Lost in Spice.

A Visit from my Folks, Farshtaist?

2006-04-29T06:31:00.000Z

My parents.
My parents are special. And yes, they are still alive. See... I was adopted at a very young age. I was never told what happened to my birth parents, but we never talked about it. I 'lived in the moment' and didn't really want the thoughts of the parents I have to be tarnished by stories about people I never even met.
My parents are old world. They speak in the old tongue and observe all the old rituals. They're Druids. Druish through and through.
When I was little, I was raised in the Druish faith. I wore the Yarmulke and played with my little druidldel. I also was taught one of the most descriptive and rich languages, Druiddish.
I got word that my folks were going to stop by for a visit. I krotzed myself out, and put the chinik on and made some tsimmis, just like Bubby used to make.
What follows is what we talked about during their visit. I've translated where needed for all you Goyishe kupp. Don't worry, man, it's nisht geferlich!
My mother came in. "Bubbellah! (sweetheart)" Incorporeal hug, kiss kiss. She called to my father, "Moishe Kapporeh! (Good for nothing) Get your tuchas (butt) in here and see your little Quiggy!"
I gave JJ a look that make a Hutt whimper. "Don't you even start."
He raised his hands and shook his head, but I know that there was a Jawa grin hidden under that robe.
"Feh! (sound of annoyance) I'll get there when I get there, you noodnik (annoying pain in the butt). Quit hocking me en chinik (bothering me)!"
My mother and father both are about 3 feet tall and Alta kockers (old farts). Their species is like a mix between Yoda and Jawa. They live to about 200 and my parents are in their 150s. And all they do is kvetch (complain).
My father is a Rebbe (holy man). He came wearing his robes, looking deep and thoughtful.
I-SUC came in with tea and stopped when he caught sight of my father. "Has he come to perform my last rights?"
"Last rights! What is this narishkeit (foolishness)?"
JJ laughed, nervously.
"It's an inside joke. Why don't I show you my office?"
Good save, JJ.
Mum and I settled down with tea. It had been so long since we'd had a real conversation face to face. Well, punim (face) to incorporeal punim. I've called across the Commtech, but that's never the same, man.
"So, my little bubbellah, how are you doing? You look well."
"I'm dead, ma."
"But you're looking so good! All lean and trim. Not like your father. I swear to you that he's carrying a baby Eopy in his belly. It's snout is coming out of his pupik (belly-button)." When mum speaks, it's always embellished with grand hand gestures. "And your brother! Oi! Gevalt! Did I tell you the tsooris (grief), tatellah (little man)? He lost his job?"
My brother worked in a very prestigious position, way high up on the royal priority scale, in the kingdom of Florin. I'm a little older than Max, though technically, he came first. He wasn't a bad kid, though he was less physical and more into his studies. And, Oi!, could he kvetch. He'd always catch me and go on and go about the things that he hated when they happened.
Like, "Don't' you hate it when you take one of those..."
"Carrot peelers?"
"Yeah, and you stick it up your nose and twirl it around and then you take one of those...."
"Vicks menthol inhalers?"
"Yeah, and you *SNIIIFFF*...."
"Yeah, I hate it when that happens."
He was a bit of a masochist.
"Like I was saying before you started on your little trip down memory lane, boubbie (sweetie), he got laid off! He was just doing his job, being a good little macher and the king's stinking son fired him. But if you talk to him, don't bring it up, he says it's like giving him a paper cut and pouring lemon juice on it and you know that..."
"He hates it when that happens?"
Mum nodded. "You know your brother well. And Roseanne! Oi! Did you hear?"
Don't get me wrong, I love my little sister, but, um, wow. Every time we talked she never failed to gross me out. When she talked about something, she told you all the gory details. And usually, it wouldn't be relevant to the conversation, but that's my Roseanne.
"What happened?"
