30 August, 2005

Spice Wars : Who You Gonna Call?

We left our heroes in a tight spot. It seemed that Captain Han Solo (TM) and Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn (R) were facing up against the dreaded Yatta, the Hutt (C). The Millennium Falcon (SM) had been caught on its voyage deep into space, to the planet of Kessel.
Yatta: Oh ho ho... Uh, chee chee chee. You both are have much hard times in future. Let's fighting love!
Han: This can't not be! Where by we find victoly?
Qui-Gon: All right look, I've been really, like, mellow and patient, but seriously, guys, this is starting to piss me off, like something fierce. Someone start speaking right, man!
Yatta: Meaning of words I give to you with vicareous much emotion. Learn Yatta true mean form!
Han: I did it!
Qui-Gon: You did what?
Han: Meaning Yatta is. I did it!
Qui-Gon: No Yatta means 'fat, repulsive blob with, like, bad grammar, and like, worse hygiene,' man.
Yatta: I teach gleatness that I possess for much time! Taste of corrossal hurt make me you have! Fear I give you, Kawaii-Gon Jinn.
Qui-Gon: Look, man. You're making my head hurt with your crazy talk. Just get on with your 'greatuh massiveuh pran.'
Yatta: Mocking kindness is not. Give you now... LAY!!
Han: *eyes widen* O! O_O
Qui-Gon: Dude, your eyes... This is almost comical... Now, man, let me get this straight. You're getting me laid.
Yatta: Nani?! No! LAY! Give you LAY!
Suddenly, the door to the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon opened. Out walked one bad motha' ...shut yo' mouth. Can ya' dig it? Dressed in his finest court-room attire, this jovial man from the ice planet of Cantantinadia, stood boldly before the two, his hands in fists resting on his hips. He had an unlit cigar in his mouth and a large black ruck-sack.
Yatta: LAY! Who you going car?
Ray: Hi guys, I'm Ray Stanz from the Ghostbusters.
Qui-Gon: Oh dude. Ghostbusters. Major bring down. man.
Yatta: Lay! Get you invaders give hot bullets of shotgun to die!
Ray: I don't have a shotgun.
Qui-Gon made a flowing motion upward with his ethereal form, trying to pass through the hull of the ship. He connected with the ceiling and fluttered back to the floor, like a leaf falling from a tree.
Qui-Gon: What the...? Seriously, ow.
Yatta: Frying no more for you. No escape. N.O. E.S.C.A.P.E.
Qui-Gon: I got that much. Thanks a lot, man.
Han: No! Kawaii-Gon, best fends for level!
Captain Solo stood, defiantly. He took up a defensive position before the moping Force Ghost.
Yatta: Solo. Chee chee chee. For you to look have I got much!
The great rotund keeper of the Spice waved his stubby hand. The doors of the cockpit hissed open again, this time a lonely GONK droid entered. It stepped up to the Captain and opened a compartment at its front. Inside were ~ UNCLE JINN AND J.J.'S HOMEMADE SUPER FUDGEY SPECIAL SPICED BROWNIES!
Han: No! Wait. For me?
Yatta: Consume much as it bring you happy times.
Without considering the consequences, like the heartache of Thunder-Thighs at the weight gain, or the fact that he left the ghost alone with the Ghostbuster, Captain Solo dug in, stuffing his face with brownie goodness.
Ray withdrew a small hand-held taser and zapped Qui-Gon, forcing him away from the brownies.

