Only You Can Prevent Forest Fires

There’s a big difference between Smokey the Bear when one is a child:

and when one is an adult:

But what made me think of all this was watching Star Wars (I never miss a chance to listen to Carrie Fisher commentary), when Darth Vader kills Obi Wan Kenobi, and then toes his sodden robes with his foot, which I guess is redundant, ’cause I guess he wouldn’t toe them with his nose, would he? Well, I remember when I saw it, the audience erupted in disdain and disgust, but I’d just seen Bambi:

and been traumatized in so many different ways (I had to be carried out of the theatre in a swoon) but it instilled in me a deep, abiding, and overweening fear of fire (I don’t to this day know where I find the nerve to barbecue, let alone flame a Bananas Foster or a Christmas Pudding), that in spite of the horror of Alec Guinness’ murder (or, to call a spade a spade, the euthanization, though you’d never think of Darth as a Kevorkian from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away)

all I thought was, “How nice, Mr Vader’s stamping out any sparks or cinders that might be there, he’s trying to prevent an inferno on the Death Star.” I mean, Dorothy wasn’t so careful when she melted the Witch, even with all the smoke billowing about

she just let her dog go sniffing around, and there was a hell of a lot more wood in her castle than on the Death Star. Of course, it didn’t work out that well for poor Darth in the end,

but points, points, points for effort; it just goes to show, “Only you can prevent forest fires.”