29 September, 2005

Cleaning Sux0rz

You know, when we, like, came here to live with Ben, I thought that it would be like the old times. Me and Obi-Wan watching some Scoob, eating some brownies, and like, meditating together. I was, like, way wrong.
Obi can't even see me, so needless to say, all that sappy 'good old times' stuff, like, never happened. It's been more of all-night wrestling on the holovid, while eating cheetos and drinking beer. The worst thing is that, like, Ben has taken a shining to JawaJuice. He's become Ben's 'Beer Buddy,' meaning JJ has to get Ben beer when he asks, but he entitles JJ to as much beer as he can chug. After a few nights, instead of JJ helping me communicate with my former Padawan, he was sitting beside Obi, on the couch, Cheetos in one hand, a beer in the other, rooting for Rowdy Rodian Piper.
After about a week of staying there, Ben had been called away on 'Official Jedi Business,' which was helping with the Initiates. Usually this meant Obi would spend his time as one of the Initiates, doing arts and crafts of his own (and often getting in trouble for eating the paste, glue, crayons, construction paper, macaroni, and scented markers), recess period (where he would own at dodge-ball and 'kick-the-can'), and nap time (though he would usually have to be moved to another room because of the snoring, kicking, and night-terrors).
JJ had started to get over his hang-over and vowed to never watch wresting again. See, have you ever seen a Jawa not wearing their cloak? Have you ever seen a Jawa in a skin-tight wresting leotard? No? Pray that day never comes. I love JJ. I really do, but, like, wow, get some Nair and bathe in it, or something.
With Obi away and JJ not unconscious in a Jumbo bag of Cheetos, I knew what it was time for.
I started in the main room just picking up fallen Cheetos, while JJ tackled the 'fresher (brave little guy). After three 55 gallon tubs were filled and had been carted away by the Coruscanti Environmental Security Systems (CESS), I started working on the sea of beer cans. By sea, I mean, knee-deep, wading, 'how can he still have a liver?,' 'that's a lot of cans,' cans. There were the standard Ol' Mos Eisley, Budwookie, Busch-Pilot, Endors (its Ewok for beer), Sir Guinness, Twi'lek Blue, Little Binks, Reactor Coors, Heinanakin, Elsinore, Samuel Jackson, Padme's Blue Ribbon, and Colt 45. Even some specialties, like Red 5 Tick Beer, Duff, Brew of Dooku, and Dagobah's famous Green Grog. After Force-Crushing all but one of each kind of can, which still left me about ankle deep (if I had tangable ankles), I sent off the crates and crates of metal to be melted down and made into more beer cans, or speeders, or lava lamps.
I set up the single cans and made this righteous mural of abstract swirls and colours and if you, like, stood back and looked, you'd find peace. Or have a seizure. One of the two.
With the floors cleared of freaky funk, I worked on the cleaning off the surfaces of everything. The countertops, tabletops, desktops, pillow-tops, stove-tops, couches, chairs, holo-vid trays, hampers, shrines, racks, shelves, fold-and-go storage, dressers, divans, hassocks, milk crates, cable spools, billiards tables, Sabacc tables, turntables, cinder blocks, safety deposit boxes, giant glass bottles of spare credits, toasters, microwaves, Cappuchino makers, tin openers, tyres, and Obi's collection of Opera records.
With everything sparking in several rooms, but muck on the floor so nasty that I stuck to it, it was, like, obvious what was next. I got out Ben's hoover. It was this shiny new little thing, called Mr. Sux0rz. The name was written on the front of it. Happy eyes and a big smile. "The most nauseatingly cute innovation in sucking up sludge."
I turned it on and set the nozzle down on a spot of orange and yellow funk.
There was a quick *poof* and a whiff of ozone, as the power flickered. Mr. Sux0rz stopped. I leaned down and looked him over. Like, his little bright eyes were replaced with black crosses and his happy smile was the, like, slacked jaw of a dead little vacuum.
Poor Mr. Sux0rz.
But then, there was a buzz. Suddenly, he went from sux0rz to bl0z0rz! I (meaning my non-ethereal poncho) was covered in stinky, sticky, septic slop, man! Not just me, he ralphed on the floor and walls, and the worst thing was that you couldn't see the difference.
After I hucked my poncho in the laundry chute, I went after the big guns. The legendary sucker. When you think suck, you think one of these. It sucked hardcore back when I was a Padawan. That's right. The DAL-3K.
They are droids with the capabilities to suck up small green riddle monkeys in mere seconds. They can pull the rust of the Millennium Falcon. And it scales, guts, and grinds bass in moments. It's just that simple.
See, like, there is always a down side to, like, everything. DAL-3Ks have an issue. They are inherently evil. Dag nasty evil, man. They have voice simulation modules and one catch phrase. They can only say 'exterminate' in this really nasal robotic voice.
Oh, yeah, and like, they have this appendage that discharges cinnamon death rays. Seriously. You die, but, like, your corpse smells like cinnamon. Forever.
The Lords of Suck.
But, like, digress for way too long.
So yeah, revved up the DAL-3K I got from the bowels of the janitorial closet / Tunnel of Doom. I turned around to snag a stray Cheeto, and well, I'll have to explain to Ben that all frogs go to heaven. Now there was crunchy frog on the walls with the Sux0rz spew and the beer and Cheeto dust.
You have to be firm with DAL-3Ks or they just keep coming back to haunt you, driving you mad with their repetitive one-liner and their lack of respect for multi-coloured frocks or long scarves.
"Whoa, Mr. DAL-3K, man, you need to just, like, chill out, okay? Blasting living things is, like, uncool and heavy."
"Yeah, like, cool down. Don't freak out. You are all about negative vibes, man. Just mellow."
I don't know what I did. But uh, JJ, man, can you set this thing on reverse? I can't seem to hit the button from the inside of it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Jungan wastes that is the piteous dwelling of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jawa waged a war against an army.
Jawajuice, voted number one in Coruscant's Sexiest Jawa poll in Coruscant Courier, had trapped the lot in the dilapidated 'fresher. He wore a gas mask, covering his small face, but his yellow eyes shown through. In his hands was a large chemical weapon.
He chuckled to himself, as the small forces huddled before him, cowering.

