Greedo Shuffle

With appologies to Boz Scaggs

Greedo Shuffle
Lyrics By Jaeger

Greedo missed his ship that day
From Jabba’s house
But that wasn’t all he missed
And he ain't comin' back

A Tatooine bar
In a bad lit booth
He made his move
But Solo got the jump, and left a smokin’ hole
It was yesterday
Greedo needed cash so
He asked the Hutt

He said one more bounty to get my
Sorry green ass of the planet
And I hate Han Solo

Greedo oh oh oh ohoho
At a cantina
Waitin’ for Solo
Greedo’s waitin’ for Han Solo

Greedo be drinkin'
Havin' great big fun
Until he spots Solo
He is talkin’ with some folks
So he waits till he’s alone
Solo’s makin' a beeline
Headin' for the Docking Bay

Sayin' Jabba wants all his money
This time he’ll take your starship
Why’s your hand under the table?

Greedo oh oh oh ohoho
At a cantina
Waitin’ for Solo
Greedo’s waitin’ for Han Solo

One smokin’ hole in his chest
Greedo fell down face first
Dead before he hit the floor

Greedo oh oh oh ohoho
He's a grease spot
Thanks to Solo
For Greedo that’s all she wrote


where are the updates?

Sorry about the lack of updates.

Too busy to write lately.

Stay tuned, it’s a long weekend out here so I should have new stuff up.

Emperor Jaeger


Cowards Bomb London Underground

Once again Osama bin-Laden is allowed to murder innocents from the safety of his hiding hole. Am I the only one out there that thinks he should have been found and executed back in 2001?

Probably, because George W. Bush doen’t seem to care about finding the murderers behind 9/11, and now 07/07. And since the filthy Liberals in our federal government have never cared about finding and bringing the terrorists to justice, why should anyone else in Canada. Besides of course, those who think that mass-murder in the name of religion is wrong. Now is not the time for mealy-mouthed political correctness, now is the time for action from the Paul Martin Liberals. Though I wouldn’t hold my breath.

London Mayor Ken Livingstone said the blasts were "mass-murder" carried out by terrorists bent on "indiscriminate ... slaughter."

Livingstone, in Singapore where he supported London's successful bid to host the 2012 Olympics, said: "I want to say one thing: This was not a terrorist attack against the mighty or the powerful, it is not aimed at presidents or prime ministers, it was aimed at ordinary working-class Londoners."

Oh well, maybe when a bomb finally goes off in the middle of downtown Toronto, the Liberals will stand up and do something about the evil that is the al-Qaeda terrorist network. But then again, probably not.


Terminus Part 2

You know you’re dreaming because you can see yourself. The dream revolves around work obviously, as you see you’re wearing that hideous brown and white and gold uniform of the Cosmodemonic Security Company.

The dark, grey labrynthian concrete walls, and floors, and celings of the parkade surround you. You hear nothing, so it must be one of those silent dreams of the kind everyone used to have before the invention of talkies.

Behind the dream version of you, out of the gloom emerges your supervisor, the "Lying Dutchman" as everyone calls him.

Dream You says something to him and beacons the theiving Dutchman to follow. He does, down to the bottomost level of the parkade to an empty corner. A dark empty corner.

The fat, blubbery, Hutt of a man turns angrilly towards Dream You. Suddenly you and Dream You have become one and you can feel the Dutchman’s angry spittle pelting you in the facemeats. You feel almost giddy inside as you raise your right arm and point something black and heavy at your boss’ face.

The scene wipes left to right like in a George Lucas flick and you find yourself in the change room, balls deep in a girl whose face you can’t see. The number on the locker in front of you is 13. The colour is green and the painted surface of the metal fogs slightly at your every exhalation.

The sound of the dream has been switched on now and you can hear your breathing as well as the girl’s every little moan, and squeal. Her leg wraps higher around you and you feel like you are about to explode. You can feel the tingle gathering in the base of your spine, building, building…

It’s morning.

A voice on the radio is talking about a gas explosion in Calgary that killed two and injured five. The news goes on to report another "gangland style" murder in the downtown. You turn off the radio. It’s 08:10am.

You sit up too fast and get a head rush, followed by a feeling of intense nausea. Making it to the bathroom toilet just in time you vomit a long stream of clearish liquid with what looks like blood clots in it. You stare at the vile mixture in the bowl before flushing it away to infinity. You rinse the sick from your mouth and grab the ruck sack.

You have to go. Now. Your adventure will wait for no one.

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