09 August, 2005

Not Tipping the Pizza Guy

We played the waiting game. As well as 'I Spy,' charades, and 'Cockroach, Atomic Bomb, Shoe.'
That Maul. He's not that bad of a guy, once you get to know him, and he's not, like, sauteeing your innards with his lightsabre. We talked politics, our religious differences, and who was the hottest of 'Chewie's Angels.' He said he felt really bad for mowing me down, especially in front of my Padawan.
"How is the mighty warrior that bested me in combat?"
"Two words. Pro Wrestling."
He shook his head. "Oh, Sidious, no. Pro Wrestling was what drew me to the Dark Side in the first place. I was once Maulinator from the Galactic Wrestling Order of the Organisation for Wrestling in the Galaxy. We called it GWOotOfWitG."
"I remember GWOotOfWitG. Obi-Wan was a big fan when he was a Youngling. He used to say that he wanted to, like, either be a Jedi or a Pro Wrestler. I used to be cool with it, man. He was little, and he kept up on his studies. But since I, like, died... It's like he's using it to escape reality."
"That's all it's really good for anyway. My fans were mostly sweaty slobs, with poor hygiene, lacking in manners. It was just a show of testosterone, really. I only got in to pay my college loans."
"How long did you wrestle?"
He thought for a moment. "For something like ten years. I stopped when my Master recruited me."
Of course! "I think me and Ben met you at after a match once! I remember that Ben had your autograph in his collection. He was, like, 16 or so and was chuffed to bits afterward. You were really gracious for a psycho killer."
"That's funny..." He gave a laugh. "That was my nickname on the circuit. Maulinator, the Psycho Killer. On three counts."
He stood up and stretched. "You want to do this thing, dude? The boss will start wondering what is going on."
"He, like, really doesn't have cameras? He couldn't see any of this?"
"Pizza dreams of being a Bond villain. At least he's got the technological ineptness down. All high-tech high-end gadgets, and a dramatic lack of cameras." Maul flashed those rank teeth. "Even if he did have cameras, we could just Force wipe his brain."
So, Maul and I, like, got into our characters. He played the homicidal maniac of his youth. I put myself into a Force trance, making my Ethereal form appear limp, as my essence collected and compressed inside the ghost body. He drug me over to the Ethereal Transporter and activated it.
I was aware of the freezing cold before anything else. I could sense, but not observe.
"Mauly Boy, did you finish the job for me?" The voice was that of Pizza, wheezing and bubbling and reeking of provolone.
"Yes, my Master," he said, holding me aloft, "the Jedi is dead."
"He was dead before."
Maul shook as he held my cloak. "That's, that's right! He's deader. More dead than before. Dead dead deadski. Afterlife kids."
"Sssso, what ssshould we do with the body?" Stupid Cheese Rat. Leave the body alone.
"Uh, whatever do you mean?" I could sense Maul's fear.
"Weww, don't Jedi dissapeaw when they awe kiwwed?"
"That is a common misconception. You see, most of the details are sketchy and many reports have been stated as not being official canon."
"So does that mean he's dead?" Pizza asked, the agitation caused his voice to rise.
"Oh, he's dead all right."
"Howevew, he was dead befowe," Caesar pointed out in his particular idiom. "Did you weally kiww him fow weal? Awe you wying?"
Maul was in trouble as I could sense the Noid nearing us. His voice was like that of a high-pitched cartoon snake on helium. "...pizza... let usss kill the hippiesss..."
I allowed my true essence to fill my form. I stood. "They got us, man."
Maul knew what to do.
We waved our hands at Little Caesar, the Noid, and Chuck E. Cheese, performing the Force Mind Trick.
They all had a sudden craving for Pizza.
As we left the chamber, we knew there would be no left-overs.
So that's how it ended. Not with a scream or whisper, but with the munchies.

Maul and I parted ways, promising to send an email from time to time.
When I got home, the terrifying realisation hit me.
Where was I going to get more spice?


At 7:36 am, Blogger jedisiri said...

'deader'.mmm...it's a good word,qui.

At 1:51 pm, Blogger flu said...

I liked deadski, myself.

Sure glad you guys were able to avoid the Noid. I bet Pizza wishes he could've done so, too.

I hope the spice substitute you find will be as good a quality as Pizza's. Surely, you'll find a decent sub... right? I mean, you won't rest until the brownies futures are secure, right? Do you have a good sized finished goods inventory built up to keep up with demand as suppliers get lean? You do have a contingency, right?

I'm like Jonesin for a brownie... and like, physically shaking at the thought of halted production while a suitable replacement for the spice is found...

I feel so cold and alone

At 3:59 pm, Blogger Anakin Skywalker said...


At 4:13 pm, Blogger JawaJuice said...

hmmm...that was a cheesy ending.

At 5:21 pm, Blogger Aayla Secura said...

That Chuck E. Cheese is a trickster.

At 12:42 am, Blogger owenlars said...

I like the word deader, too. Like a deader Jawa.

At 9:29 am, Blogger Mon Mothma said...

Oh my, what a story.

Well, I'm happy to hear that you've made peace with you killer, at least...


Post a Comment

<< Home