"All right, so she calls me up and starts telling me about how she's feeling, and this is Roseanne we're talking about so it's 'I'm depressed, I gained weight, my face broke out, I'm nauseous, I'm constipated, my feet swelled, my gums are bleedin', my sinuses are clogged, I got heartburn, I'm cranky and I have gas. ... What should I do?'"
I just shook my head.
"There's more, boubbie. So I told her to go see a doctor, a good one, mind you. Not one of those cheap lousy ones that just guess and charge your for all the bupkis (nothing) they did. Because, if you don't have your health, you don't have nothing. But with her, it's always something, you know?"
That was Roseanne's catch phrase. After making a stoic and generally strong stomached Jedi Master gag, she'd end the convo with 'It's always something.' And with her, it always was.
"She's with peckel (a bun in the oven)! You're gonna be an uncle!" She tried to pat my hand, but it just phased through. But, when mum's got a story to tell, she never misses a beat. "Due in a few weeks and she's huge! Her pupik sticks straight out and looks like she's going to have a litter of little 'Rosannadanna's' (my sister's nickname). The biggest thing is that we don't know if it's going to be a tatellah or a mamellah (little boy or little girl). I'm just... I've got shpilkes (pins and needles) in my gevechtengezoink! (okay, look, this is not a real word, mom made it up, but it sounds good... tell her it sounds good) I'm getting verklempt (worked up)." She sucked in a breath and held a hand to her chest all dramatically, which she was quite good at. "Duran Duran was neither a Duran nor a Duran. Discuss."
This was a mechanic of my mother to allow her a moment to compose herself and for her kinder (children) to ponder the truly pressing issues of the day.
"Uh, well, at the time, Duran Duran made good music."
She nodded and patted the sides of her poofy hair. "They did... Quiggy, my boubbie, thank you for the money you send me and your dad. Since your brother is a shnorror (person who sponges off others) and we've been trying to help your sister get ready for the baby, our funds have been low."
"Me and JJ have been working really hard."
"Qui, honey." Oh no... This was a bad tone. "You and JJ aren't... You know..."
I blinked at her. One thing that was a constant from my mum was a push for grandchildren. Since Jedi tend to abstain from the whole attachment thing, she started voicing her doubts. Now, she was happy when she found out my marriage to Tahl and was nearly as devastated as I was when she heard about her passing. Even in death, she sfeykes (doubts) me. She constantly oysfregn (interrogates) me about who I'm with and what we're doing. "No, mum. He's my best friend. Nothing more."
"I know, boubbie, I just want to see some grand-kinder and if you..."
"No, mum. He's my business partner. A shveyr arbiter (hard worker), maven hondler (expert bargainer) and an all around mensch (good guy). And I'm dead... Svet gornischt helfen (it wouldn't help) if I were with a woman. I can't give you any grand-kinder."
"Ah my little Quiggy. You'll always be my little Yeshiva bucher (quiet school boy). You give me Nachas (pride)! Even though you are far away, and dead, you'll always be part of the mishpucheh (family)."
At about this time, before things got way too sappy, Dad and JJ reappeared. I was afraid that they wouldn't get along. See, dad's never been one to agree with all my mishegoss (crazy ideas). He never dug the music gigs or the brownies. So, like, I was worried that if JJ started in on what our business does, dad'd freak. Luckily, that was not the case.
"Hey, Qui! Your dad is the coolest!" JJ put his arm around dad and dad put his around JJ. They were both about the same height and smiling, JJ's eyes were lichticheh (shining). "We're lodge brothers! We both belong to the Loyal Order of Hagglers."
Dad chimed in. "Yeah, and now we'll show you our secret handshake."
They both outstretched their arms with their palms open. They closed their hands, opened them again, and then pointed at the palm with their other hand.
Soon after, they left, but not without hugs and advice and more advice and mum showing JJ pictures that will not be posted here as I have a reputation to uphold.
A sorry it was such a megillah (long story).
Zei gesunt! (Be in good health)

