Jon Favreau has posted a picture of George Lucas with Baby Yoda. That’s it, that’s the whole article. I would call this article clickbait, but guys, we don’t make any fucking money here. It’s just me sharing a picture I find genuinely heartwarming, in my older, softer state. God bless Baby Yoda, god bless The Mandalorian, god bless Star Wars.
After the jump ’cause honestly a bit shaky. C’mon, Favreau.
According to the screenwriter of Indy 5, George Lucas did not contribute to the script or story. This should assuage some of the fears regarding the movie, yes?
Happy Monday! Oh, Happy Monday indeed. Here is George Lucas and his cadre of Star Wars characters starring in six television commercials for Panasonic TVs from Japan in 1987.
A squad of serious serious Star Wars fans have released a high definition, restored 35 mm print of the original film. Does this sound like something that’s already been done to you? It did to me! However, apparently the difference lies in this restoration being done to a “fully intact version of the film to work with instead of having to piece together different segments from the original print”, which, oh, I didn’t know had been done. Neat!
Ah. It’s that time again. That time where that shitty rumor comes out, getting me all excited. Cheeks flushed. Scrotum tightened. Heart palpitating. Despite said rumor hitting often, and delivering never. You know of what I speak. The whole “the Star Wars trilogy’s theatrical cuts are going to be re-released!” bullshit. And here’s the rumor. Again. This time being substantiated because it comes from John Landis? I guess?
Well shit if I’m going to pretend to be updating this site again I might as well do it with run-on sentences and Star Wars updates right am I right yes no right? Here we got ourselves some news about the budget the cast and George Lucas’ fat-necked involvement.
Ah. As if we needed more proof that George Lucas has absolutely no self-awareness. The former Czar of Star Wars was speaking at USC School of Cinematic Arts this week, and he launched into a hilarious assault. On himself. Without realizing it.
The Episode VII script was junked. George Lucas caterwauled. Now Abrams is in the hood, unfucking the script from scratch with Larry Kasdan. No problem, right? It’s just that, you know, the movie is due out in two years.
Aw man! Underhand pitched that stupid headline! Swung so hard I cracked vertebrae! Whatever. I don’t care. The latest Star Wars: Episode VII: Abrams’ Controls My Heart rumor is that the flick isn’t dropping in May of 2015. This doesn’t surprise me very much. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Every movie in the franchise has arrived in May. But they ain’t cast anyone for this fucking flick, let alone started filming it. So December? Makes sense to me.
Gerard the Robot was in the midst of a mid-life crisis.
His wife was bangin’ the milkman. She hadn’t admitted to it, but she didn’t have to. Every time that Gerard came home from a double-shift or an overnight — he was a nurse at the most prestigious hospital in Town — the fridge’d be full of dairy. And while Gerard knew that Georgiette and L’il Henry enjoyed their morning bowls of cereal, there was no reasonable explanation for why the fridge was teeming with bovine.
A half gallon of skim. Three glass bottles of 2%. A carafe of heavy cream.
But most unsettling of all was the glow on his wife’s face. There was a rosy-hue, a vivacious scarlet dancing upon her cheeks that he’d only seen after they’d made love. She’d claim she’d spent the day in the sun or was just feeling under the weather, but he knew why there was blood in her cheeks. It was because she was satisfied.
And it wasn’t Gerard that was satisfying her.
See, Gerard’s pneumatic organ had broken down nearly half a year ago. If he was a human, he’d have gone to the doctor for an embarrassing appointment and walked out with a prescription for Triumph Pills. But as a robot, Gerard had to order a new part. Which normally wouldn’t be a problem. However, Gerard was an import, and with the all the trade sanctions being tossed around, he was having a real hard time.
Which is ironic, given that all Gerard wanted was a real hard time.
This is tomorrow’s mid-life crisis. A fridge full of milk. A wife full of the milkman. And a robot-eunuch weeping at the kitchen table.
Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is OL’s weekly venue for celebrating the entertainment that helps us survive the workweek! First, I’m going to show you the various ways I’ll be staving off bad-vibes and responsibilities! Then, y’all hit up the comments section and offer your own suggestions. This is Internet-based show-and-tell for the nerds and geeks and dweebs who aren’t afraid to wear their hearts on their sleeves!
Okay, let’s dance!