Blog of Inane and Useless Star Wars References Weakly Disguised Under the Pretense of Being a Blog About the World Cup.

As you all know, I'm not one to be turned astray when a dare of the silly and inane type crosses my path. In the past I have emerged victorious from such gambles as, "Can you fit your fist in your mouf?" and "Will you eat this?". Well, one day a dare so archetypically "me" crossed my path. The dare was, "How many Star Wars references do you think you can fit into a blog?"

The response, my friends, was as follows..

"I dunno...10?"

And then, said gambler uttered the four most poisonous words to my ears. The only four words that ignite my soul and send through my being waves of electricity that ignite my initiative, and spurn my will "to do". Those words were:

"I bet you can't,"

Oh, bring it.

So here you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the blogging world. The "Blog of Inane and Useless Star Wars References Weakly Disguised Under the Pretense of Being a Blog About the World Cup".

Enjoy.

July 1, 2009
(T-19 Days and counting)

Berlin

As World Cup fever ages across Deutschland with a force deadlier that a storm on Camino Real, I find myself with the urge to write the obligatory novel of a blog to update all you faithful readers as to my current goings on. First, let us back track to a long, long time ago in a city far, far away called Berlin. It was there that this wayward traveller once again found herself in the company of the inequable Frau, returned from the far reaches of Europe, and back once more in Germany. Padawan and Master of all thing Deutsch were once again reunited. May the force be with Germany as these lovers of offense towards historical cities wreak havoc on the Empire's former stomping grounds.

Screen wipe left as we find our travellers at the Berlin Fan Fest mere minutes before the England v. Costa Rica kickoff. The normally auto-trafficked avenue is now a teaming sea of Pinewood cast-offs. St. George's cross flies from almost every surface, fleshy and solid alike. Rebel yells of, "Eng-er-land! Eng-er-land!" can be heard a far away as Berlin's Mos Eisley of a train station, so large that a more wretched hive of scum and villainy would indeed be hard to find. The kickoff occurs as Rooney and his curiously named Wookie of a teammate, Peter Crouch (clocked at an astounding 6'7") charge the field. Our heroes turn to one another and smile. It's going to be a good month in the ol' DE.

Dresden/Leipzig

We rejoin our wayward traveller on a Friday as she sits aboard an ICE capable of doing the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs headed towards Dresden and Leipzig for the next England game.

Boasting architechture that could put any medieval city to shame, Britta, Lisa and Big Jim wandered their way through a Coruscantian metropolis devoid of all things World Cup. Enduring a humidity rivalled only by Dagobah's sweltering climate, they steamed along the river and dined like royalty before parting ways; Lisa and Big Jim to question the physics of space and time en route to New York, and I to travel towards Leipzig and follow the footsteps of Faust, bathe in the beauty of Bach, marvel the magnificence of Mozart, and take part in several other highly alliterated activities before heading to Augustus Platz for the England v. Ecuador game.

Now, having been witness to a Fan Fest that could rival celebrations of the fall of the Empire, it must be noted that I was at first disappointed at the miniscule nature of what lay before me: empty chairs at empty tables, the few lucky enough to have a warm body in them occupied by generally grievous characters.

Five minutes to kickoff and Leipzig's Fan Fest was as desolate as the theatres after Episode II was released.

(Editor's note: This is where I ended my writings in "Britta's Book of Secret's" having acheived the goal of 10 references. The clever readers, however, will note that there are, ipso facto, MORE than 10 cleverly embedded references. Gotta catch 'em all, gotta catch 'em all.)