Call me crazy, but I subscribe to the notion that, since its beginning, the universe has been ever-spreading and everything within its massive expansion has gone along for the ride. Following suit, every initial notion with storytelling potential tends to enlarge exponentially, growing with time and purpose into stories and, if the commercial and/or artistic drive remains resolute, these stories multiply into sequels and beyond. This especially holds true for the interstellar saga from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. After its explosive entrance into the public sphere in ‘77, the Star Wars universe took three years to develop from A New Hope into The Empire Strikes Back, wherein its archetypal characters became more complex and their dilemmas darkened as SW’s expansion followed its primary course into the emptiness of space. But then something changed: George Lucas, supreme author, came down and let there be lightness where the darkness once dominated. And this certifiable change is evident in the trilogy’s finale, Return of the Jedi.

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Oh shit! Now that the Ninja Turtles are done with the secret of the ooze, Wicket has been pounding it like a motherfucker. He’s grown strong like bull, and now he intends on plowing the nonsense out of a gorgeous wampa babe. Sometimes it pays to be born on the forest moon of Endor.

Bounce to that shit, Wicket. Bounce to that shit.

A good friend and Omegalyte with the  nom de existence Charlie passed this video to me. It’s none other than Chewbacca and an Ewok rocking the fuck out to Welcome to the Jungle by GnR at Star Wars Disney Wowiekazowie Day or whatever. More proof that as our culture implodes in on itself, we’re all in for a fucking treat.

Hit the jump for the video.

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