Qui-Gon: Fascist!
The door to the cockpit slid shut. The Ghostbuster and the Ghost squared off in the open living chamber in the Falcon. Qui-Gon Jinn took up a flanking position near the wall, drawing his lightsabre. Ray sucked on his cigar, pulling out his attached blaster from his proton pack.
Qui-Gon: Do we really have to do this? I'm a pacifist, man.
Ray: I'm really sorry, but do you know what it is like doing cameos at children's parties? No-one told me when I was getting my degree in Spectral Manifestation Biology and Abnormal Spiritual Psychology that it would be so hard to find a job.
Qui-Gon: I hear what you're sayin', man. Since I shuffled my mortal coil, I've been having to do parlour tricks. I'm like so stoked that I've got my brownies to fall back on.
Ray: You seem a decent fellow. I hate to have to snare you and suck your Living Force form into this.
The Ghostbuster held up a metallic box on a long wire. The box was the size of a standard shoe box, with a yellow and black striped panel on the top.
Qui-Gon: *looking nervous* You seem a decent fellow. I hate to have to be sucked in that, like, thing, man.
Ray: Begin.
The two took their stances. Qui-Gon began to slowly creep around the perimeter of the small quarters, holding his ethereal lightsabre fast in his left hand. Ray followed the motion with his eyes, looking confident. He powered up his proton blaster on its lowest level, wielding it like it were his own 'sabre.
Qui-Gon: You are using Bibby's Defence against me, man.
Ray: I thought it fitting considering the brownie wrapper covered terrain.
Qui-Gon: Naturally, you must expect me to, like, attack with Wampa Flair.
Ray: Naturally... But I find that Tydirium cancels out Wampa Flair. Don't you?
Qui-Gon: Unless the enemy has studied Ackbar... Which I have!
The battle wound around as the two continued to exchange attacks.
Qui-Gon: You are far out, man!
Ray: Thank you. I have worked hard to become so.
Qui-Gon: *grinning* I admit it, man. You are, like, better than I am.
Ray; Then why are you smiling?
Qui-Gon: Because I, like, know something that you, like totally, don't know, man.
Ray: And what is that?
Qui-Gon: I'm not, like, left-handed!
Qui-Gon tossed his 'sabre to his right hand with a triumphant smile. He swiped at the air and took up the defensive again. The two began fencing, uh, 'sabre to proton pack low-level ether-repellent extension. Qui-Gon began to show the advantage, moving from hard defence to open attack.
Ray: You're amazing!
Qui-Gon: I ought to be after... uh, well, a lot of years, man.
The two met, quasi-blades clashing, pushing Ray back.
Ray: There is something I ought to tell you.
Qui-Gon: Lay it on me!
Ray: I'm not left-handed either.
Ray pulled back to toss his proton blaster to his right hand. He flashed a wicked smile and began the assault anew. Qui-Gon stopped for a moment in shock, letting Ray take the offensive. With a lunge, the proton blaster blade struck the spectre, wrapping around him like a lariat.
Qui-Gon: HEAVY! Kill me, like, again, quickly, man!
Ray: I'd sooner destroy a mint condition set of 1977 Burger King collector's glasses than a cliche hippie like yourself. However, since I have to do this to get paid...
Ray kicked out the metallic box to the centre of the room, directly beneath where the proton beam held Qui-Gon writing in place. He stomped on the large button on the connecting cord. With a flash of light and a whiff of ozone, the Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was no more, trapped within the box.
Ray pulled the box to him and held it aloft. A small indicator light flashed red on the control panel at the side. He rushed to the cockpit, displaying the smoking box to his contractor.

Ray: One in the box! Ready to go! I be fast! And he be slow!
Han: No smorking!
Yatta: Chee chee chee! According to pran it goes. Lay, take ship to Kessel.
Han: Kessel? Never heard of it.
And here we leave our bested heroes. One in a can, and the other, soon to be reduced to staring at his hands and murmuring the phrase 'whoa, dude' over and over again.

23 August, 2005

Spice Wars : What's a 'Zig?

Our intrepid heroes began their adventure to the planet of Kessel. That's right, Kessel. The land of all things Spice. Spice Girls. Spice Pudding. Old Spice. And, of course, the Spice that everyone's favourite hippie needed for his brownies. Much to Qui-Gon's dismay, Captain Solo had finished off the deceased Master's stash, leaving the empty lunch pail open on the dash of the Millenium Falcon. The pilot had started eating a bag of Funyuns, when he and his bummed-out companion were startled by the voice of the Galactic Narrator.



