless fucking a ferris wheel

is like making out with a girl who’d

just won first place in the college lip syncing contest

for looking exactly like the lead singer from Vixen

 

I’m so fucking pathetic!

 

When Tundji left town

he gave me all his porn

a small box of dvds

 

but when I watched it

it felt weird

jerking off to porn that Tundji’d

already jerked off to

 

it felt weird

like Marty McFly traveling all the way back in time

just to make out with his mom in Back To The Future

 

but in the end

I jerked off anyway

it was weird, but I jerked off

because what else

are we supposed to

do?

 

Last night I had a dream

I went to a football game

in the 1990’s

and ended up hanging out

with Mick Jagger

 

and we got drunk

and he promised to publish

my new novel

 

but then he sort of got distracted

by this enormous indoor tire swing

and I stood there thinking

 

gosh, his purple shirt is so shiny

and he seems to be enjoying that tire swing

so much

he’s probably already forgotten every promise

he’s ever said to me

 

I can’t compete with a tire swing

So,

So much for my book

 

The other night I was watching the movie

Interstellar for the 39th time

and I couldn’t stop thinking

It’s so unfair

nobody ever pays attention

to the kid in the movie

who grows up to be Casey Affleck

 

and I thought, Helen

 

her love was like that,

she loved me as if I were a child

pretending to be a younger version

of Casey Affleck

 

and I felt so sad! So sat that

I was sitting around on my couch the other day

and for ten solid minutes I couldn’t get it out

of my head, Nobody says butt fuck anymore

 

or if they do, I ain’t hearing it

when we were kids

we said butt fuck all the time

not because we knew what it meant, but

because it was fun to say

 

Butt fuck! Helen! Butt fuck!

 

I’m so fucking divorced right now!

 

I still remember when Helen had left

to think things over for a couple months

and she eventually called me from the east coast

and told me she wanted a divorce

 

I totally Han Solo’d her

unplanned and spontaneous

voice calm as hell

 

Helen: I want a divorce.

Me: I know.

 

It seemed like the only 2 words

in the world at the time

The only proper response

 

I’m so fucking anti-social!

 

I’ve gone four day in a row

where the only person I talked to

the entire time was the bartender

at Chilis

 

I’m so fucking hungry!

 

If you’d have told my 17yr old hopeless romantic

and clean faced self

that he’d turn into a middle aged

bearded hermit afraid of love

 

he would’ve told you

to go fuck yourself

 

but when you tell Jewel the same news

she’s way more polite about it

 

Heartbreak!

taking the dick out of Emily Dickenson

for shit, almost 40 years

 

love is a log cabin

and when they leave

they take all the logs

 

I was sitting at the Outback

the other day writing

and a pretty lady came over

and started to talk to me

and her boobs were perfect

the way the movie Mad Max Fury Road was perfect

the only difference being Fury Road

was one movie

and in the case of her boobs

there were two

 

and I could tell that she was into me maybe

but I’m so fucking bad at picking up women

right now that the only thing I could think

to say to her was:

Talking to you right now is really depressing me.

 

so I said it

and of course

she left

 

I’m so fucking confused!

 

I was in Walmart this morning

and they were selling Amish Potato Salad

and I was like, what the fuck is Amish Potato Salad?

 

and then I thought who cares and started making up

advertising catch phrases in my head

for Amish Potato salad because when you’re alone

most of the time you have to find various ways

to pass the time and entertain yourself

 

instead of having a girlfriend

I invent slogans for Amish Potato salad

like Amish Potato Salad:

this potato salad

is not a fan of electricity

or the way Harrison Ford is looking

at that young boy’s mom

 

 

(postscript)

 

I was at the Lafayette Chilis again around 5:10 p.m. on a Wednesday

sitting at the bar and this woman walked in

 

and she was pretty and she sat next to me

exactly in that order

 

I was waiting for a black bean burger

to go and someone to love me

 

She was picking up food to go too

 

She paid with her credit card

just like I’d paid with my credit card

we had so much in common!

 

until our to go orders

showed up at the same time

her bag was enormous

and obviously filled with

food for herself and

somebody else

probably her boyfriend

 

and my tiny plastic

bag the size of one

solo veggie burger

obviously enunciated

that I was alone

 

Her bag screamed:

 

I’m in a committed relationship

We eat Chilis to go together once a week

and have sex in between the 3rd and 4th commercial break

of America’s Got Talent every Wednesday night

 

My bag screamed:

 

I have loved deeper than space time and continuums

but now I’m obviously

broken and alone

 

 

 

(for more about Jonathan Montgomery and Me Too poetics visit jonathan-montgomery.com
for more about Love Shovel Ranch visit Love Shovel Ranch. or go to their website loveshovelranch.com
for more about Jewel visit Idon’tReallyKnowJewel)

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The Night I Discovered That I’m Not as Cool as Han Solo

10 Jul

HanSoloCantina                                

(originally published in The Incredible Shrinking Story, A Collection of Flash Fiction, Volume Four)

The Night I Discovered That I’m Not as Cool as Han Solo

            We all know that scene. The one from The Empire Strikes Back, on Cloud City—after the gang’s been betrayed by Billy Dee Williams. Han Solo’s stripped of his black Han Solo vest, and while standing there in front of everybody in a nice white shirt and brand new handcuffs–seconds away from being frozen in carbonite and shipped off to Jabba The Hut–Princess Leia lays it all out there and tells Han ‘I love you’.

