After a two-year ban from AMC for over-excitedly shitting my pants in an advance screening of Star
Wars: The Last Jedi, Disney finally came to their senses and let me into the private screening of Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker that I paid $25,000 of my $45,000 a year total income to have hosted for me. Since the initial shitting, I’ve become a bit of a minor celebrity. Kids are calling me the Han Solo of major Disney theatrical releases, stealing from the spice mines of kessel and redistributing them to the poor via my large, gaping asshole. I’m not a hero though, no, I’m just here to watch movies.
This means that even though people think I’ve learned my lesson and that I’m back to watch and re-
view the film, I’m actually here to try every single new addition to AMC’s Star Wars Chili Wars Burrito and Lime Sludge Candy Buffet that Disney had installed inside their limited edition Star Wars The Rise of Skywalker Fanny Backs Fat Packs. They put it on me once I was buckled into my $350 D-box personal vibrator seat. Before I had the first pound of smooth C-3PO flavored butter in my fist I was already ripping shards into my mom’s jeans, which I was wearing since I had shit in my own jeans two years earlier. Here’s the thing: this movie hadn’t even started. I didn’t shit my pants in the movie until much, much later.