The Time I Was Hired to Fix The Return of the Jedi

They really needed my help.

Last night I dreamt that I was living in the early eighties, and I was hired to fix The Return of the Jedi, which was in production, because George Lucas was ruining it. I headed over to the current filming location—a cheap arcade. Han Solo was getting in a fight with Jabba's henchmen by the basketball shooting game.

"Your budget is millions of dollars, and you didn't even build a set?!" I said to George Lucas. "I know you're trying to say that there are universal constants in humanoid behavior, but we're supposed to be in a galaxy far, far away, and all the signs are in English!" I pointed to the orange neon snacks sign above the air hockey tables.

What a hag.

George Lucas muttered something about realism and wandered off to direct a chase scene through the bar. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind about realism and resolving a love triangle by magically making two of the parties magical siblings, but I next saw Carrie Fisher near the pizza parlor. "You need to stop smoking—it's making you look old," I told her. She agreed with me even as she took another drag.

Then we went to the basement of the arcade, which had psychedelic white, red, and lime green walls and, on one, a spinning blue and silver vortex that opened to another dimension. An alien or demon or something emerged from the vortex and started chasing Harrison Ford and I, and then I woke up.