At home, awake, in the middle of the night, during the holiday season, posting on the Internet about breasts and Star Wars at the SAME TIME. That's dedication! To what? Who knows, but it can't be good.
Spoilers! If you don't want to know what happens after Darth Vader burns up on that lava planet and gets the suit and then ol' what's-her-face dies for some bullshit reason, don't read any of this!
Let's chat about balls.
If more diseases could be cured by shooting people in the groin with stuff I'd be in medical school right now.
I think they're talking about that Jedi from the first movie who looked like a homeless guy.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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