"I'm sending you all on a permanent vacation. To the fanciest Roach Motel you can find." He aimed his weapon at the shuddering insects, all unable to scurry away to hide.
"Live and let die," he said, menacingly and pushed down the end of the canister he held.
A great cloud of white dust filled the air.
The weapon fell to the floor.
In mere seconds, the roaches swarmed the young Jawa, covering his body. They wrenched at his fingers, loosening his grip and dropping the dust applicator. Reinforcements came from every crack and crevice, from the vents, the 'fresher, the sink, tub drain, behind the shower curtain, from the tube of tooth paste, in the rubbish pail, in the towels, and under the door. The cabinet under the sink opened and thousands and thousands foamed out. The floor was a living, writhing sea of cockroaches. The skittering drowned out the Jawa crying out for help.
JawaJuice found himself upside-down, hanging from the ceiling by a length of used dental floss. His gas mask and robe were gone. He had been gagged by a roll of still plastic wrapped toilet paper and small hands were bound behind his back by a rope of drain fuzz.
Through the black and brown swarm on the floor, there was a flash of white. JJ looked and saw a large albino cockroach, three times the size of an average Coruscanti roach. He wasn't sure if he could trust his eyes, but he thought he saw it wearing a tiny monocle.

"So," the white roach began, speaking in a husky voice over the clicking of roaches. The other cockroaches slowed and the sea was stilled. Their bodies arched upward around the speaker, the sea thinning at the edges but rising the white roach in the air.
"JawaJuice, you thought it was quite clever to try and kill us with your dust. As you can see, my friend, we are immune to such pathetic methods While you slept in the sink, we changed out the canister with a container of talcum powder. It smells much fresher in here, don't you agree?"
JJ struggled against his bonds, to no avail.
"Oh, I don't believe that you friend can hear you. He has been swallowed whole by the DAL-3K, an agent of Evil. He works for us. Now, my lovely Jawa, you shall meet your Doom!"

To Be Continued in JawaJuice Jump Up!