Qui-Gon: Dude! Seriously, like, what the heck, man?



QG: *looking dazed and confused, and more than a bit startled* Wait, what? What year is it?
With a sudden blinding flash, a great explosion rocked the ship. Flames blanketed the cockpit outer view.



GQ: Oh wow, man! We're gonna die! Uh... You're gonna die, man!







QG: Set up us? Dude, what is with the really bad grammar, man? Like, am I missing something?



QG: That sounded more like an exclamation than, like, a question, Han, man.



QG: DUDE! It's, like, Yatta the Hutt!




QG: Wow, like, thank's for, like, asking. Things could be better, man.




QG: Look, man, we don't have any Spice. So, like, it already 'belong' to you.






QG: No, man, like what you say. You and your funky, freaky take on English, man. You are so, like, cut off.





QG: *shakes his head sadly* How can I take you seriously when you, like, actually said "Ha ha ha ha." Most people just laugh. *sigh*


QG: *annoyed* What the hell are you talking about, man? What's a Zig?



QG: *exasperated* Who? Doing what?! This is a bad trip, man! GAHH!


QG: There's that Zig crap again. I know two Ziggys and I'm not, like, moving either of them, man. Seriously.




QG: We don't need justice! We need a plan! And, like, a remedial language course for, like, all of you! Oh, who will save us from this, like, nightmare, man?

QG: GAHH! Don't, like, sit there looking all thoughtful, man! Somebody DO SOMETHING!
~Sometime later will be continued.~

18 August, 2005

Spice Wars : the Quest for more Money

An office. Well, there was supposed to be be an office under the piles of papers. And broken office supplies. And, geez, should stuff have been moving?JawaJuice has the galaxy's finest collection of used tissues. And an Emmy, where did he get that?
JJ was sitting at a big Endor Oak desk, puffing on a cigar.
Enter Qui-Gon, the spaced-out shaggy hippie.

JJ: Qui-Gon.
QGJ: *eyes fixed on the floor* Uh, yeah.
JJ: You know why I called you in, right?
QGJ: Uh, you were lonely?
JJ: *sighs* No, QG. Sit down.
QGJ: I can't.
JJ: Right, sorry.
QGJ: It's cool. You don't have a bean-bag chair, man.
JJ: Let's just get to the point, Q. You know about our product, Uncle Jinn and JJ's Home-made Super Fudgy Special Spiced Brownies. Do you know why people like them?
QGJ: Oh, wow, I, like, know this one.... They're, like, good, 'n stuff.
JJ: NO! *slams the desk* It's the spice! The magical mystery spice! People don't want chocolate, man! They want ether in convenient bite-sized morsels! They want to have Scooby Doo make sense! They want Pink Floyd to be the greatest band in the history of the things they remember! They want to be dazed and confused! They want to pay us lots of money to get that way! LOTS OF MONEY!
