Broken Gold Shitfaced Watches

      Today, I woke up late...by about an hour or more. If I had a job, this would be a problem, but, since lucrative positions in the "do nothing but shit for money" career field are all filled, I'm free to dick off. Still, I try to get up to wake the two oldest children in time to catch the bus. This didn't happen today and only one made it. What lead to this disaster? I'd like to actually blame the ah-ah-ah-a-a-a-alcohol (thank you Jamie Foxx!), though I did cover fact that getting drunk isn't an excuse for jack shit (fuck you Jamie Foxx!). My only saving grace is I only drank enough, to disrupt my sleep and completely fuck up my day. I stopped short of the soul cleansing goodness of obliviously shit faced drunk.

Didn't use one mirror.

      I don't know what it is about booze that makes me drag asstic for days afterward. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's the dehydration aspect of imbibing or me being a weak sissy bitch drunk. That last one was a test. If you think that, I challenge you! Bring a box of Kleenex because you will be crying in defeat...and giving me a handjob as a token of your worthlessness. Oh, and you'd have to be a woman. Though, I have nothing against homosexuality, I have severe reservations about looking at a defeated, crying drunk male stroking my junk. It's not homophobia, it's just that the lack of boner on my part coupled with the fact that I'd have to be looking at a sobbing dude would make for a long, drawn out, endless awkward moment...with lots of chafing that I really don't need. If you're a guy, just buy me more booze or lots of money. That will be your albatross of shame! I digress. Alas, I got up late. I didn't hear my alarm go off. Nope, check that. I did hear my alarm, I just incorporated it into my dream. This particular dream was me inheriting a watch from what everyone told me was my grandfather, but, looked oddly like Colonel Sanders. It was a really nice gold, antique kind of watch, the kind that someone would have secreted in their rectum to keep from secret police or shadow government. 

That colon gold watch gets video! SOLD!

      Anyway, the lawyer is reading all this dreamy, mumbly lawyer shit about inherited watches when, the alarm started going off on it. I tried like crazy to cut it off. I was jabbing at the buttons, slamming on the lawyer's desk, slamming it on the lawyer's face and buttocks. I gave serious thought to putting back in Colonel Sanders's rectum but, thought better of it, so, I hit the lawyer across the face a couple more times. Nothing. The damn thing mockingly refused to go off. I was strapping a hand grenade to it when it hit me...it's your REAL alarm, dumb ass! Leave that fucking watch alone, get out of that astronaut suit you're wearing and into your Superman costume, because you have to fly to Wake The Fuck Upville! So, I did. I got up, stared at the clock and realized...ever groggily, that I had gotten up late. What the fuck is wrong with me? I mean I...huh? The Superman costume? I didn't realize I would have to explain that...uh...you need it. So anyway, I got up quickly and...huh? Why do you need it? Because...it's something...nevermind. Just drop it, okay. You wouldn't understand. Gah, oh...okay, fine. You need it to fly. Happy? You can only fly as Superman in dreams. I told you you wouldn't understand. Besides, what if I woke from a dream without first changing into it IN my dream. I'd just wake up confused, because of what I wear when I go to sleep.

This chick knows what I'm talking about.

      So, my shitty day wore on and I end up seriously passing out later anyway. I didn't WANT to piss my day away, but, I did. I was supposed to be submitting the shit out of some Cracked.com articles. Instead, I had a mild alcohol related sleep hiccup that softcore raped my schedule. Will it happen tomorrow? Shit yeah! I'm getting trashed right now. Lesson learned? Nope. Drunken Elton is here to stay for a while and he's barely standing. Goodbye brain cells. Hello damaged liver!

What did I have to do again? 

Star Wars: Return of The Brown Eye...(that's slang for ass hole)

      Follow me on this, okay.  Say, I made a...a t.v. show or something like that,  that is beloved by millions. It's characters are interesting and the story lines were killer, deep and really sucked the audience in. My show millions of viewers per week and the world loved it. What should I do? Should I fuck with the show until not even the fans like it anymore? No? Okay, now, picture that the shit is Star Wars and I'm George "Fuck My Fans In Their Rectum" Lucas.

See. Over there? That mountain of shit, right there? 

That's where I'm taking Star Wars. Straight into that.