Amends

2006-04-17T04:30:00.000Z

There is no emotion. There is peace.
There is no ignorance. There is knowledge.
There is no passion. There is serenity.
There is no chaos. There is harmony.
There is no death. There is the Force.
There is no guilt. There is repression, binge eating and desperate attempts to make amends.

Right. Binge eating out of the way, as, like, we are out of our stashes of Uncle Jinn and JJ's brownies, Funyuns, Snapple and dried squid with extra MSG. And being dead and all, nothing fatty changes my sleek girlish figure. Or gives me a stroke.
I'm not sure about the repression thing as I think I might have repressed things too much. I've repressed the repression techniques, so I know what I need to repress, but I forgot how. Bummer.
What do I need to repress, you ask? Have you been keeping up with the events here and on JJ's blog? Oh, right, like, you've forgotten what my blog was about because there was such a, like, long span between now and my last post. Wow, man, look, like, right, okay, Don't get all uncool and heavy. Things happened. I mean, I might be dead and all, but things still happen.
Nothing important enough to keep me from posting, but wow, man, don't bring me down.
Train of thought will reopen early next year, as maintenance is needed to remove the spicy twigs and hair-balls from the tracks.
What? Oh... OH! Oh, wow, yeah. The guilt.
I almost killed I-SUC. In my state of being whacked out of my gourd, man, I lost it. I opened everything, including him. I mean, like, right, think about it. A week in the mall, working for some uncaring, unfeeling, spoilt jerk, catering to scores of thankless, soul-less sheep, with no real breaks, no time to relax, nothing like that... *opens a tin of jellied cranberry sauce with a swirl of the Force, turns the can upside down and empties the wiggling contents onto his desk, which is covered in seeds, incense, and candle wax drips* So, needless to say, I was a bit stressed when I got home.
I was feeling less Jedi than I had in a long time. A long time.
So, for reparations, I needed to do something for I-SUC. Something special.
JJ fixed him up good-like. Put him back together, oiled his joints, refilled his fluids, sharpened his food processor blades and gave him some new spatulas that he picked up from our last trip to Spatula City Coruscant.
However, like, he was still without legs, man. JJ was really handy when he built him out of the appliances in the Big Brother house, but he should have used the less useful apparati. Like Fluke's automated credit counter slash roller, Or Padme's Industrial Sized Jumbo Heavy Duty Hair Dryer.
But, like, my tangents double as novels...
So, right, the little guy needed some legs.
I had taken Wood Shop when I was but a wee Padawan at the Temple. I made loads of useful items. Like, a stool. And a robe rack. And a chest to hide my stash in.
There was some left over wood from when we put together the shelving in the gardens in our flat, so, like, I snagged a few boards, and went to town, man.
* * *
Making the legs was easy. I turned my lightsabre down to the 'Whittle' setting and in no time, there were two far out legs for I-SUC.
Well, okay, right, I, like, started in, got the one leg done, baked a batch of fresh brownies, gobbed them, watched some Scoob and listened to some Pink Fambaa, then got serious, as possible in a spice haze, and made the other leg, man.
I-SUC was a stoked little pile of modern conveniences when I gave him the finished product.
JJ hooked them in, and, man, there is nothing like the good Karmic feeling of doing good for a less fortunate citrus salvaging droid, let me, like, tell you, man.
I-SUC stood, teetering and a bit lopsided because, like, the legs must not have fit right. I mean, they were solid construction. Not exactly even or anything, but, like, still good quality, man.
All was right in the world.
Until the spark. Whiff of ozone. Puff of smoke. Flames engulfing I-SUC. I don't know, man, but I thought I heard maniacal laughter over the roar of the blaze. The little guy was there, like, on the ground, rolling back and forth, flailing his melting spatulas, and going "... let this be the funeral pyre..."
JJ should have used different bits. Then maybe I-SUC wouldn't be so emo, man.
But, flames. Flames. Flames on the side of his face. Breathing, breathless, heaving breaths, heaving...
Until JJ saved the day with the fire extinguisher.
I did it again.
I nearly killed the little guy...
But for some strange reason, since JJ rebuilt him, as he had the technology, I-SUC keeps smiling at me and looks, like, grateful.
I don't know, man, but I'm off to binge.

Retail Hell Heck : the Mall Sucks (finale)

