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More Adventures of Jon and Star




I recall one time when Star and I were eating lunch at a diner in a remote gas station. Star had ordered the hamburger and I had the “special,” whatever that was.

Suddenly, someone burst in from outside and screamed, “OH MY GOD!! There is a horde of bikers assaulting the gas station.” Everyone began to panic, myself included. Everyone except Star, that is. He was a rock.

Star stood up slowly, a bit peeved at an interruption in his lunchtime. “I’ll go see what they want,” Star stated. Then he strode to the door and began to open it.

“Don’t go out there, Star,” a little girl pleaded. “They will hurt you, and I will be sad.” The girl made an about-to-cry face.

Star turned around and approached the little girl. He went down on one knee and patted the girl’s head. “It’s alright, kid. I won’t get hurt. Just sit down there and listen to some of my songs on that jukebox.” He handed the girl a quarter.

Then Star looked at me. “Let’s go,” he said. I was frightened. Bikers are scary. I was about to tell Star as much when I looked in his eyes, and they lent me strength. I went to the door behind him.

We stepped outside and a gunshot rang out across the dry desert. We looked at the wall of the diner behind us and saw a rather large bullet hole. I was freaking out, but Star didn’t seem concerned. The Bikers had encircled the diner and there was nowhere to go. Star stepped forward.

“Who is in charge of this rabble?” Star inquired with authority.

One biker got off his bike and walked up to Star. He was right in Star’s face. The Biker was an ugly guy with a large bald spot. He was sporting a Dirty Harry kind of gun, the kind that makes your nipples hard.

“I am in charge here. What are you gonna do about it?” replied the biker.

“Well hello, sir, my name is Star, and this is my friend Floop. And what may I call you, sir?” asked Star.

The biker seemed taken aback.

“My name is Frances….Butch, my name is Butch, and you and your little friend there are going to die now.” The bald man seemed more than a little scary to me right then, as he pointed his gun in my direction.

I wet myself. It was embarrassing. I scrambled behind a car parked nearby.

“Your friend there is a pansy, Moon…or Sun or whatever.” The biker observed.

The disarming smile that was on Star’s face vanished, and was replaced by a grim look you would have to see to fully appreciate.

“Frances, I can forgive you insulting me, but when you insult my friends, you cross the line. I have to kill you now.” Star stated matter-of-factly.

Then Star drew his lightsaber, and turned it on. The light blue blade appeared with an orgasmic hiss.

Frances wet himself. He fell to his knees, babbling, when confronted by the awesome image of Star, lightsaber in hand.

“Oh please, Star, sir, please don’t hurt me. I was just trying to act big in front of my biker friends so they would like me.” The biker was groveling. Star put his lightsaber away.

“Get up, Frances. I am going to sing you a little song I know that fits this situation perfectly.” Star sang a song about how the only way to truly win someone’s respect and become true friends is to accept each other’s faults and the best way to lead them is to show them how to embrace all the peoples of the world as brothers.

It moved me. Apparently, it moved Frances too, because he dropped his gun, and motioned for his bikers to go into the diner with him. He apologized to me and everyone in the diner. He shook Star’s hand and thanked him sincerely for showing him the error of his ways.

Frances was so moved by Star’s song, that he turned his biker gang into a band named “The Second Chances.” They play in that diner every Saturday night.

Star and I paid for our food and left the diner. As we got into the Starmobile, the patrons of the diner poured into the parking lot, and cheered us on our way.

We had to stop soon to get me a new pair of pants, but that’s another story.





Copyright 2003-2009 Star Salzman.
All rights and wrongs reserved.


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