Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Coke Head gives Luke Dinner-Theatre a big deep sea tonguing, in front of Han a.k.a. "I'm the only actor that was not destroyed by this series". L'dinner theatre then leans back and smiles smugly at the Teflon beef cake, as their rivalry at working their way into the Princess' chambers. Now flash forward from this film to Episode VI - The Return of the Jedi, and suddenly, if you are empathizing with L'dinner, you are way psychologically twisted to discover that dear Din-din has been experiencing tainted and taboo feelings for his sister over the last few years while finding some time to train as a light saber waving boy Messiah. Does pumice stone work on a tongue? We're talking about true deep damage, that even the best tech robo-simulacrum in a far off galaxy - a long time ago couldn't buy ya. Now this intro seems to be going nowhere, and the title, like many before it, is a non-sequitur that just flies out of the neuro-biology when I've ODed on my secret elixir of 200 parts coffee syrup to 1 part per million simulated rice milk [it is an ancient homeopathic recipe passed down through thirteen generations of Irish illiterates]. However, on this occasion there is a deeper meaning that can only manifest with deep inspection. Why is it that billion dollar movie yahoos are incapable of making films that have any sort of continuity to 'em? The Stars Wars series is the classic example of this pathetic inability of a big movie thingie to make a sensible story that contains a minimum of self-contradictors.

One counter argument to my beef is that the modern techno world is headed towards eye-candy digital effects that have mind altering effects and a numbing factor that is barely matched by pharmaceuticals, and QED I should just shut my festering gob.

Well I do believe that that is a high-quality argument and the conclusion is something that many people have tried to achieve via legal, and/or physical-violent means; however, the true problem has caused me to suffer a suspension of my suspension of disbelief. This is preventing me from seeing movies and thus writing reviews about them. Without my regular reviews of movies, PULP pays me at the low schedule rate, which prevents me from going to see the movies that I need to review - what some might allude to as a snake biting its tail [do I get a simile bonus Mr. Editor?]. The tradition of PULP is to use lots of words and then these words get printed on pressed Pulp. After that I don't what the hell happens, but I know this...if I want to continue eating then I've got to reorganize my brain stem biochemistry so that it don't think no more - just pure reaction to the candy on the silver screen. A lobotomy is the easy way out, but I'm going to be radical. Seems to me I saw a documentary about a scientist named William Hurt, who lay down in a bath tub full of salty water and turned into a lemur and then a giant amoebae. I figure I can go Neolithic, as long as someone turns on the lights before I go pure prokaryotic.