2006-04-02T19:19:00.000Z

The fudge was late.
The freaking fudge shipment was late. Wrap your mind around this. Irate eyes as far as you can see. No love, man. Just angry people.
I'd be more verbose, but I don't know if I can remember the words that make me speak better.
So, yes. Late fudge.
You know what people wanted at blankety-blank in the freaking morning? Fudge brownies. Now, I had the shipment in and the fudge in the batter , but they were still baking when we opened the doors.
So we start the day, brownies still baking. Which always starts things right. We are lacking the one thing people want most. So you know what they get to do? Complain.
Seriously, I've not had a brownie in days. I've been working non-stop for a flipping week, and they think that they have to right to whine to me that they wanted the fudgey kind. Trying to guilt-trip me, or something. I tell them 'no' and it's like I killed their dog, man. Big sad eyes.
Or worse, the 'you're lying' comeback.
You're right. I'm lying. I have a million fresh brownies behind me, and I've just chosen not to serve you.
I had a Nikto mother and her 87 leashed brats in front of me. Leashed! How can you leash your child? Seriously, like, how can that leave them well-adjusted when every time they wander off, they get yanked back on a bungie cord? Made me wonder if there is a direct correlation between leashed kids and those freaks that come in the mall with studded pet collars around their necks. Or people stuck in middle management.
I'm losing focus. Nikto mom. Right. Attending to her and all the kids wanting different brownies all in individual bags, not touching the others, because, Force forbid, that they'd have to share a bag and like, cut down on the waste, though they don't, like, care, and like, they'll just toss the empty packets out of the Speeder-Van on the way home, littering the Coruscanti cityscape...
I'm going somewhere with this.
Eye twitching.
Something.
Burning! I was so busy with the spoilt, tethered slithering spawns that I forgot the batch of fudgies in the oven.
S'Nausy rushed out the back, with oven-mitts on, holding a tray of smouldering blackened lumps. He called me back there and proceeded to pitch a fit about me burning our very valuable product. He said that he was lucky that he was in the back asleep on the toilet, as he smelt the smoke and saved the whole store from burning.
Obviously that was the perfect reason to deny me my first 15 minute break.
* * *
Lines and rows of people, and man, after so long, they have all blended into the kind of paintings that younglings do with spray cheese in a can and peanut butter. Mmm, elbow macaroni.
But, man, there was my man, man. My guy of guys, compadre and comrade, monkey versus robot, and all the other cool things I could call him but I'm just to burnt out to think of.
Right, it was Fluke, man. Fluke showed up.
So he gets up to me, right? And, like, he orders a brownie. I get him the finest freshest biggest one I could get with the boss giving me the squinty eye. Hands it over and Fluke reminds me of the little thing we set up for him.
A lifetime supply of free brownies. He saved me and JJ and the whole brownie Empire when we were fighting Yatta. Fluke's just a ninja in a blast helmet like that.
So I go to give him his brownie. And Sgt. Stedenko, I mean, S'Nausy was all, like, pointing, and waving, and yelling not so loudly, and berating, and rolling up his newspaper. Seems I'm not allowed to give things away for free.
So I offered him one of the freaky mutated off-cut, yet still chocolately spicey and good that me and JJ are allowed to have.
Nope, S'Nausy had cut me off yesterday after I yelled loudly enough in the back that everyone in Coruscant heard me. Yes, sorry, senators, man, that was me. After Yoda ordered 13 dozen.
13 dozen!! And we HAD to sell all of them to him because they were for the Jedi Temple, and S'Nausy said that there were a lot of potential repeat customers there.
Uh... Where was I?
I need a freaking brownie.
Fluke's freaky brownie!
Right, so I was like, 'what if I just, like, give Fluke the bread, man, and then he can buy it.'
No, and like, instead of paying for Fluke's brownie, S'Nausy made me pay for all of the freak brownies I'd gobbed for the past few days. At, like, no discount!
So in the end, Fluke had to buy his own brownie. I told him that I'd pay him back, once I got my paycheque, because I was tapped out. My mana pool was empty and I was taking some serious burn, man.
Fluke was really cool about it though. I think I even smiled when he called our dictator S'Nausy a Goobersmoocher.
* * *
More people. More freaks. More baking. More dropping things and incurring the wrath of our fascist leader.
Oh man. Bail Organa. Look, Bail's a nice guy. He is, but, I was not in the mood to play. And well...
"Hello Qui-Gon!" he said, with this, like, big happy smile and a little royal wave.
He, like, knows nothing about fashion, man. Like, what self-respecting guy wears a muscle shirt, low enough to show off his chest hair, with a tropical print loose shirt over top, billowy pants and Birkenstocks. He was really tan. Like, Tatooine tan, not Alderaan tan. And, like, look, when I was Quiggy Starlust, I dabbled in the use of make-up. So I can spot it when I sees it. I seed it. He was wearing eyeliner. And lip gloss. And to finish it all up, a gold Astro-sign medallion around his neck.
He didn't look like a wild and crazy guy. He looked like he wanted to break into interpretative dance.
I was out of it. I am out of it. So his chipper enthusiasm was wasted.
He bubbled and talked and talked, and like, talked.
I just, like, got him his brownie, but he wanted extra nuts on his, so I had to get the sack of nuts and sprinkle them all over.
