Tag Archives: Star Wars

Unmellow Yellow: A Star Wars Story

11 Apr


Unmellow Yellow


Han Solo had a 10 Parsec


long dong

vertically hairy

and Black Vest-idly



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



The Unmellow Universe

is not only a coward

and hesitantly expanding


it’s judging us, about shit like this


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



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



It’s A Trap

10 Jan


It’s A Trap

for Admiral Ackbar and the death of 2017     




2 minutes left in this Trump-fucked

reality-pulverized 2017 world-year

Where does all the time go?



Trump Tower?

Chuck-ee Cheese?


Our lives are being lived on the other side of the screen

of this new TV world

ruled over by the baby

Of The Apprentice, created after one long-short night

of force sexing itself on The West Wing


This political baby raised on the Twilight Zone episode

where that shitty red headed kid banished everyone

into the black and white corn field

who didn’t consistently stroke his dinosaur movie ego

and applaud when he mutilated all the gophers

in the front yard and I’m not sure what……..

what the fuck


what’s that over there? a space ogre struggling numbly

to open an already almost opened can of space Spam and peas?



Or maybe it was, but

right now it looks a dumpster full of abandoned pizza rolls

filibustering an existential` loaf of bread


I’ve been,,,,,,,,interlinked with the,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,apostrophe,,,,,,,,,,,

and the meat curtains of a corporate owned democracy,,,,,,,,,,,interlinked

with,,,,,,,,.bobble head hearts,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,mystery boxes,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,


leaking showers,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,and lost vests

it’s throat parching and ridiculous,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

it’s depressing,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

( hashtag: 2049 Deckard for president),,,,,,,,,(change the ta78pe)


What does everybody think of that last Star Wars movie?


I thought it was kinda terrible, or ok

Not as terrible as the genocide of modern compassion

and Trumps tax plan

but in this shite year of just shooting for not-disappointed

I was disappointed


That last Star Wars movie

just let me down

when I was already let down


and in the middle of all that letting down

with reindeer farting on the wrong rooftops

and Paul Ryan jerking off to new snuff films

depicting the death of all the human service type programs that’ve been set up

to help people…..a hooded jackass in spandex

throat fucking our safety nets……the ragged death

of a salt water leaf left in the sun in the middle of

fuck, I don’t know

(pick a goddamn month, already)

I’m gonna say: June


in the middle of all of this and everything else

and the truth that this movie needs Tan Tans

That fucking Star Wars movie,


(everything else that I disagreed with/

long list mercifully deleted)

They killed Admiral Ackbar!

Spoiler alert!

and the heart’s burglar alarms wept,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

in zero gravity, no less,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

because they just fucking killed him

My favorite Calamari!

Just, gone!


Which I’d like to state, for the record:

I’m opposed to

(or I’m opposed too)


I’m a huge fan of everything that I love

not leaving me

so when they just sucked him out into space

I wasn’t a big fan of that


(I’ve watched the things that I’ve loved

sucked out into space before

we all have

insert understatement here: it isn’t fun)


I have a hard time letting love in now and

They killed my favorite fucking space fish,

Space flushed him into the nipply death cold of space

and now

He’s space-fish dead!

Which I’ve heard is a really bad way

to be dead


Which sobers up the question: Why?


What the hell is anything thinking?!

We all deserve better that this?!

So of course, this is what we get

Admiral Ackbar is gone


And everybody’s acting like they don’t give a shit

Nobody’s acting like they care

And I’m fucking done with all this not caring!


Why can’t it all just be,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,I had another dream last night

that I kinda fell in love at a gang bang,,,,,,,,,,,,

it was,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,unbearable

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,I’ve long ago written about that shit already happening

because it was funny, but what if,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fuck it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,flip the tape again


Another year is over again

Buried in the back yard

next to my every day missed cat


flip the tape again


“It’s a trap!”

So be it

“At least we’ve got friends”


I want to fall in love again




Murder Pig Jr.

31 Dec

murder pig jr


Murder Pig Jr.


Murder Pig Jr was raised

by a couple of social working mozzarella farmers

on a small island located somewhere

between last week and Spain


He was already in his 20’s and had a beard

and a slight astigmatism

when he learned the truth behind

his biological parentage


His mother was Murder Pig, a possessed

Piggy Bank who did most of her serial killing

back in the 1930’s but was still known

to perk up every once and a while

and murder someone new for no reason

from time to time


The identity of Murder Pig Jr.’s father

was a bit more mysterious than well known facts

like a Star Wars movie family picnic

before Darth Vader spilled the beans

or an especially unwatchablely painful episode of Maury Povich

(Historical Note: Every episode of Maury Povich

is unwatchablely painful)


Upon discovering the truth of his biological mother

Murder Pig Jr. thought about trying to track Murder Pig down

because he’d always wanted to meet his real mother

but then he also thought: What if I do that and when I find her

she murders me?


While feeling conflicted Murder Pig Jr adjusted his thick back glasses

and tugged on his staggered stubble beard

and looked down at his shoes


the toes of his right foot were exposed

do to the shoddy state of his current sneakers

his big toe had dug a hole in the canvases


and because the fabric had been slaughtered

(the murder weapon being time and dull friction)

and his toe was the only logical suspect

and still even now all these months after lingered

around at the crime scene like a guilty TV dinner

Murder Pig Jr. began to wonder

what with his mom’s dismembered tendencies

“What if I’m just like my mother?” (–When Doves Cry/Prince)

What if I grow up to murder too?


Forget the fact that Murder Pig Jr. was already fully grown

Forget the fact that Opa is German for Grandpa

Forget the fact that it was almost 11 a.m. and she hadn’t peed yet


Forget the fact that if Justin Long’s penis

was just a little bit smaller

he’d be Justin Longish


Forget it all! Like Murder Pig Jr. forgot it

because he was surrounded by aspartame

and was currently obsessing over that age old debate


of nature vs. nurture

accidentally catching your parents fucking

vs. having that goddamn Final Countdown song

stuck in your head for a longish afternoon


Dr. Ponytail’s prodigious hair ties vs. an anti-Semitic Quesarito

The Bionic Dog vs. a parking lot full of distemper riddled groupies

the oncoming horizon of 8 a.m. vs. 8:30!



Murder Pig Jr. didn’t know what to do next

so he decided to sleep on it

which was just fine with the narrator because

it’d been a long day


and Tic Tac withdrawal was a real thing

and all the TicTac stores were closed

and wouldn’t open again until tomorrow morning


the narrator’s hands shook like an R2D2 Pez dispenser

passed around half hazardly at an ameliorated gang bang


Let’s just pick this thing up again in the morning

the jones-ing narrator said to himself

the sun setting behind him like a bad song by Menudo


as Murder Pig Jr. stood on a small shelf in the dark

staring across a bleak as hell room


and listened to the quiet voice behind him whisper

“Hello son”

Love Is Like: Sand People

25 Oct

sand people

Love Is Like: Sand People

Like Sand People
love is easily startled

But unlike Sand People
she won’t be coming back

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

10 Jul


(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.

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

9 Jul

(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.


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?