QGJ: No, man. Brownies are about peace and love, not about bread, man. They are about, like, finding a moment of peace when your Padawan is off eating crayons while wearing his wrestling leotard, again. It's about, like, relaxing as your effeminate bald creche-mate passes you up for that cushy Council position. It's getting killed by a...
JJ: I don't need your autobiography. What I need, old buddy, is an answer. Are we running out of spice?
QGJ: Uh... No.
JJ: So we have spice?
QGJ: Uh... No.
JJ: Huh?
QGJ: Well, like, we are, like, out of spice. We just have the pre-made frozen stuff, but only, like, enough for a week or so.
JJ: And our supplier?
QGJ: They buried the stale crust in a pizza box yesterday.
JJ: This is a problem. Our profits will slump.
QGJ: Wow, man, it's not about the bread. Seriously, you can, like, have my share.
JJ: Done and done. But that doesn't fix the lack of spice.
Suddenly, the Galaxy's Finest Pilot (TM), Captain Han Solo, burst through the door.
HS: *approaching the desk* Look, JJ. I know that my last payment was a little late, but I'm good for the credits. You know I am. I just need some more brownies. One or two. Just enough to get me to Mos Eisley. That's where the real money is at.
*JJ looks at QGJ and nods, QGJ looks disoriented.*
JJ: Solo. Wonderful timing, Solo. In lieu of your payment, we need a little favour.
HS: A favour, huh? I've got a bad feeling about this.
JJ: Nothing big. Qui-Gon here just needs an escort to Kessel.
HS: Never heard of it. *unwraps a brownie from his pocket, eats it*
JJ: Kessel. The Mining Colonies? The Kessel Run? Your ship was the fastest!
HS: Is the fastest. And this Kessel... Doesn't ring any bells.
QGJ: *whispers to JJ* He's, like, forgotten Kessel. It's a side-effect to the brownies... I wonder if he's wearing socks.
HS: Yeah, I'll help ya'. But I expect something extra, since we're going into uncharted space.
JJ: Uncharted? Extra? What are you playing at, Scoundrel?
HS: Who you calling 'Scruffy-looking'?
JJ: *whispering to QGJ* I think he's a few fries short of a Happy McBurgerbra meal.
QGJ: *whispering back* I got the munchies something fierce. I could use a Big MacBra, no pickles, man.
JJ: That's nice... Han, you fly Qui-Gon out there and I give you um... *pulls out a lunch pail with Scooby Doo on it* This.
QGJ: *looking shocked* JJ, man, that's like, my stash, man! I've had it since I was Dook's little Padawan, man. I keep my brownies in there...
JJ: *opens the lid* Look, Han, filled with brownies. Luscious sweet chocolatey brownies.
HS: *slack-jawed and drooling* Brownies. Yeah.. yeah... Whatever, man. *snatches the pail, clutching it to his chest* Where were we going, again?
JJ: Kessel.
HS: Never heard of it.
JJ: *smacks his forehead, like a good cliche* Oy vey.