"So, look, you look exhausted, darling. You should really come to my spa. A whole day. On me. I'll even give you one of my famous 'reaching' massages." He pulled out a card and scribbled something on the back. "Here's a pass, and on the back is my number. Call me anytime, big guy."
I gave him his brownie and he proceeded to eat it in one bite. He winked at me and said, "Your nuts were delicious. I hope to get more soon."
I need a shower. In bleach.
* * *
The day trudged on. I'm not sure which day. I think it was the last one, though.
So, me and JJ are ringing and wrapping and handing and trying to not jump over the counter and go psycho with a spatula. And, like, JJ starts looking impatient. Crossing his legs, tapping his fingers, doing these little sigh kind of breaths that are, like, impatient.
At a 1.7 second break in the line before the next couple of indignant jerks waddled on up to the counter, he turned to me and said, like not real loud, or anything, "Qui, man, watch the front. I really got to take a piss."
I nodded and let him go, and my customer sauntered up, a Rodian, with a little scaly Rodian boy at her side. She scoffed at me. "If I wanted my son to hear such language, I'd have taken him to Mos Eisley Cantina. This is a family mall. I demand a free brownie."
Aw man, I'd get blamed for this again. So, like, I had to add my two credits. If I was going to lose my break, it had better be worth it, man.
"No, I'm not giving you free a brownie. I mean, isn't, like, your boy warped enough from the home-schooling, the ridiculous clothing you pick out for him every morning and your attempt to turn him into a brain-dead, bread-driven, Yuppie clone, like yourself?"
Her big eyes went even wider.
She stormed off, dragging her kid behind her.
Two cool things, man. She didn't narc on me to S'Nausy, who'd have docked me a day's pay and taken my breaks away. And, like, her son was smiling at me when he left. He, like, knew, man.
* * *
Two hours. There was a group of kids abandoned in here for two freaking hours. Eight raisin-faced Weequay brats. Ranging in age from about 3 to about 12.
Their mom uttered the dreaded "Now you kids behave. Mommy's off to do some shopping and she'll be back to get you later."
All of the little pruny punks asked for money.
"Mommy doesn't have any money for brownies. See if they can give you free samples."
At first, they mulled around at the tables. The 6 year old learned that the lids screw off the sprinkles containers. Suddenly, there was a rainbow cloud and, when the dust settled, there was, like, sprinkles on the floor, the tables, the chairs, the customers and the kids.
We got I-SUC to vacuum it up.
The 7 year old walked to the front of the line, and, like, as the regular, paying jerk in front of me was getting ready to tell me that he wanted a freaking brownie, because everyone wants a freaking brownie, she said "We're hungry. I want a brownie."
"It's, like, his turn."
I have been a Master to three Padawans. I have worked in the crèche attending the Younglings. I have dealt with children from one side of the galaxy to the other.
She got the weepy, pouty, quivering chin, teary eyed look. This look could lead to two different outcomes. "The Whimper" often follows "the Pout." It is continued sighing and whimpering until the adult cracks and gives the child what they want. This phase can be quickly ended with "the Backhand," but as, like, we weren't in Wall-Mart and her parent wasn't around, it would not be feasible. What I feared was called, "the Tantrum." It is the bleat and howl like a wounded Wookie, while thrashing and kicking, paying no heed to what is being hit, scream until they are sick, while deafening those around them, until they are given what they want. Or beaten like a red-headed step-child.
This girl looked to have a set of lungs on her, and had already begun the scream preparation, by drawing in large breaths.
In defeat, I handed over the samples tray, and she hurried off to her other broodlings.
Soon, they were bored. They had thrown the empty tray. The sugar from the brownies had kicked in, so they, like, were bored and sugar-crazed runts. Running around, opening boxes, coming behind the counter, tipping over chairs, peeking in the back room, and generally making things suck on a higher level of the Suck Scale. We ascended to Pit of ~~Hell~~, Floor 6. This was the equivalent to disembowelling, flesh-eating viruses, and Raffi songs.
S'Nausy went over to the smallest one, who was painting on the walls with frosting.
"What's your name?" he said in his sweetest tone. Which I could hear through. It was like saccharine sweet, laced with speeder engine coolant.
Now, I was ringing at the time. I only got a partial glance. But, huh.
The little one turned and proceeded to melf on S'Nausy's suit. Stick it to the man, little man.
Cool thing was that people in line lost their appetites after hearing and watching the little guy ralph up brownie. So, the line cleared out at least.
At that, the eldest brat scooped up the little guy and the whole lot left to find the woman that we should have called the authorities on so that her kids would get to leave and she'd be revealed as the careless cheap mother that she is.
And S'Nausy got what was coming to him.
* * *
We had 15 minutes left. Then it was over. The week of ~~Hell~~... You know what, HELL. Freaking HELL was like almost over. There was still a line. Long line.
S'Nausy came out of the back. He was in there cleaning the spew off for, oh, like, an hour and a half.
Wearing my poncho.