17 September, 2005

Cheeto Haze

Recently, I've been busy. I've been fighting dead Jedi Masters and whacked out Jawa, trying to understand certain stereotypical Hutt, and teaching the wisdom of the Nuteye Knights. None of this compelling adventure could prepare me for my greatest challenge yet; facing my former Padawan.
After me and JJ's swinging bachelor pad was, like, ruined by a certain fuzzy Sith Lord and 'remodeled,' and I use that term with much sarcasm, by the FOOF'ers, we had to find a place to crash. Seeing my room all, like, trashed was, like, a real bring down. I was just lucky to be able to save my plants. I've left my babies to Yoda to tend to. He's green. He should be able to handle my menagerie.
I told JJ that Obi would put us up for sure. He'd listen to his Master. That is, he would have, if he'd, like, been able to hear me.
We packed up whatever we needed (poncho, Funyuns, some choice vinyl, brownies, and some... other... stuff...). You can actually smell Obi's flat from down the hall. It's that smell that, well, like, have you ever dropped a Cheeto on the ground and left it or a few days? Then you go back and eat it? It smelled just like what you ralph up after that, man. And frog for some reason.
We stood there, cargo in tow, with bells on, well, bell = cowbell. JJ knocked.
There was this shuffling sound, beer bottles clinking, frogs croaking, belching, scratching, and crunching over the sound of wrestling on the telly.
The door opened.
I was, like, not ready for that. I thought for a split second that there was a Gamorean guard there, instead of my former Padawan. My brain shut down for a moment. I just, like, stood there and blinked. "Obi-Wan?"
He was probably nearing, like, 300 pounds. His red hair was more orange and his skin was covered in a greasy orange sheen. Even his tighty whities were an off-orange, and it looked as though the stubborn understains were the only thing that held them together. The only way that I knew this was in fat Obi-Wan and not some galoot or lummox, was Obi's eyes. They were glazed over and bloodshot, sure, but it was Obi, man.
He ran a greasy hand over his orange beard, a puff of Cheeto dust wafted out. With a puzzled look, he glanced left and right. "...duh, huh?"
"Down here, Obi." JJ had a hand clapped to his face, in a futile gesture to filter out some of the orange powder than began to settle on his cloak.
"Well, kiss mah grits! JJ! How you doin', you ol' JawaJuice?" Obviously, Obi-Wan had been far too much Mama's Family. His glazed eyes brightened and he held out a sticky hand. It, like glowed neon lava-lamp lava orange.
JJ, like, shuddered, visibly. He touched a finger to the centre of Obi's palm, but was suddenly swept up into a big bear hug. He was pressed against the grimy rolls of lard at Obi's belly, which was, like, gag worthy, man. When Obi let go, JJ slid down his front, adhering to the funk coating Obi's body.
I helped JJ to regain his bearings and used a bit of the Force to stop him from melfing.
"What can ah do fer ya'?" I caught a glance of Obi's teeth and a trickle of terror ran through me. They were that of the Sith. Sith teeth, only orange.
"We, like, need a place to stay, man." My bell jingled as I spoke.
"JJ," Obi said, eyes wide, "I don't want to be alarmin' ya', but there's a disembodied poncho with a cowbell behind ya'."
"That's Qu- Wait. You can't see him. Oh, no. No. This is some horrid situation comedy and I am just about sick of playing the sidekick." JJ turned to me, his Jawa eyes looking glowy and miffed. "He can't see you. That means I get to play narrator to some big bumbling oaf and the dead. This is not my idea for a good weekend, buddy."
That was a bummer. "That's a bummer, man," I said, as it was a bummer. "We don't have much choice. I don't, like, have any bread, man. It's either this or Motel 66."
