Guest Poster - Obi-wan Kenobi
Hey, how youns doin'? Good? Good. Me, I'm not doin' so good. I mean, I feel fine and all. It's just that, well, you read them there last two posts what Yoda wrote.
See, I been doin' fine my whole dad gum ('scuse my language) life just bein' plain dumb. Yeah, people made pretty bad fun of me and all. Like the time Mace and Anakin kept mockin me just because I thought road signs that said "Slow... Children" meant that the younglins that live in that neighborhood cain't move too fast. ...Or the time I thought chocolate milk came from brown cows ...Or 'cause I like to look at the pichers instead of read the words ...Or because I think that there game Chutes and Ladders is too complicated ...Or because I thought that there thing what pops out of your computer for you to put your CD in was a cupholder ...Or because my own monkey keeps beatin me at Checkers... Well, youns get the idea. But I could take it. It weren't no big thing. At least there weren't nobody feelin sorry for me.
Like I said, I was doin just fine bein just plain dumb. But now, them doctors got to give some big fancy name to it: Severely Traumatic Underdeveloped Primary Intelligence Disorder. Sure, people quit mockin me now. But now, they all look at me real sad-like, like I'm one of them little kids on those Feed the Younglings commercials. They talk at me real slow, now, like I cain't understand nothin. And they feel like they have to explain everythin to me.
Just this mornin', I was in a Council meetin', and Ol' Mace said, "We'll begin that mission in the Outer Rim next Tuesday," then he turns to me and says, "That's the day after Monday."
I know which day Tuesday is! I know, 'cause that's the day of the week that the Temple Cafeteria serves Meatloaf Surprise. I generally don't go to the cafeteria that day, but that ain't the point. The point is, if this were four or five days ago, Ol' Mace wouldn't a never thought to say that to me, 'cause didn't nobody know I have this here disease. But now, he thinks he's got to treat me all special-like.
Even the Younglins are in on it. Ol' Harvey offered to tie my shoes for me every mornin, in case I couldn't handle it! I mean, come on! I'm a Jedi Master and a member of the Jedi Council, dang it ('scuse my language again)! I done beat a bonafide Sith Lord and done a whole buncha other good stuff that earned me a seat right up there with Yoda, Mace, and all of them. I can tie my own shoes! Most mornins it only takes me two or three tries to get it right, too!
And then Yoda's actin' all weird around me now. He won't let me watch my wrestlin, or Ernest Goes to Camp, or any movie with Ernest in it. He keeps shovin' what he calls 'brain food' down my throat, and don't none of it taste good. I've ate enough pickled womprat livers that I think I'm growin a tail and whiskers. And he's fed me so much raw fish that every time I open my mouth, the cat tries to jump inside. Now, whenever I try to talk to Yoda, he just pats my hand, and looks up at with them big sorrowful eyes. And then, he had to go and throw that big telethon and tell everyone that I got that there Severely Traumatic Underdeveloped Primary Intelligence Disorder. So now, everybody in the whole Universe knows it! I swear, I'm gonna go plumb crazy!
Anyways, I didn't mean to complain to all youns. It ain't youns' fault. Yoda'll be back to talk to youns tomorrow, maybe for the last time in a long time. So have a good one.