I turned to my husband last night, frowning, and said, “Honey, I think I broke my Porg.”
My husband responded by rolling his eyes.
Allow me to back up:
For those who have been on the internet since Monday night or watched that shit show of a football game on ESPN, you have no doubt seen the new trailer for the next installment of the “Star Wars” saga, “The Last Jedi.” Fans were given a 2.5 minute peek at what comes next in the continuing story set “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.”
Since then, what has dominated the conversation about the trailer are not the conspiracy theories about Kylo Ren and Rey’s relationship or if Luke Skywalker dies, but this little guy:
Honestly, look how cute he is! He appears to be the hybrid of an owl and a penguin. Also, he gets street cred immediately for appearing to co-pilot the galaxy’s most infamous smuggler ship, the “Millennium Falcon,” with Chewie.
Prior to my funemployment, I was drawn into the building hype of this movie via the toy ads from Target. I’m not made of stone. I love “Star Wars” and have fond memories of putting together the aforementioned “Millennium Falcon” with my Dad on Christmas morning. I also had the now hard-to-find Boba Fett ship “Slave I.” My mother sold it at a garage sale many years ago. I am not bitter. No, not at all.
During one of our Friday night Target trips, I teased my husband, telling him that if I “saw a squawking Porg, it’d be coming home with me.” My husband is used to this by now and didn’t say a word as we veered away from the grocery aisle, on a collision course with the toy section.
“Honey, I think that creature you want is sitting right there,” my husband pointed at the “Star Wars” kiosk at the end of the aisle:
I should also mention the family of Ewoks currently residing in our spare bedroom. I couldn’t bare to let them go to liquidation when we cleaned my folks’ house out last year.
Some things are sacred, including woodland creatures from the forest moon of Endor.
But, back to my Porg problem.
I gave the little guy a squeeze and squawk he did, sounding a bit like Indiana’s most beloved internet sensation, ‘Lil Bub. I informed my husband that Porg was going to be adopted (also, he was on-sale – what a find) that night.
Since then, I got laid off and have probably spent more time than any reasonable adult should giving this toy a squeeze or taking it on car trips to run errands. I mean, if Porg could co-pilot the “Millennium Falcon,” surely he could sit in the passenger seat of my Volkswagen Jetta, a vehicle slightly less capable of intergalactic travel.
Last night, tragedy struck. I went to give my cute, squawking stress ball a squeeze, only to discover he’d gone mute. This is when I informed my husband that I had “broken my Porg.” My husband, frown still firmly in place, took the creature from me and began trying to squeeze it’s rotund tummy.
No squawks came out.
We believe I may’ve given Porg too big a squeeze, causing his metaphorical internal monologue to cease. There will be no yelling from the passenger seat of my car in his immediate future.
However, he’s still adorable and I don’t plan to give in to the theories about people eating Porgs in “The Last Jedi.” That just seems cruel. Plus, no one ate Ewoks or Jar-Jar in the previous iterations of these beloved films.
Yes, my Porg is mute. But, that just makes him special. Plus, I can take him to “The Last Jedi” in a couple months and squeeze him without fear of interrupting the movie-going experience for my fellow audience-goers.
Is it mid-December yet?