Holding Jar-Jar's hand

I started to type this post as Beetlebugs 2: Riddle of the Binks but then I quickly realized that I must be in a good mood to type something witty and cute. Instead, I am not in a good mood. I am in a rather pissy mood. Why, you ask?

I absolutely cannot stand holding the hands of a dumbass who simply can't (or even won't) think for him or herself. Typically this involves the giving of instructions on my part, the circling of those instructions in the air as they try to land on the ear drum of the dumbass recipient, and the silent-but-deadly sound (and smell) of the instructions as they crash into the frontal lobe of the dumbass' forehead. This causes an alert which I liken in annoyance to the old Windows 3.x, 95, and 98 "blue screen of death" only the dumbass doesn't have a power button and no matter how hard I try, yelling "CONTROL-ALT-DELETE" at him doesn't seem to help the living blue screen go away.

Let's call the dumbass "Jar Jar Binks" (or Jar Jar, for short). He is dumb, like Jar Jar. He has a dumb accent, like Jar Jar. And, his function in the movie called "The Life of Hdez: Freakin Rican's Strike Back" doesn't seem to be apparent (except to drive me crazy). I take my trusty instructional slingshot with my pellets of information and proceed to aim at all of those who sit in my classes. "Right between the eyes" I think in deafening silence and - ZIP - there goes a pellet of knowledge ready to bruise that cranial muscle.

Problem is this: Jar-Jar wears a helmet. This means that all knowledge which is projectile vomited from my never ending mouth doesn't affect him. What it means for me: pure out and out aggravation. I have to sit there, put on a vintage pre-Patykula smile (it is vintage, I tell you) and then hold Jar Jar's hald firmly as I instruct:

1.) With your right hand, pick up the roll.
2.) With your left hand, take 5 squares.
3.) Lift up from the seat, bend over, and proceed to apply the 5 sheets to your buttockal area.
4.) Repeat 1-3 as necessary in order to clean thorough. Diligence and extra pressure may be needed.

The result? Oh my oh my - simply take that rather gross and turgid metaphor and then imagine those who work at Taco Bell, Outback Steakhouse or any other cheap suburban dive. In the back of the kitchen there is Jar-Jar's cousin forgetting what order to do steps 1-4. "Fuck it" he says as he leaves the washroom (the "wash" part is lost on him). He dons the chefs smock, preps a wonderful tuna nicoise salad with his bar hands and then gives it to your server, Ella, so that you may delight in a savorful dish of tuna and greens. Upon tasting it, something seems strange and so you inquire: "is this salmon, Ella?"

Yes, it is an excruciatingly painful experience to work with Jar-Jar and other Gungans. With the exception of horny, meesa not feeling anything else but angry right now.