June 1999 
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Lesson # 12
A frothy hello, my pups. Come suckle from the teats of intellect; for lo, there is room on my heavy lactating bosom for all thirsty little snouts. But, wait a while, 'til I splay my swarthy, canine legs of knowledge and wag my shitty tail of wisdom. Now, suck me puppies, 'til you learn. Mmmmmm! Nice.
This month, in an ill-considered break from the norm, I have actually listened to those groovy hep-cats that dwell in the tawdry, virtual world, known as Shrubberyland, and done like they goddam told me. This month, by request from GOD himself, I am going to look at the baffling, twentieth-century phenomenon of STAR WARS™. Like they need the publicity.
Star Wars ™ was released in the UK in 1977 when your dear Uncle Summy was a mere 7 year old whippersnapper. Ahhh, 7 years old and living in the English countryside. I was truly the English equivalent of Luke Skywalker™ the films gawky, unappealing hero, except I didn’t have a dead Uncle Owen. Or a landspeeder™. 
What I did have was an imagination and fondness for all things outer space. And yea, I was verily a prime pie for the malicious, grasping entrepreneurial fingers of weirdy beardy Lucas™ to ram into repeatedly, and lick the dripping cash from, as he idly tossed my penniless crust onto the fire. 
Yes, I was young and innocent. I believed UFO’s to dwell in the real world as proven fact, rather than merely being the confused ramblings of fried-chicken-eating, swinger-party-attending, psychopaths with empty heads and even more empty lives. 
I believed cowboys were proud well-dressed heroes who protected dowdy-looking, blonde-haired women in log cabins from blue-eyed, sneaky red Indians and their tomahawks, rather than know them as Bud-guzzling maniacs, whose existence was integral only in terms of driving fat cows from Denver to Kansas, and back. 
And above all, I believed Star WARS™ to be the greatest movie ever made. Not because I had seen it, but because Jeremy Turner told me it was. 
Jeremy said that it had everything, and as if that wasn't enough, it had a Wookie™ as well. Clearly, the lad Skywalker ™ was a sap, but Han Solo ™, with his natty waistcoat and his dry laconic smuggler’s quips, he did verily ROCK OUR WORLD. And the special effects, well, they made the Bionic man look like nothing more than a flabby mid-thirties b-movie actor. 

YES. It was everywhere. The postman whistled the Emperor's Theme™ as he pushed letters about Star Wars™ written with Star Wars™ Lightsaber™ pens on Death Star™ stationery through our brand new Jawa Droid Factory Delivery Unit™ letterboxes. We ate Tatooine Cheese Puffs ™ washed down with R2D2™ cola, before wiping the shit off our arses with Vader-roll ™.
And, boy did we love it. One has to bear in mind that the most heavily marketed film before then was Jaws, and I hardly think a shoddy board game and a bollocks novel count as media saturation. So the moronic be-flared 1977 British public swallowed every fatuous, sloppy, mouthful of the putrid marketing pus that was squeezed from this angry boil. And Lucas' ™ crappy little beard turned to gold.
It's sort of a space-western fairytale type thang. With a dash of pseudo-mystical bollocks in a sauce of stewed good-vs-evil cliché. With fries. To go.
As for the idea, well, one only has to glance upon this extract from the diary of the tragic young Lucas™ to get an idea of how this embryonic yarn grew into the money-guzzling antichrist of a motion picture.
Monday the 25th of April 1959
Bullied again today at school. That big guy in the leather jacket, Garth Badger, took my favourite pencil away. And snapped it up my nose. So I ran away pissing my knickers like some sort of cringing weasel. Luckily I bumped into this kindly old man Ben Knoby, who took me to his musty house and taught me some magic. I was scared at first, but then he let me play with his sword and told me to close my eyes...
Tuesday the 26th April
Saw that girl Layla in Trash-Mart. She is beautiful. But her friends kept laughing at me because I was talking to the stamp-machine. So I played in parking lot with my friends, the bins. One day I will show them. One day. ONE DAY… 

Tchh. Yeah! And the sequels. They made two more you know. And one of them had furry little shit-heads called Ewoks™ in it. A more blatant example of the merchandise being planned before the film hit the can, has yet to be seen. I mean, EWOKS™? EWOKS™? 
And now, they've made a prequel. You hardly need me to tell you this, but already it's the fastest grossing film in history. Already. After one week. Jesus. ARE WE STUPID? Last year, Titanic, a film whose ending people get taught at school, this year a prequel to a twenty year old masturbatory fantasy of a social inadequate. What will it be next year? Ten Commandments 2: the next Twenty? How much more of this rancid consumer piss will the populous drink? Is their idiot thirst unquenchable? 
It's not been released here, but the war against intelligence that has been waged by coke-addled fuckwits in the media is slowly being won, with dozens of flaccid, fawning, press-releases masquerading as news items clogging up our papers like blood clots in the hammered brain that is the public consciousness. To quote the legendary Smudge, "Tits to it all."

 People will go and watch what they are told. And still buy the t-shirt. 
 It takes twenty years for someone to turn from Jedi to fully paid up member of the empire 
 The kid you bullied at school may well grow a beard 
Until next time
O ma corazon
Uncle Summy
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