Dear Luke, We Need to Talk, Darth

by John Moe

  • We’re just shooting from the hip here, but would it be theoretically possible for the people on you to lighten up? Even a little? In our admittedly brief dealings with them, they’re just so serious all the time! Grouchy, intense, spooky, crass, harried, and, once again, murderous. We’re not saying that everyone has to be a phony or anything, but it’s important to remember that if you want to be a tourist destination, EVERYONE needs to be in customer service. That’s the only way it really works.

  If you get this letter, Island, and are in fact capable of reading and understanding what it says, we urge you to respond. It can only help with your stated goal of, “We need people. The island needs people! We need to carry on our work here!” We assume you’re referring to the tourism industry.

  Okay, we wait to hear from you, Island.

  Sincerely,

  Constant, Penny & Boat

  Brand Managers

  CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK’S LOST LOG ENTRIES

  CAPTAIN’S LOG

  0000000303030003500501701

  CAPTAIN J. T. KIRK

  STARSHIP ENTERPRISE NCC-1701

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1312.4

  We picked up a distress beacon outside the Z-144 system. Arriving on the planet, we encountered a race of hyperintelligent humanoid creatures who possess tremendous intellectual ability. Despite the fact that they are clearly highly evolved, the poor souls have never learned how to truly love in a way us humans enjoy. These beings, I suppose you could even call them people, look much the same as we do except for the greenish tint of their skin, the shape of their ears, and their silvery outfits, which we would never wear because they are far too garish.

  All of us aboard the Enterprise feel a great kinship with them, perhaps even romantic feelings toward the better-looking ones.

  On a personal, spiritual level, this encounter has strengthened my belief in God. To think that He created beings so far from Earth that look so much like us. Truly, He must have created all of us in His image.

  Anyway, these people were threatened in some way but the whole thing got resolved in a little under an hour, mostly by me being brave.

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1319.8

  The Enterprise has been captured by an enemy vessel. The commander of this craft is a troublemaker with whom I have locked horns several times in the past. The way he talked reminded me of some of the bullies I went to school with back on Earth, except for this fellow is all blue and wears clothes I would never wear. Aside from that, he’s your basic American human archetype.

  Something else I only just now realized: he speaks perfect English. Like not even with an accent or anything. I have a hard enough time understanding someone from Mexico or Germany. This guy’s from a completely different planet and yet I understand every word of his threats, boasts, and grandstanding monologues. Really good diction, too. Like a trained actor.

  Weird.

  Anyway, I’m certain we’ll break free in a few minutes here. We always do.

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1326.1

  We have encountered an unfriendly race known as The Gorn. But get this: they’re totally lizards. I’m serious! Or, like, regular guys with arms and legs and about as tall as a regular human being (or Romulan or Vulcan or Klingon) but with lizard heads. And they’re strangely inexpressive. Their eyes don’t really blink or even move. I told Bones, “Those are just dudes in lizard masks!” but he insisted they were space aliens.

  I have become somewhat melancholy in recent days. We set out on a five-year mission to, among other things, seek out new life and new civilizations, but these people are so disappointingly similar to us. Is this all space is?

  Nailed Uhura.

  Kirk out.

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1332.7

  See, here’s the other thing. We were down on this one planet today, right? Teleported through space by having all of our molecules separated and then perfectly reassembled on the surface of another planet. Absolutely normal day. And we had gone down to investigate this civilization that was causing trouble or something. So I beam down there and just start breathing. I mean, hello? How is it that another planet has the perfect blend of oxygen and carbon dioxide that lets me breathe so easily? And how is it that EVERY other planet has that? Why haven’t we come to one with a helium atmosphere? Or where the temperature is negative 300 degrees Fahrenheit? Or 5000 degrees Fahrenheit? Doesn’t it seem likely that at least ONE planet would have a surface that we could not walk on?