      I was watching a show on DVR...as is my way these days, when the theme of the greatest sci-fi movie saga ever made, came on via commercial. I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter. The Complete Star Wars Saga on Blu-ray. Holy shit. I felt faint...as most nerds would. My balls also tingled slightly. I immediately flew like a flash tore open...the internet and threw out...something that's like a sash. I searched for pricing...not to bad, considering what it is. Then, I searched for dates, not too far off...THEN, I actually read about it. What the fuck. Georgie Lucas went and dicked with it all again. Again?! Does he have brain damage?

Uh, hi, I'm Special George and this is Special Steve. 

We like to make and then destroy movies you love.

      What kind of self destructive complex do you have to have in order to purposefully dick up a gagillion dollar franchise on purpose? I'm befuddled. If I had a property that continually made me millions...er...billions...I'm not going to lie. I'd leave the shit just the way it is and smile the smile of a happy, happy man. You don't slap a new pair of tits on a super model...just because YOU think she'd look better with them. Once your super model is out there...earning. It sounds like prostitution, but, stay with me. The advertisers get to know her look, her face, the fact that her modeling vibe can sell ANYTHING. Even though she's beautiful...you still have the urge to slap new tits on her. Then, you think...hm...maybe she needs something else. Shit like that can be a slippery slope. Before you know it, you've turned this...

So...ya need some new tits...I can tell.

Into this...

HOLY FUCKIN' CHRIST ON A CROSS!

I just threw up in my mouth a little.

      Star Wars wasn't perfection. We all know that. It was made in a time when computers were bigger than refrigerators and Harrison Ford was young. That's like a thousand years ago. That's part of it's charm. There's a mental exercise that goes along with being a fan. What would you change, who would you have cast, should the cast have gone full nude? These are all questions fans ask out of love for a set of movies, that because of it's production limitations, allowed us a little space in them to call our own. To mess with them is to disrespect an entire fan base that has come to invest themselves in the fiction a little.They have also been willing to fork over huge sums of money for all manner of Star Wars related shit. 

This guy has forgone relationships...with actual women to collect this shit. 

Well, okay..."women" is a strong word.

      Though, I do get George's side of the thing. He's an "artist"...or whatever that means. Usually, when you're talking about a movie with a 8 foot dog man in it, "artist" is on par with "retarded". Regardless. The movies are his creation. He can dick with them to his hearts content. Even if that will eventually exhaust any credit he has built with his fan base.Ultimately, he'll be left with a bunch of "perfect" movies that no one cares about anymore and that he can't watch...because he's homeless. Okay, that's a little bit of a stretch. George Lucas has enough money to buy a god, but only a lower level one. He can't buy THE God. Come on now...only Bill Gates has that kind of juice...and he's too busy buying talking walls or whatever it is you buy after you can buy ALL of the porn. Sorry, I just mixed my desires with Bill Gate's money. It won't happen again. Alas, George Lucas is going to die before all of his money is pissed away on making Darth Vader sound blacker. So, he's not losing it all any time soon. So, where does this ultimately leave his fan base...angered as they are? Well...it leaves them waiting in a line, like they always are...ever ready to spend money on a product they know they'll be disappointed by. 

The nerds in this line wouldn't even fuck each other. 

      In reflection. I doubt Georgie will ever stop touching his Star Wars junk. And...we'll never stop watching him fondle it. It's a sad, sad state of affairs, really. A man hell bent on fucking with a completely loyal fan base...and a fan base so completely loyal they'll buy into whatever puppet master George Lucas doles out, even with a large amount of complaint. Here's the truth of it all folks. George Lucas doesn't care about you! He has enough money that he doesn't have to care any more. He can afford to re-edit Star Wars a thousand times, degrading it until it's little more than an avant garde sci-fi re-make of Spun with re-recorded voice overs by the last six winners of American Idol's Got Talent Factor. George says fuck you! He's been saying it for years! Listen! 

I put my arms in like so and spread out my fingers. 

THAT'S how you fist fuck a fan folks!

      I know you won't though. I know I won't. It's a vicious cycle of Georgie slapping us all on the face with his big money dick and we go round again. I'll admit it. What keeps me going? The hope that...maybe, he'll A: find the most perfect version of it all...and it will be awesome or B: He'll just eventually leave well enough alone. Either way...I like Star Wars. I guess my question is this...how much is too much before what you liked is no longer even present anymore? I mean, how long would you stick around if what if the church slowly went from regular whitey Jesus...to black Jesus, Slayer of The Six Unicorns of Sin?

You see this Jesus cat slayer of six unicorns is a bad mother-

(Shut yo' mouth!)

But, I'm talking about Jesus!