"Isn't that where those Jedi were backstabbed by an army of clones and slaughtered?"
Obi looked confused. The shell of filth on his mustache visibly cracked, "What?!"
JJ turned to him. "Sorry. Me and Qui need a place to stay."
"Master Qui-Gon? He ain't here. Just you and that scary floatin' poncho."
I reached out with a touch of the Living Force and tapped Obi-Wan's mind. "Obi. Man. Like, we need your help..."
I was interrupted by a voice. "We're sorry, the Jedi you are trying to reach *burp* Obi-W,Wan Kenobi is no longer in tune with the Force. Please try back later."
I sighed. "Oh man, he can't see or, like, hear me."
JJ asked Obi, "You really can't see Qui-Gon behind me?"
Obi shook his head. "Qui-Gon ain't here. All I see is that floating poncho and the bell. That sure is a nifty trick there, JJ."
"All right, Obi-Wan," JJ said, running his hand over his face, "Qui-Gon is here with me. What can we say to convince you of that?"
"Call him Oafy-Wan." That was Obi's nickname when he was growing up.
JJ did so. "Oafy-Wan."
Obi smiled. "Huh huh. Git 'er done! Everybody calls me Oafy-Wan! I even gets junk mail to that there name."
JJ glanced over at me, looking shocked and more than a little, like, majorly miffed.
So what would Obi remember? Something that was just between the two of us. "Tell him that I used to sing Golden Slumbers to him whenever he had a bad dream." Yeah, I did that, man. When he was just a little Padawan, he used to have these awful night terrors. He'd wake up screaming almost every night. He'd only calm down and fall back to sleep when I sang to him.
"You sang to him? This is a crap sitcom, I swear! The studio audience should be going 'aww' right now then to be followed by a one line zinger by yours truly! Not gonna happen!"
Obi tensed a bit and gave a the Rock eyebrow quirk. "Uh, he did sing to me."
JJ shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Golden Slumbers, I know. I'm thinking Motel 66 will be better than enduring this and we haven't stepped foot in the door."
"Golden Slumbers..." Obi stood still, lost. He shook his head.
"Yes. Can we come in? I really need to use the little Jawa's room."
Obi snapped out of it and a sudden smile broke over his Cheeto covered features. He looked like a near naked, grimy, orange Saa'nta Clus, the jolly old holiday gift Master. "C'mon in! I gots Cheetos and beer and wrasslin'!"
Well, at the first glance, I knew what I'd be doing for the next few days. I vowed to clean every inch of Obi's flat, bit by bit.
After GWOotOfWitG Wresting ended, somewhere after 2 am, JJ had retired to his sink. Obi was asleep on the couch, one orange hand clutching the remote, the other in an empty bag of Cheetos. I was given to option to sleep in the pantry, but as it was filled with cases of Ol' Mos Eisley beer and bags of Cheetos, I passed on that. Thanks, but, like, no thanks, man..
He started dreaming, in that kicking, mumbling, drooling sort of way.
I was able to make out something along the lines of, "Mace as Happy McBurgerbra is a sin against nature," "I wanna drink from the fire hose," and something about Anakin's pop album. It had been a long time since I'd seen it, but I knew Obi was starting into a night terror.
By using a bit of the Living Force into a Mind Trick, I linked into Obi's head. What a mess. There was Cheeto dust in his thoughts, but it was darker, like Cheeto dust that was in the shade, or something.
Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep little Jedi do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby
Golden Slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles awake when you rise
Sleep little Jedi do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

He calmed and fell back asleep.
Things just got too serious in my head. I needed some alone time, so I slipped outside to meditate. And eat like a pound of brownies.

