To paraphrase Francis Bacon, or his doppelgänger, “Hope is a good breakfast, but an ill supper.” Apparently he had no idea what constitutes a good meal. Who eats hope? Hope is composed of empty tasteless calories. In fact, I’ll go as far as to say, his tongue was a complete dolt.
In a galaxy far far away, in a future rapidly approaching, yet before the time Han Solo becomes an honest to goodness bounty hunter, there was Baby Solo. SPOILER ALERT: The following story transpires two decades before the latest installment of the 2018 Disney® Star Wars® franchise, Solo™.
I can not see the joy. I can not hear the glory. I can not feel the excitement. I just smell a lot of stank camels.
It was official, even decreed. It was Double Negative Appreciation Day™. If the parade was any indication, it was the biggest non-religious holiday ever, of all time. It was May and the town known best as Schaumburg had serious cabin fever. Winter had been excruciatingly long and bitter.
One, two, three, four sackbuts! Similar to the trombone in the same way the VCR is to the DVD.
A lonely trombone player wandered further from home than he had planned, and darkness was approaching. To further complicate his simple existence, he was lost in the middle of the forest. He was uncertain of what to do. Proceed forward into the unknown? Attempt to backtrack home? Being primarily a trombonist, he thought like one. These options were ridiculous. Conveniently, having a trombone on his person, he thought it more appropriate to play a tune. But what? There are so many melodies to chose from.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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