We are talking about betrayal, Andrew Rohman. Not deceit; not wickedness of a general kind, no, but unadulterated, calculated malice, the expert assassination of trust in the pursuit of personal gain. For in betrayal there is sincerity in its purest form, nothing less than premeditated evil, the perversion of loyalty and the cockroach of dispensation wriggling through an otherwise uncorrupt dish of just des(s)erts.

If you are a person with eyeballs who was not born in 1998, you have seen the epic space opera known as Star Wars. Astonishingly, this cannot be said of Perri Kinsman. Nevertheless, George Lucas, infamous ruiner of childhoods, directed the creation of the Star Wars prequels with maleficent glee, slaughtering Jedi via lowly stormtroopers, giving Sith Lords names like “Count Dooku,” defenestrating Samuel L. Jackson, and transforming Darth Vader into a weepy, fist-shaking Frankenstein clown. Our outrage is not the result of his incompetence, good honorable Reverend, no. Nor is it the result of his [REDACTED] turpitude. Our vitriol stems from George Lucas’ treachery because in his treachery there is sincerity, a deliberate shatting upon our loyalty to his vision of a “galaxy far, far away” so titanic, so insidious, that even a constipated Jabba the Hutt would be appalled.

Alas, Andrew Rohman, how we have endured such indignities in our travails. For the universe to permit sincerity only in betrayal is like a midi-chlorian virgin birth, or the possibility of Jar Jar Binks. What have we left but betrayal after betrayal as Hollywood remakes everything we held dear in our wee years, from Tron to Charlie & the Chocolate Factory?

So good of you to ask…