02 September, 2005

Spice Wars : A Fluke of a Victory

The situation still was of teh bad for our plucky heroes. Though he'd never admit it, the venerable deceased Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was claustrophobic. Being in the ghost containment unit freaked him out, big time. Though he'd never admit it, Han Solo was a junkie. All of the interventions, therapy, and attempts at cutting him off, nothing worked. But I guess the lack of self control and denial just add to Han's already rich character.
Well, back to the EPIC SAGA that is Spice Wars.
Deep in the Kessel underbelly, in a place called Irrational Exuberance, sat the girthy blob, Yatta the Hutt. In his abode, there was little comfort. But an abundance of comfort food in the shape of the galaxy's remaining supply of UNCLE JINN AND JJ'S HOMEMADE SUPER FUDGY "SPECIAL SPICED" BROWNIES!
The pit was quaint, if you like drooling Gamorean guards and the taste of raw baby Opee fish. The decor was all ancient metalwork, tarnished brass and copper. Though, the lighting was left to be desired, with a lacking of strong central light scheme, which left the area feeling dark and dank.
Captain Solo had been detained. He knelt, hands cuffed behind his back, snarfing out of the familiar GNK droid that was filled with brownie magic.
On Yatta's tiny squat table at the middle of his lair, was the small box that contained the spirit of Qui-Gon Jinn. If it weren't being drown out by the sound of Happatai's newest single, one could hear the faintest protests. The box did, however, visibly move.
The Ghostbuster, Ray, sat proudly beside the exalted lard-butt, sucking on his cigar.

YATTA: Lay, Kawaii-Gon lock the box.
RAY: What?
YATTA: Kawaii-Gon, he move?
RAY: Kawaii-Gon? OH! Oh! QUI-GON! The ghost. He's in the containment unit.
YATTA: Moving mush.
RAY: Mush? *turns his attention to the containment unit* OH! Moving! Yes, he'll do that. Locked tight though. He ain't getting out of there without someone manually letting him out by pressing THIS BUTTON. *points to a big shiny red button* Well, I've got my pay, so I'm off to not complicate things further. Thanks for the job, Yatta.
YATTA: You wecome.
Ray exited stage right.
Suddenly and very unexpectedly, as nothing has been leading up to this point and no-one should have seen it coming, not even those who actually were part of the event, the galaxy's greatest Spore Fuser, Jive Bringer, Bantha Shearer, Cooling Bot Maker, Founder of the New Jedi Order Wannabe, FLUKE STARBUCKER, and the Bling Bling of the Little Kings, Shrewd Business Dealer and Haggler Supreme, the guy who makes Orco look like a goon, JAWAJUICE busted in through the very large front door. Fluke stood heroically at the entrance whilst JJ made his way, surreptitiously, through the shadows, nearing Han.