  I brought my concerns to Mr. Spock, but he just shrugged and walked away. He often doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. Maybe that’s a cultural thing between an American Earthling and a Vulcan who looks and talks the same as an American Earthling except with pointy ears and weird eyebrows.

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1348.3

  Okay, come on. We arrive on the surface of a planet whose citizens are dressed like Romans, wearing togas and all that. And they’re doing Shakespeare all over the place! Soliloquies and everything. What’s up with that? They say that it was a distant signal from Earth that they intercepted. Which … okay. But then I noticed some of the people on this planet were talking about “auditions” that they had coming up for something called “Gunsmoke.” I asked them what they were talking about. They stopped, snapped to attention, and said, “Uh, we’re space aliens, bleep bloop.” Bleep bloop? No one else had said that the whole time we were there. And again: perfect English, perfect air (almost felt like indoor air), and no problem walking on the planet’s surface.

  Sat down on a rock to think. Could swear it was styrofoam.

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1349.6

  Bones says he needs me down in sick bay for some tests. Says I look sleepy. I feel like I’m just waking up. Waking up to some greater truth about what’s happening here! Are we even in space at all?

  CAPTAIN’S LOG STARDATE 1351.3

  I just woke up from a long sleep after Bones gave me some sort of medicine. He said I had a Space Cold, which I’ve never heard of but if Bones says it’s true then it must be. I’m very well rested and I also seem a great deal less worried than I used to be. Life seems easier now and more serene. I’m glad he gave me the “space brain surgery” he said I really needed.

  It is my scientific conclusion, reached through science, that most life forms across the grand scope of the universe look like Earthlings. Not all. Tribbles look like mops. But mostly all these space aliens look like people wearing some kind of cheesy wigs and sparkly outfits.

  And most planets look like sound stages.

  That’s just the way science is.

  Bye bye!

  Love,

  Jim Kirk

  FROM THE DESK OF SOMEBODY

  Dear Carly,

  Nice song. Wow, you really stuck it to me, eh? Yes, ma’am. I’m so vain.

  Jesus, you are one bitter woman, Carly Simon.

  Listen, I’m pretty busy right now with high-profile meetings and social engagements, but there were things I simply could not let stand.

  First of all, that party took place on a yacht. So the way I walked in was perfectly appropriate. In fact, there is a certain manner in which one is expected to conduct oneself in such a situation. I could explain but I doubt you’re interested. As for the apricot scarf and the tilted hat, again, perfectly appropriate for a maritime soiree. Look it up. I’m sorry you had a problem with that. Funny, there were plenty of girls that night who certainly had no quarrel.

  Secondly, yes, I went up to Saratoga for an important horse race. And yes, my horse won, thanks to years of training and the hard work of all the people involved. Is this a bad thing? And yes, I did take the jet to Nova Scotia. I would do it again in an instant. Have you ever seen the total eclipse of the sun, Carly? It’s one of the most amazing natural phenomena one could witness. So, if I have the means to see it, I don’t see that as vanity, I see it as being fully alive. I also took 35 orphans up there with me, free of charge, but there’s nothing about that in your song. All r
ight, I didn’t really do that. But I thought about it and that’s what matters.

  Third, pursuant to your charge that I was with an “underworld spy,” I can’t discuss that. But I am known to spend time with wives of close friends. And what do I do with said women, Carly? Talk. Have tea. Go to the theatre or attend a polo match. These women’s husbands are entertainers and travel quite a bit. So I spend time with them, because that’s what friends do. And sometimes I have sex with them. But not as often as you might think.

  Look, we could bicker over these particulars all day long and accomplish little. My chief quarrel with you is more existential in nature: I know the song is about me, so how does recognizing that fact make me vain? Honestly, if someone shouted “Hey, Carly Simon!” at you and you turned around, would that be a sign of vanity? No. It would be a simple recognition of reality. If the song were actually about Spiro Agnew and I thought it was about me, that would be vain. But your use of the second person (“you’re so vain”), combined with the details about the horse and the jet and the apricot scarf, leaves no doubt. So I’m vain? I’m not deaf, is more like it.

