The Clone Wars starts out with these words flashing on screen:

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

I remember that line from a bunch of older movies about fancy men swinging fluorescent bulbs at one another, but this immediately felt different and weird - like getting high with your camp counselor. It’s the same Jerry you’ve known for six summers, just different and weird and full of bullshit about how the universe is layered like an onion. I don’t hate Jerry and I don’t hate The Clone Wars - I’m just not going to hang out with either one of them ever again.

Why? Let’s see…..

Jabba’s tranny “Uncle” Ziro Hutt

Howard the Duck and Jar Jar Binks’ love child, Jabba’s vile gangster “Uncle” is an amalgamation of all that is undeniably wrong with George Lucas’ imagination - but we’ll get to that one later. Featuring the voice of a voodoo priestess hooker with emphysema, this English-speaking Hutt family member lives in a parallel universe that kinda resembles the Star Wars world you know and cherish, with a tacky flare for the asinine. She resides in a crime den, like Jabba, but I honestly thought it was a cozy jazz emporium at first. Not to mention that her house band is the same band playing for Jabba’s palace audience in Empire Strikes Back. Oh wait, is that supposed to be continuity? Are we supposed to believe that the same quartet of milky white alien musicians are still rocking out for the Hutts after 20+ years?  Damn, that’s clever… ties up all the loose ends!

Rotta the Huttlet

Like a wet wombat stuck in a bucket, we meet Rotta the Huttlet at his darkest hour. The movie never explained how the hell Hutts reproduce- I had to Google for that information- so let me fill you in.  Once in their lifetime, a Hutt will Gremlin-out and produce an offspring asexually. When Anakin and Jedi Hannah Montana find Jabba’s one and only spawn, it’s nearly dead with fever. Hurray! No, wait, I said nearly dead. This baby is nasty, constantly puking and molting and farting, so it’s nicknamed Stinky. The question that plagues our heroes: Will baby Stinky survive the trip back to Tatooine, thus somehow redeeming the Jedi and paving the way for freedom throughout the galaxy? Well, yes, kinda. This exciting sub-plot is resolved rather matter-of-factly moments later when a vial of magic medicine is discovered in an abandoned space Datsun. Unfortunately, a healthy Huttlett is thrice as revolting as a nearly dead one.

Jedi Hannah Montana

Hey, Disney called and they want their tweeny midriff-baring Forcette back. Just kidding, she was actually pretty awesome… just like the real Hannah Montana!! What I hate about her character was how the filmmakers used her so effectively and then erased her existence from our memories. After Yoda decides that Anakin is ready to take on his first padawan learner smack dab amidst the most dangerous, and crucial, mission of the Clone Wars, she basically saves everyone’s butts multiple times. We have to assume poor Jedi Hannah Montana dies a violent death at some point before the beginning of Revenge of the Sith, because she’s never heard from again.

Fucking with John Williams

Q: What would a Star Wars movie be without that iconic score and beautiful thematic melody throughout? A: The Clone Wars.

Sure, there are light sabers and Jedi and Sith and robots galore… but they’re about as memorable and lively in this movie as the characterizations you’ll find on any Star Wars licensed bed sheet.

George Lucas’ Imagination

As I was saying before… sometimes it feels like he’s phoning it in. Clone Wars is one of those times. He’s probably responsible for all these gems:

No Opening Scroll

Even the Star Wars video games feature these annoying preludes - sometimes before each and every level. Here’s a scroll I wrote for The Clone Wars. (Feel free to print at home and bring with you to the theatre to share with new friends.)

THE CLONE WARS

It’s been several weeks since the Separatist Droid Army lost
the battles of Flarflan and Qookarootoo, and now they’re really mad.
Yoda, sensing that Anakin needs a new reason to hate his life,
sends a 10-year-old with an attitude to keep him company
during the harsh Clone Wars.
She quickly dies, and is replaced with a
cuter little girl named Jedi Hannah Montana….
Also, Jabba the Hutt had a baby through the miracle of Slime Replication®.
Let’s roll!

Retarded Robots - My wristwatch calculator from 1983 with a missing 7 key is vastly more intelligent than the entire Droid Army. They forget simple stuff like warp drive conversion rates, don’t seem to grasp that they exist in a physical world, have wildly inaccurate weapons and/or have never been programmed to use them, and even the Robot Commanders seem to be unable to follow through with the simplest of orders. I’m not trying to be a drag- I can appreciate the need for comic relief, especially in this movie. Turns out, every time they tried for comedy I left the theatre to go relieve myself in the middle of the foyer. The manager understood.

R2-D2’s power of flight - He soars like an eagle through the clouds of some distant world in one memorable shot. Too bad he lost this amazing ability by A New Hope and had to roll across dusty ass Tatooine… not to mention being swallowed and forcibly regurgitated by a swamp monster on Dagobah… and there’s little doubt that a flying R2 unit would have made life easier for everyone on the forest moon of Endor, but I digress.

The Clone Wars is a kids movie in the worst way: the filmmakers showed no respect to their audience. You can argue all six live-action movies are kids movies (not Pound Puppy kids, but definitely Garbage Pail Kids kids) and that’s OK. They’re a blast, no matter the age. This movie was 1/3 fun and 2/3 dumb, so my patented Movie Math Review-a-nator will combine those scores to equal 3/3 or “1″.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars gets a 1 MMR and features frightening battle sequences, fat tranny Hutt monstrosities, and memories to last a lifetime.

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Let’s take a break from all the bullshit and illusions in Beijing and focus on something real for a minute. Bigfoot has been found, people. Bigfoot!