            And like Keith Richards or something, Han Solo says ‘I know’. All cool and shit. It’s one of my fondest memories from childhood. I’d always aspired to handle myself like that, if circumstances ever presented themselves. Which they did. Sort of. In the form of Helen.

            We shared a very similar moment together. Only instead of saying ‘I love you’ she told me she was leaving. And instead of me taking it like a multi-galactic Rock Star, I broke down sobbing, mumbling in the midst of this breakdown something that sort of sounded like ‘Please Don’t Go!’.

            It wasn’t a pretty site. As the fog kicked in and I felt myself being slowly lowered further and further down into the carbonite pit, I became even more desperate at the thought of never seeing Helen again. I started screaming stuff like:

            “Are you sure you want to end this? I mean, I can do better! This is crazy! Will you at least read to me, while I’m frozen? That would be nice.

            And while you’re thinking it over can you get me a sweater or something?! It’s cold in here! That’d be great darlin’. I need you!

            Helen nixed the idea with a silent head shrug that meant ‘No’. I continued haggling desperately like a pre-frost bite riddled buffoon.

            “Do me a favor!” I scream as the pit slowly overtakes me and I can no longer feel my own genitals. “Don’t fuck Lando! Can you at least promise me that? I mean, he’s a friend of mine! It’s the least you could do, in honor of my love for you! Keep your stuff away from his dick!”

            I hear Helen say she can’t promise anything. It’s an embarrassing scene. The last thing I hear is Boba Fett making fun of me and Chewbacca gargling something about how he’s lost all respect for me and refuses to be my sidekick anymore. Insists on hanging out with someone more ‘manly’. He’s currently on tour working as Justin Bieber’s sidekick instead.

            And just like that, it’s over. Or maybe it begins again. My life inside this pit.

            While frozen in carbonite waiting for my love to not rescue me, I find a strip mall bar and order several drinks. While waiting for them to arrive I flip off Storm Troopers and stare at the coked out alien who has a face that looks like something that fell out of an elephant’s vagina nine months after Jack Nicholson fucked it. His nose hanging loosely like a Skeet Ulrich sized dick.

            I sip my drinks quickly, trying to forget where it is I really am. Frozen in carbonite. Vest-less. Publicly rejected and doomed.

            Over the course of one long goddamned scene I’ve managed to get dumped by the only girl I’ve ever loved. I’ve lost my sidekick to an un-pube’d pop star, not to mention the respect of the entire Bounty Hunter community. My girl’s probably blowing the only black friend I’ve got in this entire galaxy, and because I’ve seen how these sort of movies end, when I finally do get out of this carbonite outhouse, I’ll have to spend the next several years attempting to get over her, which in this nightmare manifests itself in the form of being trapped in the Redwood Forest over the course of a ridiculously disappointing sequel battling armies of Gary Colman sized Teddy Bears while the dude who’s fucking Helen steals my ship and blows up a SECOND Death Star!

            I ask you, where’s the honor in that? How is this fair?

            And then I realize I’m being an idiot for even asking the question.

            Belief in fairness leads to trusting. Trusting leads to leaving your goddamn apartment. Leaving your apartment leads to meeting the woman of your dreams. Meeting her leads to having drinks together. Drinking together leads to huge boner sex. Huge boner sex leads to a scary couple of days waiting to find out if you maybe have Herpes (after the fact, she mentions that she might have herpes). Maybe having herpes leads to not having herpes (hooray!). Not having herpes leads to love.

            And we all know where it goes from here. Love leads to suspicion (why the fuck does she have to smell like Colt 45 all the time?). Suspicion leads to Betrayal (because she was already secretly having butt sex with Billy Dee Williams, that’s why!). And as we’ve already covered, Billy De leads to public humiliation and getting frozen in carbonite. Which leads to drinking alone with all the other aliens in this bar. Which eventually has led to me accepting free shots from an Irish dude who talks like Yoda and insists everything’s going to be fine.

            Which leads to, I don’t know. I don’t care if Yoda can levitate an entire bowl of cashews without spilling any nuts. Yoda not spilling his nuts all over everything fails to convince me that I’ll get over her soon and things will be ok.

            It’s at this point that Yoda gives up on his pep talk and starts showing me tiny holographic images of AT-AT’s having sex.

            Photos of AT-AT’s going at it robot doggie style leads to me paying my tab, as my brittle nerves jump to light speed.

            I miss you, Helen. I’m sorry. I’m not as cool as Han Solo.

            I’m still frozen without you. It’s all this goddamn carbonite, damn it.         

            I don’t know how to let you go.

