4 Things That Are Criminally Wrong With Star Wars

Star Wars kicks so much ass its genre technically counts as 'Shattered Pelvic Bone'. Glorified Space monks parade around a galaxy in shiny starships that mock the laws of physics and fight robots with laser swords. But, fantasising about such an awesome universe enough is bound to lead to some problems. Mostly social ones, but that's not why we're here. No, escapism comes at a price, and that price is noticing plot holes you could drive an AT-AT through. Nerds get riled up by canonical inconsistencies, so after I spat in the faces of peaceful nerds everywhere when I foolishly attempted something as heretical as suggesting ways in which Harry Potter could be improved, I can honestly say that I wasn't prepared for the monumental backlash it would incite. That's right, there wasn't a single vitriolic comment. Wrong move, internet. Because now I'm back with some rude things to say about something no-one has ever said anything rude about. And not just the prequel trilogy either. On a side note, The Old Republic looks bloody brilliant. 

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George Lucas' Casting Strategy


If you'll permit me, dear hypothetical reader, I'd like to tell you a story. It's a story of perseverance, of personal faith, and the extraordinary machinations of fate. It is the story, of Harrison Ford's early career. He arrived in Los Angeles a mere boy of 22, but would leave a man, although I think he still lives there. Young Harrison came, like many others, with a hope in his heart, a nonexistent dime in his pocket, and an unquenchable thirst for success in his loins. Unfortunately, nine years later, he was still doing bit roles for bit projects. His biography is suspiciously quiet over whether he was forced to involve himself in pornography in order to pay the bills, so I'm forced to assume that he was. His time as a fluffer would be short though, for he was eventually hired by George Lucas to build him some cabinets. Because there's nothing like a career in porno to qualify you to work with wood.

I'd like to thank my time in Year 4 for that joke.

You can probably guess the next bit, in a spectacular display of nepotism/tight-fisted-ness, Lucas hired Ford to play Han Solo. Now, let's look at this like reasonable, semi-sober adults. If you were the right-hand man of a powerful authority figure, let's say a dictator, and he asked you (in the tongue of The Beast) to find him a new anger management therapist, and you gave the job to your plumber, how fucking dead would you be?


Obi-Wan Kenobi is a moron

You have to admire the balls of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He took on an apprentice he didn't necessarily believe in, out of respect for his late teacher, he spearheaded the war against the Separatist horde, he proved himself a wise, powerful Jedi whose last act was to ensure the defeat of all evil in the Galaxy. He truly lived. It's such a shame then, that for the most part, he lived like his mother just couldn't keep her hands off the Space Tequila when she was pregnant with him.

Here is a man with the Nobel-prize-worthy idea of going into hiding at the end of Episode 3, when the entire might of the newborn Empire was united in the effort of tracking his ass down and destroying him, but doesn't think to change his surname. Was the Emperor such a laid back, informal chap that he only knew Obi by his first name? Only changing his first name to Ben shouldn't have throw a toddler off the scent. I'd love to blame the Empire, with its nearly limitless resources mind you, for taking twenty years to find someone stupid enough to think growing a beard and hiding in a cave counted as keeping a low profile, but the sheer idiocy of Kenobi prevents me. He doesn't even think to alter his dress sense for fuck's sake. How many other people in the Star Wars universe were still wearing filthy hobo-robes by Episode 4? Sticking a photo of him to a lampost or behind the counter at the local Tatooine supermarket would have been enough for everyone on the planet to find him. He probably got a fake Starship Driver's License in the name of McLovin.

After a few decades probably spent drinking Space White Lightning and begging for Space change, the mysterious, enigmatic, (sigh) 'Ben' Kenobi is finally discovered. In the Empire's base of military operations. And then he doesn't even have the good sense to die properly, instead opting to vanish (maybe?), leaving Vader to poke ruefully at his (probably) soiled robe, looking stupid.

Goddamn it, Kenobi.

It's something of a tragedy that the character is actually less hateable in the prequel trilogy. And that's mostly thanks to Ewan McGregor's winning smile. He's still unsafely stupid though. In Episode 3, he jumps into a pile of battle droids just to say hello. Adam West watches that scene and laughs at Ewan's inability to bring drama to the situation. Of course, Kenobi's greatest fuck-up in the prequel trilogy is allowing Anakin to turn to the Dark Side. But in fairness to him, it would have been pretty incredible to foresee Annie doing something so predictable after spending the previous film doing so much crazy.