Your average run-of-the-mill Bigfoot sighting is not news. Crazy bitches see Bigfoot everywhere. But when someone says they’ve got Bigfoot in a freezer… now, that’s news.

It’s hard to tell from the photo if that lump of frozen fur really is Bigfoot or not. I certainly hope not because that would mean Bigfoot is dead. And in some inbred’s venison freezer. That just doesn’t seem a proper fate for a creature who’s managed to remain hidden for thousands of years. Even Jesus Christ himself couldn’t catch Bigfoot (word is, he tried).

Am I really to believe these three numbskulls were able to catch the ever-elusive man-beast? Looks like the only thing they’d be capable of catching is chlamydia. Certainly they couldn’t have outsmarted Bigfoot!

Or could they? No one seems to know. Where’s the formal investigation surrounding this matter? Is everyone too busy with underage gymnasts and that Russia-Georgia hubbub to care about this story?

CNN Is calling the “policeman” and “former corrections officer” who say they’ve captured Bigfoot “credible sources.” That shady-looking guy in the middle, however, no one seems to know. Maybe that’s his illegitimate monkey child in the freezer.

Whatever that thing is, take it out of the box and either get cryogenic on it or give it a proper burial. If that really is Bigfoot, he deserves a little more respect than that.

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It’s official: I have Olympic fever! The opening night ceremony was uplifting and transcendental. After that spectacle of human achievement, the Games have only gotten better (except for the knife-wielding maniac, but honestly I’m still too awed by those human footprint firework displays to let that stab-happy jerk ruin the fun. Oh wait, those firework footprints were CGI? Damn, you could have fooled me!).

Still, the best was yet to come! As the Chinese flag (a beautiful McDonald’s Red and Yellow) was raised high above the Bird’s Nest Stadium, a young schoolgirl proceeded to open her magical tonsils up to the heavens. She sang the Chinese anthem perfectly, and her sparkling eyes and bobbing pigtails left even the mighty Russian weightlifting squad an emotional wreck for several hours. Turns out, the adorable schoolgirl was just acting the prop… she was not actually singing, silly. Nobody is perfect, right? Instead, officials borrowed the stellar voice of another (far uglier) Chinese schoolgirl and played that over the lip syncing cutesie pootsie. Just another example of the imaginative prowess and creative direction that’s going towards making these the greatest Games ever.

Hey, did you hear that Bill Gates of Microsoft fame was in Beijing soaking up the fun? No!? You’re obviously not subscribed to his blog over at billionairelylegal.com. Anyway, Big Bill was there and so was his much maligned half-rodent, half-carnival worker of an abandoned child named Vista.

If you’ve never seen that infamous Blue Screen of Death, you have never used Windows. Good thing the Chinese took Mr. Gates’ advice and installed ninety-three back up systems to keep the event running smoothly.

What’s going to happen next? Piranhas in the aquatics center? My god, Michael Phelps is nothing but pure muscle! He’ll be eaten alive… and that equals ratings Gold for NBC! (and its affiliates, several of which I own).

Honestly, I can’t predict the future. Seriously! That’s why I’m doing nothing but watching this exciting, action-packed Beijing Olympics for the next week or two, however long it lasts, and eating snacks the entire time. Even the commercials are thrilling. Every single ad features incredible looking humans replete with rippling muscles moving in slow motion. Jumping, diving, convorting, and contorting. That’s when I head to the kitchen and dive into the deep end of my pantry. Butter snaps? Check. Hot sauce and chips? Check. Beer? Weed? Check Check.

No matter what else turns out to be fake, the 2008 Olympics still looked way better than anything the 2008 Journey to the Center of the Earth had to offer. Hats off to those technical wizards at the People’s ILM for the most spellbinding work of fiction in history.

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If you saw the opening ceremony of the Beijing Olympics last Friday night on TV, you were no doubt impressed with the visual spectacular that was the fireworks show. As my little brother so eloquently put it, “Hu Jintao could have been assassinating the Dali Lama during the fireworks show and nobody would have cared - it was that good.” That might be a bit of a stretch, but it was definitely a hell of a lot better than my neighborhood 4th of July fireworks show (six shirtless drunk guys, a Roman candle, an M-80, and some cherry bombs). I should have known it was too good to be true.

The whole damn thing was fake!

China, being the sneaky little country it is, tricked us by using a 3-D digital computer sequence in place of real fireworks. And it friggin’ worked… almost. As is the case with most high-profile ruses, someone found them out.

Now people are asking what else is being faked in China…

Are those pretty Chinese girls carrying signs around the Games actually exotic robots crafted to please the eye?

Are the medals really gold, silver and bronze or are they fashioned out of lead-paint-laden imitation metal?

Is the Great Wall of China really a cardboard cut out?

Is the Forbidden City forbidden because it’s not really there?

Is Yao Ming really an elaborate 3-D digital prop? Chinese men don’t usually get that tall… just sayin’.

What about that adorable little singing Chinese girl? Was she really singing or was that really the voice of some fugly little girl who wasn’t cute enough for the ceremony?

The uncertainty is driving me mad! Damn you, China, and your illusions of grandeur!

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I have a feeling that the phrase tire gauge is going to become synonymous with desperate move in politics and society.

Imagine the Mike Tyson vs. Evander Holyfield match from years ago. And the ear thing. Total fucking tire gauge on Tyson’s part.

Talk about seeming out of touch with your base. Every redneck Country Republican knows that proper tire pressure is key to their Chevy’s survival. Apparently the suave City Republicans with their Lincoln Town Cars and well-groomed drivers forgot that little fact while belittling Barack Obama’s suggestion to keep “your PSI perfect!” (not an actual Barack Obama quote).

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