  I will not pursue legal action, Carly, because I’m far too busy and, believe it or not, I still have fond memories of our time together, when you were still quite naive. I find naiveté enchanting. It leads me to make promises. As you know. But I do hope that you try to think a bit more fairly before you record any other potential screeds. Best of luck to you, regardless.

  With love from your vain muse,

  Mick Jagger, or Warren Beatty,

  or Kris Kristofferson, or whoever the hell I am

  REJECTED

  PROPOSALS

  SUPER BOWLS XXVIII TO XXXIV

  SUPER BOWL XXVIII—JANUARY 30, 1994

  • A proposal called for a musical halftime show combining two of the more popular films of the past year: Jurassic Park and Schindler’s List. The Committee dropped the proposal on the table and ran out of the room before reading anything more than that.

  • Tony Randall’s idea for a tribute to the late Hervé Villechaize (“Tattoo” from Fantasy Island) was not cleared by doctors.

  • Clint Black, Tanya Tucker, Travis Tritt, and the Judds were hired instead.

  SUPER BOWL XXIX—JANUARY 29, 1995

  • The proposal entitled “Hooray for Hollywood” called for a salute to the movies of the past year. The year 1994 was an exceptionally good year for film, but the Committee felt the approach was somewhat muddy. It called for actors in plush costumes of the characters of The Lion King to board a bus, as in the movie Speed, which would explode if it went less than 50 miles per hour. The bus would be then boarded by a sprinting Forrest Gump, who would defuse the bomb. Then all the characters, even the bus, would interview the vampire from Interview with the Vampire.

  • The Committee went with Patti LaBelle.

  SUPER BOWL XXX—JANUARY 28, 1996

  • Initially the Committee thought that the title of a proposal marked “A Triple-X Halftime Show” was solely in reference to the three Roman numerals in the game’s name. Turns out it was a double meaning for both Super Bowl 30 AND pornography. The idea was pretty simple: Dozens of men and women run out on the field dressed as members of all the NFL teams. Then they just start having crazy sex all over the place. That’s it. Very little in the way of staging necessary, but the Committee did not feel like America was ready for nudity at a Super Bowl halftime show just yet.

  • Diana Ross was brought in because why not.

  SUPER BOWL XXXI—JANUARY 26, 1997

  • “Dole-a-palooza” was to be a solo performance by failed GOP Presidential candidate Bob Dole, where the former Senator would perform a medley of recent popular songs in the style and costumes of the original artists. So Dole would be one or more of the Spice Girls for “Wannabe,” Liam Gallagher of Oasis for “Wonderwall,” and Tupac Shakur for “California Love.”

  • The Committee rejected the proposal and also sent a memo to the Federal Elections Commission asking failed presidential candidates to be discouraged from submitting Super Bowl halftime show proposals.

  • Somewhat enamored of the idea of terrible, embarrassing music, the Committee hired Dan Aykroyd and John Goodman to perform Blues Brothers music.

  SUPER BOWL XXXII—JANUARY 25, 1998

  • The Committee received a proposal to honor the memory of Princess Diana but expand the memorial to several other deceased members of royalty. While the Committee liked the idea of Elton John performing “Candle in the Wind 1997,” it was less interested in other suggestions:

  • Korn to perform “Aaaaahhhh Queen Elizabeth I!”

  • Bjork to perform “I Miss Leopold, Prince of Hohenzollern (Romania), 22 September 1835–8 June 1905”

  • Coolio to perform “Whassup, Gustaf VI Adolf of Sweden Who Died in 1973!”

  • Went with a salute to Motown even though the game was in San Diego.

