Escape From George Lucas
If you’re reading this, then help. For the love of God, send help. There’s this man, his name is George, and he’s got me locked away and he’s making unreasonable demands, like some sort of over-excited uncle. I don’t know what to do, there seems to be no way out, and now he’s got me in his hypnotic gaze I don’t know if I’ll ever escape. He’s torturing me, and he seems to think the Geneva convention is some kind of folk band. His evil knows no limits, and I don’t know how much longer I can last.
It’s all right for all of you. Free to wander about the lush green pastures of the world, without a care, able to watch original films and not subjected to the endless torture of the same old films, over and over again. I used to love Star Wars and Indiana Jones; I bought the videos, I bought them again, I bought the DVDs, I watched them over and over, perfect slices of entertainment, which I thought I could never tire of.
But now Uncle George (as he’s making me call him) has me imprisoned; he said he’s never going to let me out, but worse than that he’s converting my beloved entertainments into, whisper it softly, 3D. He intends to keep me here, locked up, and to show me one a year until my eyeballs start to bleed from the sheer horror of it all.
But you, dear reader, you are not subject to my plight. You have free will, you can avoid these travesties, these butcherings of my childhood and pillagings of my fantasies. You don’t have to witness these 3D atrocities, you can avoid them, you are masters of your own destiny. No one will compel you to watch them if you don’t want to. You are the lucky ones.
Sorry, what’s that Uncle George? No, I’m not talking to anyone. No, you can wear the Jabba the Hutt costume tonight, as long as you don’t show me any more 3D footage… (Send help. Please. Before he comes for you too.)