11 August, 2005

Forgetting something...

I woke up in a brownie daze.
I looked around and everyone was honouring Master Yoda. Montages. Musical Tributes. Slide-shows.
Well, all these things usually spell that someone croaked. So, needless to say, I was freaking out.
I visited the Temple, like, as fast as my ghosty-form could go, cowbell a'ringing.
And there he was, so alive and stuff, waving his gimer stick at me and spouting abuse that would make a one-eyed space pilot blush.
Okay, Yoda isn't dead. That's good, and stuff, man. But what's with the sappy stuff.
Happy 100 something. 100 what?
Oh wow!

Congrats on beating Dooku at billiards for the 100th time, man!
One Proud Padawan,
QGJ

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."
"True."
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?

08 August, 2005

Fool of the Dates, or something like that

I couldn't believe it. The face of the reaper stood before me in an ethereal form just as my own.
Fear overwhelmed me for a split second, giving my deadly opponent an advantage. In the blink of an eye, he was mobile, flying at me fast and hard. His double-edged lightsabre was extended with its piercing red glow.
It was with that blade that he took my life.
And again, it was speeding towards me, like a blaster bolt.
I leapt away, bouncing off the metallic wall. It had been years since I drew my weapon, but without hesitation, I found it in my hand, blazing the translucent green fire. Deflecting strike after strike, the blades met with crackling sparks. Though the thrill of battle had run through me so long ago, it returned with fervour. The Force ran through me, controlling my movements, keeping me a step ahead of my tattooed assailant. It was all so familiar. The smells of ozone and sweat. The ground beneath my feet. The chill of death as it threw its gaze at me.
He lunged toward me, with his lightsabre, as I deflected, I was struck by an unexpected Force kick to the gut. I was down, and instead of the paralysing fear I expected to feel, peace blanketed me, like a gentle breeze. The Force wrapped itself around me. In mere seconds, I replayed my life, and, though I had said differently before, there were no regrets. I held not pride, but love for all I had and been.
The spiked daemon grinned down at me with his tainted smile.
The lightsabre went through me like it were nothing.
*
*
*
"Are you quite finished?"
Maul looked dumbfounded. "Huh?"
I breathed a small sigh. "We're, like, dead, stupid. Ghost versus ghost, man. We can use the Force and move little things around, or do stupid parlour tricks, but, like, we're both already pushing up daisies. Like, I buried Paul, man."
He looked like a mynock in the flight-path of a swoop.
"So, what I want to know, is, like, I'm one with the Living Force, man. Years of hard work to get there, too. You, on the other hand, joined up with Han's Satans, got a load of boss tattoos, and went on to work as the number two man for a Sith Lord. How is it that you got Force Ghost status?"
I powered off my lightsabre and drew my robe around myself. I patted the floor next to me, and he spread his cloak out, sitting upon it.
"The teachings of the Sith," he began, in an unexpectedly soft voice, "are all of the acquisition of power. We draw on the strength of raw emotion. When my Master found me, I had already started down the path of Darkness. He spoke of energy beyond my greatest dreams. If I were to follow him, I would have everything." He heaved a sigh. "He offered me all and I thought I was invincible. The Dark Side does not give a person immortality. I learned that the hard way."
I smiled at him, and offered a brownie I had stashed away in the folds of my cloak, taking one for myself, as well. He took it and bowed his head.
He continued, "Never did I learn in the teachings of my Master did I learn the fate of the Sith in death. Civil service."
I did my best to suppress a laugh.
"It's all right. I deserve it. I mean, I was pure dag-nasty evil."
"Damn straight, man."
He shook his head and took a bite of brownie. "If I had known, I'd have followed a different path. I mean, my first job was selling churros in front of the Bog of Eternal Stench. Not only was it hella boring, but I smelled like hideous spoo when I went home from my 23 hour shift every day. "
"Then I worked as a shoe salesman at the Ethereal Mall, in the Gamorean department. Have you ever seen a Gamorean foot?" He shuddered. "Most are colonised by their own unique species of fungus. The others were worse."
My brownie started to kick in, and as his stiff posture began to relax, it seemed that his brownie did as well.
"Now... I thought I was lucky when I was brought in to be a guard for Pizza, but now, I fear that he'll want to get rid of me, as I can't off ghosts like I told him I could." He voice began to crack. "They'll send me off to the rectal thermometer quality testing centre for sure now!"
Poor kid. He was a jerkbag, but, man, rectal thermometers. Even the fiend that shuffled me my mortal coil didn't, like, deserve that. So I preceded to concoct a plan.
"How about this, man? Like, you bring me to Pizza. And I'll act all dead, and stuff. We can both Mind Trick him to think that you are one bad motha' and I won't have to pay him all that bread. Whatta'ya think?"
"I'm down with that. And may I just say, these brownies are wicked bad, dude. Props to the chef."
The brownie obviously was in full effect then. His red eyes were more bloodshot than normal and he had brownie crumbs around his lips.
"So, you crazy diamond," he said, his words slowing a beat, "Should we go now, or should we wait it out? I want some Taco Bell. And a bag of Funyuns. And some Snapple." He was totally tripping.
I started giggling and he joined in. After a few minutes, we calmed down, wiping the tears from our eyes.
"I think we should, uh... what's that thing where you sit there and do nothing and then you go do something after not doing anything?"
He thought long and hard. "Waiting, man. We should wait."
"That's what I think, brother... Want to play 'I Spy,' man?"