  SUPER BOWL XXXIII—JANUARY 31, 1999

  • “An All-Star Salute to the Monica Lewinsky Scandal” was certainly topical and had more than its share of compelling characters. But as has happened in years past, the Committee felt that the casting was off-target for the musical production number:

  • Cher as Monica Lewinsky

  • Bill Pullman as Bill Clinton

  • Tom Hanks as Linda Tripp

  • Celine Dion as Kenneth Starr

  • Matthew Broderick as The Impeachment Process

  • Ben Stiller as Morality Itself

  • Eddie Murphy as Humanity’s Innate Fallibility

  • Chaka Khan, Stevie Wonder, and the inevitable Gloria Estefan were hired instead.

  SUPER BOWL XXXIV—JANUARY 30, 2000

  • The proposal of “How to Survive the Post-Y2K Hellworld” earned a lot of endorsements early in the vetting process since it seemed to offer practical advice as well as entertainment. The proposal included advice on how to kill neighbors who try to get into your bunker, how to build a simple lean- to out of the bodies of those who refused to believe the Y2K bug was serious, and how to drink pee and have it actually taste pretty okay. All set to music.

  • Once it became obvious that society would survive the bug with no real damage, we brought in Phil Collins to perform solo. He was already booked to appear as The Fuel Lord in the initial proposal.

  A note from the departed Fonzie to the Cunninghams

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. “C.,”

  As you read this, I have departed your Milwaukee. You shan’t see me e’er again.

  Because you have found this note, you have also likely found the glistening powder that is sure to have been left behind as a result of the means of my disappearance. As you stand in the room above your garage, you may have also noticed the various cauldrons, long robes, and runic artifacts. Surely, you remarked to yourselves how such trappings and accoutrements do not befit the rehabilitated motor-cycling hoodlum you have come to know as “Fonzie.”

  In truth, I have not been what I appeared to be. In fact, I write you now, in calligraphy and on a scroll, in a manner more akin to my actual voice and not that of the broadly drawn—though undeniably charismatic—character I have portrayed for many years (perhaps two or three years too long, if we are being honest).

  I am an ancient wizard. I was borne unto Earth thousands of years ago when magick pervaded and it wasn’t just nerds and the psychotic who spelled it with a k. The men of an ancient tribe—they were a contemporary tribe at the time, of course—pleaded with a traveling demigod to furnish them a wizard to prevent the tribal women from running off to the men of better-looking tribes. The demigod had a cruel sense of ironic humor, you know how these legends go, and created a wizard more attractive and charismatic than any mortal the world had yet known, a wizard who would compel women to flock to him, forsaking all others. He called this wizard “Othurfonzireeli.” That’s me! Whoa. Ayy.

  Needless to say, the men of the village were not pleased. My leather cloak shielded me from their blows but they
drove me from the village. My magick stayed intact, however, as I traveled the world, insinuating myself into new cultures. I could snap my fingers to summon women. I could strike machinery and make it do my bidding. And I was able to cloud the minds of mortals, making them believe that any area designated for urination and defecation could logically be considered my “office.”

  That last one requires some additional explanation. The oils and tinctures that course through my flesh-bone manifestation emit a powerful smell of lavender, vanilla, and rotted veal. If I stay in motion (as on a motor-cycle) those smells can dissipate. If I want to privately converse with a mortal, however, to dispense my wisdom and provide counsel, I must adjourn to a “bath-room” so that the smell of human waste will mask my own wizard odors. The bath-room at Arnold’s always smelled pretty bad. Ayyyyy. Whoa. Cool it.

  I have left Milwaukee because the time to do so has arrived. As always, that time coincides with a large number of local women contracting venereal disease.

  It’s true, I am absolutely infested with chlamydia, gonorrhea, and syphilis. It’s just rampant. Oozing sores, massive scarring, lesions, pustules, black growths that even I—in my wizard wisdom—could ne’er identify. I am totally gross.

  You see, the demigod who made me never provided the ability to switch off my charisma with women. And it was accompanied, unfortunately, by an unquenchable sexual appetite on my part. My obvious medical calamities go unseen by my paramours throughout hours or even days of bacchanalia.