I turned to JJ. He pointed to an unopened container of icing near the cheap, lying, no good, rotten, floor-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, reckless, hopeless, heartless, fat-tuchus, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed, sack of monkey crap that S'Nausy is. Hallelujah! Holy crap! Where's the Etherol?
I reached out with the Force, holding my hand out, and then I clenched my fist. The plastic imploded, spraying him, and my poncho in dark chocolate icing.
Darn. He'd have to take it off.
"What was that?" S'Nausy asked, as he pulled my poncho off over his head.
JJ gathered up the remnants of the container. "Contents under pressure. Wow. We're lucky that thing didn't go off and kill someone."
S'Nausy went to change, and he took off my poncho. It would be worth the dry cleaning bill to get that Captain Wally out of my gear, man.
People. People. People. JERK. People. People.
Closing time!
* * *
The clock struck eight. The last day of the week was always a shorter work day for mall employees. However, the rest of Coruscant had shut down. It was a day of rest. A day for the common folk to mingle with the posh elitists at the local mall.
Eight signified closing time for the small baked goods shop. This was not to be. There were still people queued up and trailing outside of the store.
JawaJuice looked at the clock and gazed over the line. Someone caught his attention, as an Ithorian came to stand at the end of the line.
"Qui," he said, without blinking, his left eye twitching, "Ring. I'll be right back." There was a sing-songy quality to his voice, tinged with a touch of insanity, nearly sounding like a tightly stretched rubber band.
He cut through the line, still not blinking, as if he were possessed. Standing before the Ithorian, he asked, "What time is it?"
The hammerhead looked at his Commtech and back at JJ. "Eight oh two."
JJ nodded, his expression unchanging. "We closed at eight."
"I was thinking..." the Ithorian started in stereo.
JJ drew in a long breath and screamed at the top of his lungs, "WE ARE CLOSED! SCRAM!"
The hammerhead scuttled off, looking traumatised, whilst JJ returned to the front.
Qui-Gon dealt with each customer blindingly fast.
"Thankyoucomeagain." And onto the next, he went.
"Thankyoucomeagain."
"Thankyoune'ercomeagain."
"Thankyoubuggeroff."
"Thankyougoaway."
"FUcomeagain."
The Dresselian woman turned and asked, "What was that?"
Qui-Gon spoke slowly, exhaustion rolling off of him in waves. "Thank you. Come again."
She nodded and wandered off.
Soon, the store was empty, except for the two clerks.
JJ looked to the slumping spectre and sighed. "It's over."
Mr S'Naus Ages returned from the back, smiling, to greet the two. "Good show, chaps!"
The jawa was less than enthused. "Where is our permit and our pay?"
The man touched his finger to his lip, thoughtfully. "Oh yes," he said, plucking two envelopes from his back pocket. He chucked lightly. "Don't mind the fudge and the vomit."
The small one tore into his envelope, while the ghost stood motionless, staring blankly into the distance.
"THIRTEEN BUCKS? Hey, wait a minute."
S'Naus Ages nodded. "That's right. 120 million gross, less Social Security..."
"Yeah."
"Less unemployment insurance..."
"But..."
"Less brownie making..."
JJ scowled. "Brownie making?"
"Less apron purchase..."
"Wait a minute."
"Less store rental..."
"But..."
"Less Springtime Club."
"But..."
S'Naus Ages went to the back. "See you next year." He exited, leaving two confused staring employees, totally zoned.
"Thirteen bucks..." JJ murmured.
The back doors swung open and the Ministry of Spice representatives exited.
"GUMBIES!" Qui-Gon cried. "They.. The... You... Wh... I... My brain hurts!" To the ghost, the men had changed form, looking like a rival tribe to the Ni.
This was not the case for JJ, who saw them simply as men in very very bad hats.
Mr Bif Shank presented the Jawa with a sheet of paper, the permit. He nudged him lightly. "This is for you, know what I mean?"
"No clue. Look, this is great. I need to get him home." JJ put a hand on Qui-Gon's shaking ethereal arm. "He's freaking out. And if I don't get home soon, I'm going to kill you all. One by one. With a spork from the food court and a wafer thin mint."
* * *
The trip home was a blur. None of the passengers spoke a word. Even I-SUC was drained and dragging.
Qui-Gon entered the flat first, going straight to the kitchen, with I-SUC in tow. JJ trudged upstairs to deposit the permit into his Fire-Flood-Lightning-Monsoon-and-FOOF Proof safe.
* * *
Before he even opened the door, he could hear a tearing sound, weaving with the sound of a long shrill beep. There was a clatter and a splatter and all that was left was very light mumbling.
JJ pushed the kitchen door ajar.
And was completely shocked.
Every jar, tin, can, bottle, container, tea caddy, Tupperware box, door, was open. The oven hung ajar. The ice-box cooled the room.
There was a mix of any imaginable non-perishable spilled out on the floor, juices mixing into a repulsive globulous combination. The smell was that of a gluttons sick, cocktail onions meshing with strawberry syrup, nacho cheese with Nutella. The muck was splattered on every wall.
Chanting was coming from the corner. The words repeated again and again. Qui-Gon was huddled against the corner-most cabinet, sitting in what looked to be a mix of pizza sauce and marmalade.
He said, in rapid succession, "light is green. trap is clean."
This was not the most disturbing sight.
There was a trail of wiring, circuits in puddles of sludge, snapping with dwindling sparks, broken parts of blenders, and a wheelchair, collapsed and torn.
I-SUC was dead.
*Cue dramatic music, Spanish inquisition, and wacky next door neighbour to stop over to ask for a herring. Stay tuned to JawaJuice Jump Up for more on this as it congeals.*