Pizza, Man

Adventure, excitement, a Jedi craves not these things.
But we usually get a big fat ice-cream scoop of them dumped in our laps, man.
Like, let's take in example, like, the week before I packed up and went off to summer camp on Tatooine.
All right, I use spice in my brownies. Anyone that doesn't, like, know that yet is, like, either not getting the blatantly obvious stoner references that myself and others are constantly making about the snackie-cakes, or they have had so many, they've forgotten Kessel. And socks. And the letter 'k.'
So, yeah, like, I get my spice from places. There are some legitimate businessmen that I deal with that take the forms of, like giant revolting blobs. That's right, everyone's favourite worm-ridden pieces of filth, the Hutts. There is a whole sluggy family, man. Jabba, Gardulla, Bubba, Yatta, and, of course, Pizza the Hutt. At the top of the really misshapen pyramid, there is Jabba, the Blobfather, and the others fall in line behind him. I remember Jabba from my days of actually believing that Anakin would amount to something (that's right, the days before his pop album).
I deal with the second in command, Pizza, as he delivers.
Well, I owed him a lot of bread. See, like, with me and J.J.'s budding brownie biz, we tend to have a lot of customers, like, totally addicted to our illustrious product, so we need a lot of spice. We make some serious bread, though, man. So, like, I was good for the credits.
But one thing. I like made my way out to Pizza's stronghold, Domino, on Kessel. For me, it's just a simple bamf and I'm there, right? Well, the credits were far too numerous to carry, like, via the Living Force, so I, like, had them shipped by UPS (Utapau Postal Shipping). Like, bummer was, there was this strike on Utapau, and like, I was there, but the credits weren't.
So, I was waiting in the lobby, man, and, like, Pizza's dirty rat of a narc, Chuck E. shows up. He's all like, "Are you Kwee-Gon Jim?"
And I was, like, "Naw, man. It's Qui-Gon Jinn, man. Get it right."
He snarled at me, showing me some pretty gnarly teeth. Reminded me of a certain Sith Lord, that maul remain nameless. He told me to follow him. His master was expecting me.
I did that. Oh, and like, FYI, never walk downwind from a rat, man.
So, right, get to Pizza's chamber. It was friggin' freezing, man! There was ice on the walls and ceiling. Pizza was there, sitting on a massive bag of peas. Willard the Rat went to his side, walking like a droid or something, and like, said, "Presssenting, Kwee-Gon Jim, Masssster."
All I could think was that if this freakin' rat bursts into song, I'm so out of here, man.
"Qui-Gon Jinn. The great Jedi Master. How the mighty have fallen..." Pizza said, hiccuping and coughing up what looked to be mozzarella. "Actually, I don't think you were very mighty. I mean, come on! Quiggy Starlust! You obviously weren't tripping on my spice, kid."
Oh wow. "Hey, man. I regret nothing... Uh, except that one time... With the tin of Spam... But, I, uh... What's with the ice-box, man?"
"It helps me survive. The cold keeps me fresh longer, you stupid hippie." Pizza pointed at me, and a pepperoni flew off the tip of his gooey finger and hit me in the face.
That was, like, so heavy and uncool, man! I'm a vegetarian! "Oh wow! You're a negative vibe merchant, man! Always trying to bring everyone down, Fascist."
I threw the gob of meat on the floor, and I got to see Pizza's other lackey, the Noid. He slithered up behind me, passing through my ethereal form, and snatched up the pepperoni. He mumbled something about his precious and buggered off to Pizza's side.
In walked Pizza's other goon, Little Caesar. "Mastew Pizza, may I be the one to bweak him? I heaw he's a wobber and a pick-pocket. Quite the hawdened cwiminal."
"Shut up, all of you pathetic marketing rejects!" Pizza was obviously getting a trifle miffed, man. He was bubbling. "Master Qui-Gon Jinn, where's my dough?"
"The bread's in the mail, man."
Speech Impediment man turned to Grey the Rat. and asked, "Why would you put bwead in the maiw?"
Seriously, if they were trying to intimidate me, they, like, seriously failed.
Pizza changed expressions, but with the muck that covered him, there was no bloody way that I could read it what it meant. "In the mail, huh? Shall we show him what we do to beatnik hippie stereotypes who withhold payment, boys?"
Caesar looked bummed. "But I wanted to break his wittle fingews with my hammew!"
Pizza shot a black olive at Caesar, hitting him in the button eye, effectively shutting him up. "I want the skeevy stoner dead. D. E. D. Dead."
The cheeseball half-coughed half-laughed and pressed a large red button on his ice-cube desk.
Within an instant, via Ethereal Travel, I was some place else, feeling deja vu, as if I'd been there before. Its floors were of durasteel and reinforced blast-proof walls closed me in.
And before me stood the face from my past that haunted me even in death.