FLUKE: Alright, Happy Poppinjay! Where's the Spice?
YATTA: Spice?
FLUKE: That's right, Scuzzbucket, the spice. See, I've caught up on the back issues of Liberty Meadows, as well as the past few issues of What Next? comics, featuring the current Spice Wars story-arc crossover that Wizard magazine raved about... Well, it seems that your hideous plan has been revealed to me, Dork Nuggets!
YATTA: What pran of you speak?
FLUKE: It's all here! *pulls out the newest What Next? comic, holds it up for Yatta* The dizzying highs, the staggering lows, and dramatic lack of spicy good brownies, you Spazzy Flubberbob!
YATTA: What you say!
FLUKE: You've taken away from me the things I hold most dear, Yatta. You've captured my friends and held them here, against their will. You didn't try to barter. You didn't listen to the voice of reason speaking something that makes a whole lot more sense than 'what you say.'' But mostly, you gelatinous ooze of a booger, you took away my BROWNIES! And that I cannot forgive!
YATTA: You want spice? You can't handle spice!
FLUKE: Let's do this like respectable members of the Legion of Galactic Heroes, so I don't lose my membership. What do you want out of this, Sluggo?
YATTA: The Price is Yatta!
FLUKE: *looks confused* Alright, screw that. Let's get to the fight scene!
YATTA: Bling it on!
Meanwhile, the stealthiest Jawa this side of Stabbic the Ninja Jawa, JJ, reached Captain Solo.
JJ: *whispering* Han. Han... Why is your head in that Gonk?
HAN: *gobble, snarf, snap* Gone.
JJ: *still whispering* Are you saying 'gone' as like something is no longer there, or are you meaning it as the urban term for 'go away?'
HAN: All gone.
JJ: What is all gone?
HAN: Brownies... I like Pink Floyd.
JJ: There were brownies?
HAN: Another brick in the... thing... *bursts into a fit of giggles*
JJ: Shut up, man! You want Yatta to catch us?
HAN: Sing along, man! We don't need no... something something...
JJ: *shakes his head*
Back to Fluke.
There was an obvious disadvantage in Fluke's case, as he was but a strapping young lad, and Yatta was a metric tonne of flab. Fluke had his fantastic speed and fighting prowess to rely on, whilst Yatta had brute strength and his bulky physique to back him up.
Fluke made the first attack, a Running Flying Jumping Fist, aimed straight at Yatta's mug. The assault did succeed, but did very little damage to Yatta's health bar. Next, Fluke sought to make the attack a combo, but attempting the move, Kicki-Kicki-Tavi, but Yatta blocked with Swatting Fist of Doom. The impact knocked Fluke down, making little bells appear over his head. Yatta slithered in and performed Rocking and Rolling High School, rolling over the fallen FotNJOW. Fluke's life bar was flashing red now, but he was able to bounce back, returning to a fighting stance. Fluke, then, charged up and threw Flukisimo Flaming Flare of Flame. (toasty) Yatta flew back a bit, creating the illusion that he looked like any humanoid would if their flaming body slammed to the ground before he recovered. Yatta reared back and executed the dreaded Gajillion Tail Slap, smacking Fluke silly.
Fluke's lifebar dropped to nil. He swayed on his feet. Yatta hit him with Gramma Gardulla's Earflick of Pain, and Fluke went down.
Again, we go back to JJ and Han.

JJ: Han? Ol' Buddy?
Han: Socks. *his eyes widen and he looks enlightened* There are SOCKS!
JJ: That's right, Han. Socks. Where is Qui-Gon?
HAN: It's all coming back to me, JawaJunkie. Clear as the letter 'k.' And there are musical forms that are NOT Pink Floyd.
JJ: It's 'Juice.' And, looking for QG, dude.
HAN: My mind is so clear and *catches his reflection in the shiniest side of the GNK droid* I am sexy. Distractingly good-looking. Rumpled hair, but rugged good looks. I know what I've been missing, JarJarJuice!
JJ: *disgustedly* JawaJuice.
HAN: *grooming himself in the reflection* I've spent so much time and energy searching for brownies, selling off my crew and my collection of antique blasters, that I've forgotten what is really important to me. ME! Not brownies, or spice, or other things that I still can't remember... I am ME. And I am OKAY. *sniff*
JJ: Look, man, that's great. Really is. But Fluke is getting the living crap kicked out of him by the Lardball that passed the Engrish Proficiency Tests and I still can't find Qui-Gon!
HAN: Fluke, huh? Definitely not a looker like me. Here. *pulls out the galaxy's last Uncle Jinn and JJ's Homemade Super Fudgy "Special Spiced" Brownie packet* Been hanging on to that. Bit over the expiration date, though. *goes back to looking at himself in the GNK*
JJ: *looking at the expiration date* Whew! 6 months.... *gets out a permanent marker and scribbles out the date* Good as new. I just hope that over time these brownies didn't alter their molecular forms to become something UNSTABLE!
Returning you to your Pay-A-Certain-Jawa-Lots-To-View Event!
The battle suddenly meant more to Fluke than before, as he already had the dreaded FIRST LOSS icon next to his life bar. One more would mean something bad, like the use of a continue. But in this battle, it would cost him far more than a quarter!
Fluke flew in for the chance to strike first. He unleashed Spores A'Pourin' burying his opponent in loads of little button mushrooms. However, Fluke had no idea that Yatta loved fungi! The slimy blob ate his way through the cute little 'shrooms like they were exceptionally yummy candy or something. Fluke wasted no time and returned with the Flukisimo Waltz of Mayhem. This normally made the average Glass Joe or Piston Honda dance in some funktified manner, thus disarming them. This was not the case.
Yatta's funky face implant mask dropped from his face and he threw off his cape, revealing the most horrid sight in the history of eyeballs. A Hutt wearing nothing but a leaf. The sacred Yatta leaf. But nonetheless, full huttal nudity. Worse followed. Yatta the globulous began to sing the number one hit, Yatta! He started the dance, you know, the Yatta! dance, where you bend your elbows and go back and forth. He even danced to the Q, Queue part, that creepy singy thing.
Fluke clawed at his blast shield, trying to force it lower. He sought to block out the nauseatingly catchy music and motions, much like a lava-lamp, that Yatta performed before him.

