Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away was something that we call the Force. And in this galaxy, the Force was upset because it was being used for both good and evil unevenly. So one day, to balance the scales of good and evil, the Force was forced to put a particular person into hyperspace and that person just so happened to land on a lovely little planet called Earth.
What a wonderful time! A person from the Star Wars universe had arrived and made every little boy and girl's dream come true. Perhaps it was the uplifting Obi-Wan Kenobi who would teach the Force to little Toby. Maybe it was Vader, supporting all haters. What if it was Yoda? Teaching the wise and learning about soda. Holy shit! It could be Maul! The one no one could see coming.
But unfortunately my friends, it was something that would make all of us be running.
It was Jar-Jar Binks and he was in the hood. And looking at all the gangsters, things weren't looking so good. And as Jar-Jar got out of the blue spaceship, there was a straight G, eating some chips.
"Meesa, Meesa so happy to see you!" Jar-Jar exclaimed.
"The fuck you say?" Said the G looking to get maimed.
"It's Meesa, Jar-Jar Binks!"
That G said, "Get back," without giving a blink. "The fuck is wrong with your face you ugly motherfucker? You look like a mix of Roise O'Donnell and Chris Tucker."
And with that, Jar-Jar didn't understand the roast. He was unfortunately the protagonist of our shitpost. "Don't to recognize me?" Is what Jar-Jar said. "You're Mace Windu back from the dead."
"The fuck you say, nigga?" The straight G started trippin'. "You racist motherfucker, you're ass must be slippin'!"
"I swear to you, it's Meesa," Jar-Jar stuck out his tongue. That G wasn't swinging like that, not even when he was young. The G smacked his his ass up, twelve rounds from his gat. Two from his Mac and a wack to the sac with a cracked baseball bat. A burning desire raged into the G's soul. Not even a blunt would bring him under control. And so with a kick, the G got up and ran. Soon, Jar-Jar was picked up in a white van.
"Help me," Jar-Jar asked the man. "Meesa would love it if you helped me while you can."
The man closed his eye with a Sonic toy in in the passenger seat. His drove the car over the bridge and prayed for Jar-Jar's defeat. Holy fuck! Jar-Jar managed to survive. Onwards with our story, he must not remain alive. And so Jar-Jar breathed under water and swam to the top. And that's when he came face to face with the real cops.
"Good golly," said the British cop on the job. "You look bloody terrible, maybe you were robbed."
"Meesa need help," said the fragile Jar-Jar Binks. And the cop did give him help and that's when glasses clink. The Mafia rolled up and so did the Crips. The Bloods and Vice Lords ready to just lips. The cop tried to make a last stand, ready to fight. But he was removed ever so easily, they were ready for a huge bite.
Tommy guns, gats, blunts, and cigars blazing, they lit his ass up. That mothafucker was banished to Hell and no soul went corrupt. You must understand, that sometimes what hurts must be put down. What comes around, goes around, no complaints will be sound. So justify yourself, and lead a life free of annoyances and immature matters. You must be wise while young, do not serve yourself to such kitchen platters. And to this very day, we celebrate that momentous day. We call it Labour Day, the day we took Jar-Jar out with a bullet spray.
So let it be known, the story is true. Go out, sing it out while having a brew with your crew. So to every heart ever so big and so small. I wish to wish a Merry Christmas to all!
Jar-Jar Bink's is dead.