Jee Panway Uba Stell

[bloodyrosemccoy]

Birthday - Hunter Thompson (writer)
Birthday - Nelson Mandela (statesman - S. Africa)
Constitution Day (Uruguay)

 

So I’ve been rereading A.C. Crispin’s Han Solo Trilogy, and I’ve come to a decision.

 

Jabba the Hutt’s got style.

By now, I’m sure that many of my friends know of my aversion to Elves of the Tolkien variety, which I temper with the explanation that “Elves ain’t got no style.”* The explanation is difficult, but what it boils down to is that Elves bore me. I don’t like perfect people.

 

As far as characters go, it would seem I prefer either big hairy sorts or total creeps.

 

Jabba is fun. He’s evil, depraved (his own kind think his interest in scantily clad humanoid girls is pretty messed up), ruthless, psychotic, gluttonous, slothful, addicted to hookah, got a resonant voice that I’d just love to have at my disposal, and for crying out loud he’s a giant gastropod who drools green slime. How much more awesome can you get?

 

I think one of the main reasons I like him is because he enjoys his job so much. There is a black spot upon my soul in which I tend to think anybody who has followed their bliss in life—be it writing, making marbles, helping children in third-world countries learn to read, accounting, fishing, or randomly feeding nubile young green women to a horrible monster you happen to have in your basement—is a lot more likable than somebody who doesn’t enjoy life. Obviously, this does not extend to my condoning some of these activities, such as accounting. To say, “Well, at least he was enjoying himself,” when looking at pictures of Saddam Hussein being his usual crazy-ass dictator self is pretty tasteless. But the truth of the matter is, sometimes psychotic bastards are the most interesting people.

 

Of course, we could get all Freudian and say that I like Jabba and other evil and ruthless but happy dictators because I secretly wish I could Break the Bonds of Society and go off on wild crazed rampages of death and destruction.** But really, I don’t have many deep, dark urges, aside from the occasional wish that I actually could go nuts in Washington, D.C. with the Big Stick With A Nail Through It Of Common Sense. I barely enjoy competitive sports. The most destructive urge I’ve had today is to burn some incense. It is just not in my nature to emulate psychotic bastards.

 

I think the true reason I find these crazy buggers fun is, because, well, they’re happy. I am one of those people who has way too much empathy for her own good, and when they’re enjoying themselves I can’t help but like it. Granted, when they’re having fun at the expense of others, they’re less cool—I know they’re villains—but when the others are far away and not obvious, the present personality overwhelms the pain they’re causing others. If I hung out at Jabba’s palace, I’d probably be the one to say “Oh, that poor girl” and refuse to watch, and maybe glare at Jabba, but I think at other times I’d really love chatting with him, as long as I didn’t take anything personally. He’s interesting and, in a weird, perverse sort of way, uplifting. And as I read these books, he makes me laugh.

 

I would not, however, wear the slave girl outfit. Jabba ain’t that cool.

 

 

*This is not entirely true, but it is easier than saying that “moony Elves who dress in silver and get angsty about their immortality and how it affects their love life and are all stuffy and haughty and shallow and take themselves too seriously ain’t got no style.” I am fine with Robin Hood type Elves, or Elves that have diverse personalities. It’s just that all these elegant, lithe figures with their perfect outfits and Oneness With Nature and swathe of abilities and Great Goodness (or who are exactly the same only have Sexy Evilness, which you can tell because their skin is black and women run their culture) get really annoying.

 

**Granted, Jabba probably didn’t do a lot of this himself as he got fatter.