Our Star Blazers!

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

When I returned from camp, that summer, I was informed that some bullshit called Star Blazers had usurped Star Wars as the backyard adventure game of choice.

Victor, who had previously been relegated to the background role of Greedo, was now glowering at everyone and answering to ‘Wildstar.’ His moronic brother, Owen, meanwhile, had been given the role of lifetime: a slouching, senile figure named Captain Avatar.

My services as Han Solo would no longer be required. I was now filling the undersized shoes of Jordy, a presumably mentally-deficient child.

The other guys suggested I start watching the show. Why the fuck should I? I didn’t wanna watch any goddamned Star Blazers any more than I wanted to watch Grape Ape. We had yet to destroy the Death Star, and I had spent the spring outfitting The Millennium Falcon with a teleportation chamber like on Star Trek.

I tried to press my older brother, Gunther, into service, perhaps as Darth Vader, but he had given up on us. He was into racing bikes, reading Robert Heinlein and listening to Yes. He wasn’t tolerating our ‘kiddie bullshit,’ despite his taking us to see Star Wars in the first place. His vestigial flicker of interest was his brief Super8 movie hobby, which ended when he tried to convince Heather Dubois to have a bikini swordfight with a dude from the basketball team who was dressed up like a monster. Her dad flipped out.

A few weeks into my pointing at the sky and having to yammer encouragement to The Wave Motion Gun or something, I told everyone to get fucked. I broached the possibility of Han and Chewie helping the crew of The Argo. That lasted a few days, but Han’s world-weary wise-cracking didn’t sit well with his earnest costars.

I quit hanging around with Mark and Wildstar and Homer and Captain Avatar. I briefly assisted Gunther with his bikes, but he put a lock on the shed and I was out.

The last time I saw Owen was in high school. He’d given up on Star Blazers, by then, and was spending most of his time listening to Mercyful Fate and Venom. He’d gotten a lot bigger, too. Owen punched me, one time. Right in the parking lot, while we were headed towards the buses at the end of the day. I guess he really didn’t like having to be a Jawa for two years.

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