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The Night I Discovered That I Might Be Cooler Than Han Solo

9 Jul

             hs          
(for Nick Morris and Nancy S.)

The Night I Discovered That I Might Be Cooler Than Han Solo

We all know the scene. The story splashed over the internet that Harrison Ford, a few days after pulling on the old Han Solo vest, halfway through his famous catch phrase, had managed to break his goddamn leg while filming a new scene on the Millennium Falcon. “I’ve got a bad feeling about…..shit!” a friend close to the source of the space ship door which brought down the damage is reported to have overheard the elderly space smuggler groan. 

Breaking your leg while walking through a door on your own ship, a ship that’s been attached to your unique legacy almost like the wearing of one white glove helped distinguish Michael Jackson from the 80’s pop crowd, as in the way Madonna found fame by being the slut who sang about virgins, I mean, breaking your leg like that is the opposite of far far away coolness. What the Jabba just happened here? Han Solo used to be better than that.

It’d be like, if they made another Trek movie with what’s left of the original cast and Shatner showed up on the Enterprise bridge with his toupee glued to his belly and his girdle flopped over the top of his head. It’s the other way around, mate! You don’t want to do that. That’s the sort of shit that can fuck with one’s legacy. Breaking your leg on your own spaceship is the same goddamn thing.

What the fuck happened to Han Solo?! Han Solo should be able to walk around his own ship without breaking his leg, I mean that’s almost the goddamn definition of being Han Solo. You can almost hear 1970’s George Lucas at the audition table “Can you walk around ships and stuff without breaking anything? Are you racist against Wookies? Can you look bored under pressure? Yeah? You’re hired.”

We all get older. I get that. It’s ok for mortal men to break their legs against the closest thing they’ve got to their own spaceship. That shit happens. But it’s not ok to do this if you’re Han Solo. It’s like eating Viagra, there’s no shame in an aging man needing a little help with his willy. Time can be a real turn off and eating anti-limp pills is what regular guys tend to do. What you don’t want to see is Han Solo standing in line at the pharmacy with a bunch of other hung over dudes from the cantina waiting to refill his own E.D. prescription. Because Han Solo isn’t ‘regular guys’. He’s fucking Han Solo.

Han Solo’s dick shouldn’t need a life jacket to stay afloat. Han Solo’s dick should be self-stiffening. When I was a kid, I was pretty sure that Han Solo walked around the movies with a hard on crammed into his pants at all times. Not even the unlimited power of a Sith Lord could defeat a rebel erection like that.

I mean: shit. Maybe Salinger did it right. Do your thing as well as anyone’s ever done such a thing and then spend the rest of the days shunning the general public from behind the door of a really nice house. If Solo’d done this, we wouldn’t find ourselves forced into dealing with our own goddamn mortalities and the realities of this broken leg shit.

1980’s Han Solo as the smart ass who gets the girl is a pop culture god. 2014 Han Solo breaking his leg on his own ship makes you look at things differently. It’s something like this that causes one to re-evaluate every cool thing Han Solo’s ever done. Sure he got the girl at the end of the trilogy, but how cool is it really when the dude you’re competing with for the affection of said girl is her own brother? Or consider Han’s big moment with Leah at the carbonite pit. 

“I love you.” “I know.” Stop! That ‘I know’ shit was epic back when Han Solo was really Han Solo. But now I’m not so sure. She opens up and says she loves him and what’s he do? He uses her love to crack jokes, like a dick. Maybe love shouldn’t be used in such ways. (note: at this point cue stereo to play track 2 of the Invasion Of Your Privacy album by Ratt)

Never use love as a trampoline upon which to bounce smirky one-liners to the detriment of gravity and its romantic affections for the ground .

Never use love on grape fruit juice stains. It’ll just cause the juice stains to dig in deeper and once that happens you’ll never get that shit out.

Love should never be used for lots of things. It will not cure diarrhea, hypothermia, or your fucked up back. It can’t make corporations people. It can’t make Sarah Palin well informed. Nor can it make female related health care issues go away.

Never use love to cure insomnia. That’s like using spaghetti to cure pizza.

Never use love to fuck strangers. For fuck’s sake, are we not civilized? Introduce yourself to the fine lady first. That way you’re not strangers. Like Han Solo’s maybe no longer Han Solo.

Hell.

Well at least we’ve still got Obi Wan Kenobi. Now there’s a dude who aged gracefully. Bad ass to the end (or to be more specific: bad ass, long Salinger-esk self-isolation period, bad ass to the end). I’m gonna try to be more like him maybe.

Do you hear that Helen?! In this big lightsaber duel with your absence, your love for me’s death will not kill me. It will only make me more powerful than you could ever imagine!

And like Obi Wan, Helen, I can sense things, like now, a disturbance in the force, as if another man is currently fucking you in your Alderan.

But(t): Alderan was a peaceful planet!

Not anymore, Helen. You fucking Death Star. You goddamn space opera.

Why the hell would you let another guy land there? I mean, the place is destroyed now.

Did you even stop to think about what a thing like this might do to Jimmy Smits?

 

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