By Ron Howard
It’s everyones favorite actor/director/narrator/renounced firecrotch Ron Howard here to assuage your fears and promise that the stupid little Han Solo prequel that nobody asked for isn’t going to be a flaming garbage pile the sight of which would put even my pubic mound to shame. They brought me in to do what Phil Lord and Chris Miller didn’t have the chops, balls or integrity to pull off; I’m going to make Yoda the fuck machine he was born to be.
As anyone that’s read the novels of the extended Star Wars universe already knows, when Georgey L. imagined what Han Solo was going to be like before Luke and the gang fucked his life up by dragging him into a war that was none of his business, a large part of the story was Yoda’s pea-green ass bobbing up and down while he was rockin’ some world class space trim. When he and Han were tag teamin’ space bitches back in space high school with their space dicks and slammin’ space brews. I mean to bring you those stories, just as GL imagined them.
In the classic Star Wars novelFast Times on Yoda’s Dick, Yoda fucks so much his physician is starting to become seriously concerned that it may, in fact, fall off. In the follow-up,The Big Lewbowski (which was heavily reworked for the Coen Brothers film by the same name) it does indeed fall off and his search for his missing member takes him to the swamps of Dagobah where Luke meets up with him in Return of the Jedi.
I know what all you fucking dweebs out there are saying: “Umm, if Yoda already knew Han wouldn’t they have recognized each other?” Yeah? You think so? Well suck on this, jackass: they never met each other in the original trilogy. If they had, they’d probably have taken a minute to high five and reminisce on all the piping hot puss they pounded back in the day, maybe even touching the tips of their penis together in reference to the ceremonial handshake they had to perform at the end of Fast Times to save the space marching band from getting deported.
Bet you feel pretty fucking stupid for not remembering that, huh? Don’t worry about it. None of it matters. The backstory means less than nothing in the Star Wars universe. When you come to see my Star Wars movie, and see how hard Yoda fucks? You’re going to burn those other Star Wars blu-rays and throw whatever digital video device you have hooked-up in your home out the window. Not only that, but any pornography you, your partner and perhaps some of your older children have will be unceremoniously removed from the house and replaced by still shots of Yoda’s rock hard gnarled walking staff getting shoved down the throat of some truly smokin’ broads.
We’re talking cream of the crop women here. Tall ones, short ones, medium ones. Women that wear bows in their hair, women that refuse to wear bows in there hair. Women with red lipstick, women with black lipstick, women with blue lipstick. We’ve got this one woman that has black and blue lipstick. It’s crazy. We’ve got a woman that can read and write (triple threat!) and women that can do good maths. Not to mention the women we’ve got that can lift a small refrigerator using nothing but their arms, legs and back muscles. Women that are attractive, women that are unattractive, women that are attractive from certain angles, women that are so unattractive that it kind of makes them attractive in a weird way, women that are so attractive that it kind of makes them look unattractive. Vegetarian women and women that hunt people for sport. Women that like horses, women that are horses, women who can only legally eat bacon, women that are not allowed to eat bacon, women that are made of bacon and Kevin Bacon. Heck, we’ve even lined up one Australian woman against my express wishes.
Word on the street is that Lord and Miller had “creative differences” that apparently made it impossiblefor them to do their job. Sounds like Disney is gonna save themselves a shit-ton on bottles with these fucking babies gone. If you can’t find it within yourself to get Yoda to Bonetown, USA: Population: A pile of hot babes, you don’t deserve to call yourselves directors. Hell, you don’t even deserve to call yourselves men. You’re a couple of nobodies cock-blocking one of the most beloved characters of all time. Yoda went on a quest to get his dick sucked by every spaghetti-haired space-slug in the known universe whether you’re man enough to portray it on film or not. Your inability to get a job done isn’t going to change that. The world is going to get a Yoda that fucks with or without you. Not because we should, but because we can. Because there’s not a goddamn thing you can do to stop us.
Yoda may not deserve to fuck. Yoda may notneedto fuck. But by God, come next Christmas?
Yoda will fuck.