Darth Maul.
Suddenly, I had the need for some clean ethereal boxers.

Weak, man

Dude!
Weak!
It seems that Threepio won't be bringing his weekly report as, like, he's having his limbs reattatched. He was typing something for his C! cast thing, and he was, like, found by his secretary, GNK, in pieces in his closet cubicle thing. Who could do such a thing?
Now that means that I have to post. From Tatooine, no less, man.
Dude.
QG

01 August, 2005

Guest Post: Goldie's Weekly Scoop

Greetings my news hungry compatriots,
It is I, C3P0, the Goldenrod reporter for C! (Cybervision Holotainment) bringing you the weekly scoop you crave!
Our first story comes from none other than my commisioner, Qui-Gon Jinn. Not from him, as such. More so from the assorted photographs C! acquired after he left his door unlocked while away on Tatooine.
It seems that Master Jinn has several albums filled with snapshots of his second Padawan, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Most were touching pics of the young Master training, several were from his stint in Junior Padawan Scouts, one of which was the young master holding a "Most Likely to Survive" award, and others of his first speeder.
However, there was another album, entitled 'Ben, Post Q.' These were darker and far grittier than the other books. Many were of the Master in a drunken haze. C! came across one that we shared with Master Obi-Wan's current love interest, the sapphire skinned Jedi temptress, Aayla Secura.
This photograph is of Master Kenobi, calling himself Obi-Wild, during his dark days with his band the Festering Womp Rats.
Ms. Secura had this to say;
Aayla: oh... huhuhuh... He's like... You can see the sadness in his eyes. It's there...
Threepio: You don't seem to be staring at his eyes.
Aayla: He has eyes! Lucious, sweat-soaked eyes... Covered in skin-tight leather... Can I have this picture? Please?
Threepio: It does not belong to C! (Cybertainment Holovision) so I would have to say that you certainly may. *hands over the picture* Ms. Secura, we at C! (Cybertainment Holovision) have another picture to show you.
Aayla: Oooh! *claps her hands gleefully*
Threepio: *presents the second picture* There you go, Mistress Secura.
Aayla: *goes wide eyed* ...but... He was a band geek! Noooo! And... Just look at his hair! He looks like the lead singer of Madness!
That is correct. The great Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the Republic, Hero of the Jedi, knows what happened that one summer at band camp. Reports of his involvement in the band Dex's Midnight Runners are unconfirmed at this time.
Perhaps Master Kenobi can enlighten us about his extracurricular activities in a later issue.
C! (Cybertainment Holovision) has recently had an anonymous contributor, from Tusken Camp 612, sunny Tatooine, mail us a fantastic photo of everyone's favourite Creator and Non-Jedi-Master, Anakin Skywalker.
Here we see the young star happily modeling the newest fall fashions, as picked out by his lovely team-mate and fashion consultant, Padme Amidala. He has been chosen as the new poster-boy for Alderaan Eagle stores. The shirt is a one-of-a-kind, made by Blobby Huttfinger. Poofy little flowers will be all the rage for the Back to Temple season. Every Padawan will want their tunic covered in rainbow paisleys!
Well, faithful scoop-seekers, this has been C3P0 for C! (Cybertainment Holovision). Until next time, we hope your news is worthy of check-out line tabloids and filled with degrading photo-ops!
Cybertainment Holovision (C) IXMCL Cybertainment Holovision is owned in whole by Sith Lord Enterprises, an offshoot of Microsoft Computer Monopolies. "Bringing balance to the galaxy, by replacing your freedom with mind-numbing servitude."