All the (let's call it unintentional) Racism


In Episode 1, we were introduced to Watto. He's a creepy, probably foul-smelling, degenerate gambler and junk dealer on the planet Tatooine. If he was human, he'd look like the kind of man that goes to fertility clinics to meet girls that can't get pregnant. There's nothing inherently wrong with that sentence, it's a pretty accurate description that could also be applied to anyone who lives in Vegas. The issue arises when you realise that he's financially prudent, and looks like this:

It's the nose, in case you hadn't noticed. Although it's more like a fucking proboscis.

If you're immediate reaction wasn't 'holy shit! The work of Lucas Arts, a massively successful studio, has racist undertones?' Then you're probably Walt Disney's daughter. His (damn near) first line in the Phantom Menace is: 'mind tricks don't work on me, only money'. I mean, that's not a subtle reference to the state of the economy or anything, nothing has ever meant one thing as hard as that. His race just goshdarn loves money. Make up your own mind about that, Internet, but the existence of Watto concerns me, if only because if it wasn't intentional, then none of the hundreds of people who animated, voiced, edited or directed this character noticed or had the minerals to mention it. Or that Ja-Ja Binks acts like a panicking Rastafarian, or that the Sand People are fucking called Sand People. 


Hayden Christensen

Let me tell you of the hatred I have for Hayden Christensen. My hatred is so vivid, so real, that I can taste it on my tongue when I speak of it, and feel a burning itch in my fingertips as I type. It boils in my gut like someone filled it with Pepsi and Mentos and thrashes in my head like a Rancor got trapped on an electric fence. And I earned this hatred. Earned it by forcing myself to watch him flounce around the screen, whining about how terribly unappreciated he is, even after he's knocked up Natalie Portman. And fuck you too for that, Lucas. Zookeepers use the love scenes in Episode 2 to get the monkeys to stop fucking. Rapists watch them and understand what they've done. Hayden Christensen is such a pussy that when he goes to the hairdressers, they charge him for a bikini wax. His motivation for every scene was: 'OK Hayden! Your morning sickness medication just arrived and they spelled your name wrong on the prescription. Aaaaannnnnd... GO!' Everything about every second of his performance in Attack of the Clones and especially Revenge of the Sith is wrong. He could read out Martin Luther King's I Have A Dream speech and the audience would think it was the instructions on a box of tampons.

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William cannot fucking believe how much he hates Hayden Christensen. You can follow his 'movements' on Twitter or make him feel awkward on Facebook.

Tiny Men In Tights Refuse To Turn Up For Work

Jockeys across the country have decided to go on strike on Monday after the British Horseracing Authority instigated new rules that halved the number of times the riders were allowed to whip their horses during a race. God's little punchlines were outraged by the ruling, complaining that if they were to be penalised for disciplining unruly horses, then the animals might start to take advantage of the lenience, and start smoking or taking drugs or something.

Vertically-challenged athlete Rudy Welsh had this to say on the matter, 'the whip review is ridiculous. They [the BHA] knew we were struggling to keep the horses under control, if you give these beasts an inch they'll certainly take a mile. Personally, I think this is the thin end of the wedge. Before you know it, all the prize ponies will be having unprotected sex or joining third parties and the worst thing is, all the supporters of racing will assume that we [the Professional Jockey's Association] are the ones responsible for the decline in the performance of the horses. Just because we can fit comfortably into most suitcases.'

Any societies or groups championing the ethical treatment of horses that might be out there have remained strangely quiet during this heated issue. Largely because their only advocates are frigid, controlling bitches who only actually care about unicorns.

It's been scientifically proven that everyone knows one of these saccharine-sweet, jumped-up 'philanthropists'. 

The BHA is committed to the whip review but is open to discussion with the striking jockeys in an effort to improve relations and give the little guys the impression that their role in the sport is important after last year's scare, when a select few trainers considered replacing human jockeys with those adorable wee monkeys with opposable thumbs. You know the ones I mean.

Hating Chris Brown now a waste of time

Nubile pop star Rihanna announced yesterday that disliking Chris Brown was 'taking up too much of my time'. The contrite oxygen thief Brown was sentenced to five years' probation and community service after he unloaded on his then-girlfriend's face in an act of manliness comparable to a 14-year-old throwing his controller at the wall after losing to his sister at Tekken.

But with Rihanna's tightening schedule she has made the questionable decision to spend less time fuming over her bitch-ex and more time being excited about his 'music'. In an interview with Esquire magazine she added that she found it incredible that he could (apparently) make a comeback considering the whole world was against him, what with beating your woman not having been socially acceptable since the 50s, and even then only once she gave you good reason, like overcooking the souffle.

Shortly after the attack, the internet, clearly concerned that domestic violence wasn't hilarious enough, coined the compound verb, to Chris Brown, which has now entered worldwide use as a synonym for striking someone with something. Which is saddening, considering far more brilliant equivalents like brain are diminishing.

