Star Wars, fuck yeah, I’ll queue for it along with all the tossers in Bangkok, forty something parents dragging their progeny, hey kid, listen, this here shaped me when I was your age. The ones old enough to have caught the recent trilogy and found it daft with its dodgy acting and piss poor plot shrug their shoulders, yeah sure I’ll watch it, no fucking enthusiasm, no fucking respect. Lucas brought this on himself. What happened to you, you ponce? When I was a kid, I asked Santa for a lightsaber. The gaffer delivered but there were ten of us kids in the family so we took turns using it while the others made do with a spade, broomstick, ruler, anything with chops. I bought myself a lightsaber the other day, took a picture and sent it to my mates, and they all said, fuck yeah, except for this twenty-something intellectual chick in Bangkok, who said, imagine all the cash Disney will make squeezing your sentimental heart. I said, fuck you, it’s too easy to be bloody cynical.
The force is real, mum said, it’s how I knew you stole out of your room when you were grounded.
I was gobsmacked, but it was wicked that my mum was a Jedi.
This week’s prompt: Star Wars