"Star Wars III: Revenge of that Asshole in the Back Row"

Let it be known that I am not now nor will I ever be a "Star Wars" geek. I like the movies fine but not more than any other popular franchise out there. It was last Thursday and two friends and I went to see the movie. Very early on, when a character was obviously about to bite it, some jerk in the back row bellowed out: "You gonna DIE white boy!!" I heard murmurs of horrified passive-agressive nerd disdain all around. This guy was OBVIOUSLY an outsider; one who doesn't worship at the bootheels of George Lucas and all things galaxy-far-far-away! But, he sounded rough and tough so it became gym class in the seventh grade and no doubt grotesque images and post-traumatic stress flooded several of them with images of free atomic wedgies for all "Star Wars" geeks. About the point that Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman were painting-by-numbers through their stilted and uncomfortable romantic scene, there was a ruckus. I heard shouted words like "Shut the fuck up!" and "Kiss my ass!" Next thing I know, a guy is walking down the stairs shouting "Why don't you step outside and say that, punk!" The punk took the bait and they were just out of sight when I heard thuds and scuffling. The punk came back in the theater victorious. "You ain't no Jedi!" he shouted. I was riveted to my seat thinking three dread words: "Conceal and carry, conceal and carry, conceal and carry!" You see, in Murderapolis we have a conceal and carry law. This means that anyone can have a gun on them at any time, in my mind. I pictured my brains being blown out in the crossfire and I saw Onion-style headlines: "Dead 'Star Wars' Nerd Pissed He Didn't See the Whole Movie" I didn't know which was worse, the thought of my brains being blown out or the thought of being branded a "Star Wars" nerd after my death. I even pictured costumed freaks with plastic lightsabers and cinnamon bun hairdos showing up at my funeral to say the force will be with me forever. Eventually some guys with shiny badges and some kind of crackly device with a red light glowing on it showed up. I don't know exactly what happened at that point. I know there were no more shouts and curses and scuffles. So, it was a good thing, in the end. I also thought that there were probably some horrified suburbanites who will never go to that theater again which is also good.

When I told people that there was a fight in the theater at "Star Wars" their eyes lit up. Yes, it would have been much better if it had been a nerdy sissy-boy slap-fight, but we have to work with the hand we're dealt. Yoda lied, though. My fear of being shot didn't lead to anger, which didn't lead to hate, which also didn't lead to suffering, so I had no chance of going to the dark side. I thought I might pee my pants at one point, but that was about it.