The singer also made the news a few weeks ago after being told by the owner of the field she was filming a video in, to cover her shame. When asked if he knew who the screaming fuck he was talking to, the farmer replied that no, he did not, and when illuminated, apologised, that he hadn't recognised Rihanna without her bruises.

Judge Brands Independent Contractors 'Braindead Arse Candles'

GEOamey, a firm that provides for the transport of inmates and won a £900 million contract with the Ministry of Justice last month, has recently found out that all their vehicles are too tall to fit through court gates. At Winchester Crown Court for example, the roads accessing the entrance are being dug up to enable GEOamey's vans to fit under the arches.

The first recorded instance of a 'Bristol Crown Court Fail'

The problem has become so embarrassingly widespread that prisoners all over the country are being forced to walk the last hundred yards or so to their hearing. Convicted mugger Leighton Mintz-Harris has called the situation 'a farce', and finds it offensive that men of his calibre and social standing should be forced to travel on foot like common commuters.

In a far more brazen and therefore interesting statement, Judge Henry Lazenby called the entire contract 'a fuck-up of biblical proportions'. Continuing, 'it's unthinkable to assume that the British government's first choice of private firms in this, or in fact, any matter would be a pack of dribbling, braindead arse candles. It's like they didn't even check that the firm's vans were suitable. And it's not like the contract hinged on anything else, like their tea and coffee making facilities or something. But that can't be right. Can it?'

The Ministry of Justice's new plan as of this afternoon, to give inmates fixie bikes and a stern warning not to just piss off to the pub, has been lambasted on the basis that it's not 'financially viable'. 

Hope for British Comedy lingers on

Comedy fans across the globe put aside their differences yesterday afternoon and celebrated the news that Rowan Atkinson's abomination of a character and series, Mr Bean, would not make a misguided return to British television.

Scenes like this one have been common.

The Oxford-educated actor told Radio 1's Newsbeat that he wanted the character to remain, 'timeless' and it is certainly true, that Mr Bean stands as a tragically immortal testament to just how low a truly gifted comedian will stoop to please idiots. Idiots who would otherwise have been equally thrilled by jangling car keys.

Atkinson has come under fire repeatedly for Mr Bean ever since its conception. Predominantly by people who ardently believe that comedy should be derived from jokes, rather than lingering shots of an inanely grinning psychopath with special needs failing to understand how revolving doors work.

The announcement that we will never again be forced to watch Atkinson humiliate himself comes at a time shortly after the release of the suspiciously similar Johnny English sequel. Described as a 'spy spoof', the original Johnny English was a masterpiece of failed gags, soporific plotting and career-murdering performances from all involved. But experts have confirmed that it did little to tarnish Atkinson's reputation any further than the catastrophic opening night of Mr Bean's Holiday in 2007, which still stands as the quickest executed and largest mass suicide pact in history.

Scotland and the Catholic Church prove an unlikely Justice Team

In a surprisingly forward-thinking turn, the Catholic Church has publicly backed the Scottish government's new bill to crack down on abusive behaviour at football stadiums and in pubs. The so-called 'Offensive Behaviour at Football and Threatening Communications' bill has left the nation that pioneered fried-food-induced cardiac arrest shocked, confused and sobered, relatively speaking. The exhumed corpse of famed American writer Dr Seuss labelled the bill, 'muddled, obscure and offensively difficult to pronounce' before an unforeseen gust of wind scattered his loosely-clustered atoms.

The confusion surrounding the remit has resulted from the Scottish government's limp-dicked refusal to specify what exactly constitutes 'offensive behaviour', but fears that the bill might impinge on the rights of the public to hold inoffensive opinions and express them were dismissed as, 'lame'.

Opposition to the plan is widespread, particularly among fans of football and casual violence, which, after the last census in Scotland, was estimated to be 105% of the population. Grounds for opposition arose after an independent study found that suppression of raucous behaviour at football matches interfered with the male Scots’ mating ritual. And when prompted, Professional Gutter-Warmer Wallace MacGregor complained that ‘it took all the fun out of the sport’.

Pictured: An eligible mate.

The Catholic Church’s involvement began after a super-secret meeting between the Bishop of Parsley and First Minister Salmon-ed. After several hours of bitter complaint at the moral state of the world, the two decided to be the heroes Scotland deserved. Their initial plans to solve the problem of football hooliganism by beating anyone in a Celtic shirt to within an inch of their lives while dressed in matching spandex, fell through after the Bishop realised his credit at Joker’s Masquerade had run out. He also took the opportunity to reiterate that the Church was still not cool with the whole ‘same sex marriage thing’.