An Interview With George Lucas

Streetlamp I had been standing under the buzzing streetlamp in the red light district for only a few minutes when I heard the scrape of approaching footsteps. I turned around to find myself staring into the battered face of George Lucas.

“Hhhhhhhelllo pal…” he spat, showering my face with flecks of blood and spit.

I stumbled backwards a few steps, nearly blacking out from the stench of cheap fortified wine.

“George?” I cried out, regaining my composure, “George Lucas is that you? We’ve just got to get this interview started! I’ve so very much I need to ask you!”

“Geeeorge is that yoooo…” He mumbled.

He closed his eyes and appeared to have fallen asleep. He began teetering first left, then right; threatening to topple over at any moment. I grasped each of his shoulders and began to shake him violently.

“Wake up George! Wake up!” I cried, “You’re going into shock; you’ve got to snap out of it, we have work to do! Your fans need to know the real George; they need to know your heart and your soul!”

My words had no effect. I began to slap his face as a crude sort of punctuation.
 
“Wake up George!” Slap. “Wake up!” Smack. “Wake up George.” Slap. “Wake up!”
 
 I drew back my fist and socked him square in the jaw, splaying him onto the cold concrete. He began to moan and squirm.

“Ngggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuoooooooowwwwww…”

I waited a few moments and wrapped his shirt collar around my fist, dragging him to his feet.

“You’ve got to snap out of it!” I cried, “You’ve got to tell me what to do!”

Sidewalk His eyes suddenly fluttered open, tiny veins flashing blood red.

“Get your grubby meathooks offa’ me!” he screamed, knocking me to the ground.

He fished around in the breast pocket of his tattered sports coat, pulling out a small metal case.
 
“My pills.” He said, flitting his tongue like a lizard, “I need the reds, the bees knees. I shall kiss the jeweled hand of The Lord!”

He poured a handful of tiny crimson dots onto his palm and smiled a wicked smile.

“Yumsy wumsy,” he said, “Yumsy wumsy.”

He tossed the pills down his throat and whipped a large flask from his belt, gulping mouthfuls from it. I climbed to my feet and began to brush the dirt from my pants.

“That wasn’t very nice George,” I shook my head, “I was only trying to help, you see.”

“No harm no foul.” He hissed through clenched teeth. “Let’s get moving; no time to waste!”
 
“Alright.” I said.

He scrape turned on his heel and dashed around the corner, flinging up a rooster tail of filth behind him; I followed closely, fearing I would lose him at any second.

“George Lucas, you’re a wily old fox.” I chuckled.

Street We soon came upon a black Oldsmobile which sat beached on a curb. The trunk was open and a homeless man rummaged inside for hidden treasure. George gave a yelp and bent to pick up pieces of garbage from the gutter. He shouted curses while hurling them at the man.

“Shoo! Scatter! It’s mine you filthy vagrant, you’ve no right to do what you’ve done; you’ve no right at all!”

He heaved a sizable chunk of concrete at the scrounger. It struck the side of the car with a thud, sending the man squealing down the street with his bindle of broken action figures and empty soda cans.

“Savages!” George screamed, pointing at the tiny speck of the thief as it disappeared over the horizon. “Parasites!”

He stalked up to the car and slithered in through an open window; I tore open the door and slid into the passenger seat.

“Is this your car Georgie boy?!” I asked.

“Of course it’s my car! There are many like it but this one is mine.”

“Hmm.” I said.

George jammed a key in the ignition and began to howl along with the cranking of the engine.

“Rarwarwarawarararr.” He punched at the roof of the car.

“Let the wookie win.” I cautioned.

The car roared to life. George gunned the engine and we squealed down the street, laying down a thick coat of ancient rubber. The power of the car was incredible. My head twisted to the side; my face pressing into the sticky plastic seat.

“I muss erdmit, thss ertomobrle ders huv pep.” I said through fear and clenched teeth.

Garbage George let off the accelerator and I peeled my face from the seat. I began to look around me, curious as to the look of a genius’s car. I sat waist deep in greasy fast food wrappers and ravaged silver snack bags. Tattered burrito pieces and a pair of soiled pants hung from the rear-view mirror, and orange cheesedust smears were fingerpainted across nearly every surface.

“Why don’t you climb into the backseat and get me something to eat, I’ve got this terrifying hunger all of a sudden.” George said, jerking the car into a higher gear, “A terrifying hunger…”

I turned around and squirmed between the seats. It was difficult for me to see into the darkness which filled the rear section of the car; the windows were covered with newspapers. Flicking at the dome light proved futile.

“Well, get on with it!” He cried.

The pills were starting to take effect. George was becoming increasingly wired. He was continuously shifting and adjusting in his seat. The grinding of his teeth made me cringe as I sat wedged between the seats, afraid to go on.

“I’m stuck.” I lied.

 George, becoming impatient, reached over and gave me a shove. I slid back and found myself submerged in a sea of garbage. I felt around for something edible, and my hand came to rest on what felt like an unwrapped snack cake.

I began to pull it towards me and I heard a ghastly chittering as the thing pulled itself free from my hand and bit down hard. I scrambled backwards, unsuccessfully attempting to reach the relative safety of the front seat. I began screaming and thrashing my legs.

“Anakin noooo!” George began shouting and swatting my thighs with a rolled up newspaper, gleefully mimicking the thrum of a lightsaber with each strike.

“Stop now stop now stop!” He shouted, “I’ve nearly hacked off your legs!”

“My legs!” I cried.

Headlights “Never fear, never fear!” George wrestled with my still flailing limbs, “The intense heat cauterizes any wound INSTANTLY! It’s a miracle of modern science; really it is…”

Two of my kicks connected, the first knocking the shifter into some unknown gear, the second thumping George squarely in the chest.

“My heart!” He shouted jerking the wheel violently to the right and mashing down on the accelerator with both legs.

The engine howled and the tires screamed the car lurched and groaned and there was the tremendous tearing sound of metal and I felt myself flying. I opened my eyes and saw the crumpled mass of the car receding into the night. I was surrounded by thousands of tiny glass shards, the light from the headlights refracting through each one. As I floated along in my swirling Technicolor kaleidoscope tunnel I began to smile.

“So beautiful…” I said.

The ground rushed up.