Episode IV - Holy Shit, It's Bucky O' Hare

Let me tell you this nonsense right the hell here for the price of nothing more than a second of your time. The idea that it would take almost two days of general release before The Duke done got sat in front a cinema screen showing Star Wars Episode III is so far beyond the realms of the unthinkable that it almost becomes thinkable again, but in a kind of weird fever-dream parallel universe sorta way. It's the sorta thing you would put down on a list that has, at numbers 1 and 3 respectively, Having Sex With A Yak Without Realizing and Sawing My Head Off For The Hilarity Of It All.

It's the kinda shit ain't in no way or no how ever gonna be occurring in a fella's day-to-day, that's for damn sure.

If you asked me if I'd be sat in a theater seeing Star Wars Episode III at 8:25 PM on the Friday, knowing that I could've seen it at midnight on the Wednesday of the same week, if you'd have said "So what's the chances you'll be at that Friday screening?" I'd have cut your eyes out with a witty retort along the lines of "The fuck would I be there for? I'd already have seen it seven times, no sense being there on a Friday evening, the most wretched of all cinema-going evenings, when there ain't no school the next morning, so anything vaguely "kiddie-friendly" is privy to any number of vanloads of sugar-doped pre-adolescents, straight from the bowling alley and the McBurger King and whacked to fuck on giddy mania."

Not that I'm one a these sour sonsabitches who wanna moan about kids seeing flicks. Let them eat their popcorn, man. Let them point when something spectacular appears onscreen. Let them scream at the bits where maybe the cannibals eat the fellas ribs, and let the parents argue about "It wasn't my fucking idea, I hadn't even seen the poster!" Let them chortle and point and go "wow!"

Just that sometimes a man's mood doesn't quite welcome this kinda tomfoolery.

Mind you, there are times when a man's mood can, in fact, be lifted immeasurably by such antics, and he finds himself getting swept up in the kiddie dementia sweeping across the audience like some caffeine an' chocolate coated veil of insanity.

But for something along the lines of Star Wars Episode III - Revenge Of The Sith, a man needs a contemplative air, for the first 12-15 viewings, anyway. He needs folks stroking their chins, not mad possessed youngsters screaming and puking and raising all sortsa hellish bastardry.

"Get the fuck off my forehead", you find yourself having to holler. "He's turning, sweet Jesus, he's turning, and there's a ten-year-old with Satan in his smile tearing my motherfucking eyes out!"