FLUKE: no... How could you use my own powers against me? What shall I do? I can't even muster the strength to mock your name...
JJ: FLUKE! FUSE THE SPORES! *tosses the brownie packet to the fallen Fluke* Eat this, dude!
FLUKE: Thanks, my little helpy Jawa friend!
JJ: I am so going to need therapy... But who would believe all of this?
Fluke tore into the packet, freeing the sweet, sweet, incredibly stale brownies from within. He popped the little brick into his mouth and gave a chew.
FLUKE: GAH! It's like a rock! *crunch crunch* Like a fudgy delicious rock of POWER!
Fluke played something almost like the Popeye theme with his armpit, but with a cymbal beat, so that no-one can get sued here.
Yatta still danced the rhythmic dance of blubber singing with all his gooeyriffic might.
Fluke found that the brownies were indeed special. The aged spice grew into a matrix of tightly bound stoner molecules. These molecules reacted to the sporeyclorians that were a part of Fluke's blood. Together, Fluke became...

ULTRAMEGAUBERSUPER FLUKE! He grew twice his normal size, suddenly being of the right ratio to take down Yatta in melee combat. The blubber butt stopped shaking his groove thing and went wide eyed.
FLUKE: *in a deep creepy voice* Get over here!
He reached out his recently elongated hand and grabbed the far less intimidating slug by his flubbery nose.
FLUKE: So, Spooty Spooterson, what's the price now?
YATTA: Uh... eep... Very Leasonable.
FLUKE: That's right, Bubba.
YATTA: No, Bubba my brother. I am call Yatta.
A while later, things worked out wonderfully. Fluke and JawaJuice negotiated a very fair pricing scheme, broken up into monthly installments with a very nice fixed rate APR for first time buyers. Yatta admitted defeat and his heart grew three sizes that day. And all Han's down his Irrational Exuberanceville, the vain and the sexy, all stared at their reflections in a shiny red button on a box of glexnexy.
HAN: What is this thing? *pushing the shiny red button*
With a blinding flash of light, the venerable dead hippie Jedi, Qui-Gon Jinn, was released from his prison of late eighties haute technology.
QUI-GON: Oh wow did it suck in there! I do so hope that everything ended up in, like, this happy ending, man. 'Cause I'm not feeling up to kicking some Hutt.
JJ: It's all good, QG, my man. I'll explain the terms of the contract in the Falcon on the way home.

~CONGRADURATION! This story over! You find happy time in VICTOLY!~