Rumblitis--Chapter Fifteen (Jango Fettology)

  
   As always--my books:  King's Books! 
  
   FIFTEEN:
  
   Ray, deep inside a bottle of Southern Comfort, randomly paging through Harlan Ellison's prophetic piece "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream", him having, maybe, chatted it up with the linguistic genius Thomas Pynchon once or twice; also, denying George Lucas' "Bad Space" teachings, architecting as a creative consultant the sheer, cosmic mysticism of BABYLON 5--a pulsating Space Opera for the Underground.
   Alas, Ray knew Jango Fett didn't need the double-edged luminosity of ancient weapons, nor junky religions, yet to only possess pure confidence in his corporeal abilities, eating white bread and getting buff, denouncing the low-carb doctrine of Dr. Oz for a trek towards the greatness of girth, easily bench-pressing Obi-Wan; furthermore, James Tiberius Kirk would kick Yoda's ass, doing a double-handed crunch of the green alien's vertebra--the frog-like creature having an uncanny resemblance to the talkative Larry King, though not a raging libido like the Hebrew Prophet of them airwaves, somewhat reminding Ray of the testosterone-driven Brigham Young.
   And Ray Rumble was gracious for the physical epiphany of Jango Fett, thinking religion might be useless.  Timothy Francis Leary, as told by Doctor Basil Loveflesh, himself a Harvard-educated neurologist/psychiatrist, explaining:
   "No matter how enlightened the LSD made Leary, even if it made him the Buddha, he soon realized that you still have to do the dishes.  Yep, even Moses had to wake up, take a shit, shower, shave, and be a man about it all.  Ray--life is not about chasing ghosts and religious comprehension.  We are INCARNATE--in the fucking flesh.  Now go get laid or something."