Retail Hell Heck : the Mall Sucks (pt. 2)

2006-03-30T05:45:00.000Z

Once upon a time, Jedi were the bringers of peace, and, like, love to the galaxy.
These days, venerable dead Jedi, who, like, died for the cause, work as indentured servants peddling snacks that should bring good vibes to the masses, but instead are gobbed by a bunch of heavy bread-heads, man.
We are mid-week and nothing could have prepared me for that. Nothing. Not years of Jedi training, not the gruelling tour schedule that Dooks and I kept. Not even dying.
Me and JJ had this nice little plan, right? Smooth sailing.
See, our 14,400 brownies? Gone in about two hours. That was nothing. So, like, suddenly, I had to deal with griping, impatient jerks, while baking more. I think our last count yesterday was like 73,000 sold. Something like that, or 730,000. There was a 7 and a 3 in there. I think.
Let's start on day two, minute one.
First customer. A female Twi-lek.
"Good morning, ma'am. What can I..." She cut in.
"I need 24 dozen brownies."
Well, friends, that was a humdinger. 24 dozen. Scoob marathon? Early Wookie Life Day shopping? Weight-Gain *beefcake* 4000?
I pointed to the sign, "ONE DOZEN BROWNIES PER TRANSACTION."
"Then ring me up 24 times."
JJ had been listening to her between his flow of irate narcs.
"You, like, don't understand. Like, I can only sell you one dozen."
She looked indignant and scoffed, ala trophy wife, spoilt, evil, malicious, devil woman. "It says, 'per transaction.' Not 'per customer.' So sell me the brownies." She pointed to the sign.
JJ saved the day. Well, more like his permanent marker did. Suddenly, it said "ONE DOZEN BROWNIES PER TRANSACTION PER CUSTOMER PER VISIT PER DAY PER SITUATION PER MANAGEMENT."
I rang her up for one dozen. She glared and paid, not putting the money near me, but, like, way out on the counter near her, so I, like, had to reach to get it, which was seriously petty.
Clincher was, once she got the dozen, she got right back in line to order more. Sith witch.
* * *
There was, like, the most disturbing Commtech conversation I'd ever heard. This Snivvian, young, ugly-as-sin (as most Snivvians are), was on his Commtech. Not a big shocker, as most of the idiots in the queue were on their bleeping, chiming, chirping, ringing, squawking Commtechs.
It wasn't the sound of his stupid machine, it was choice in conversation topics.
Talking overly loud, I could hear him over the roar of the crowd.
"...so there I was in the middle of the operation, when I woke up. I open my eyes and see that my bowel was there on my chest. Needless to say, I was terrified. But when I went to scream, I inhaled and... Long story short, I ended up with a mouth full of my own colon. And wouldn't you know it, that's just when the laxative kicked in. So I..."
Things had quieted down, as I guess, everyone was just in, like, total shock at what sphincter boy was laying down. Several people left the line, one covered their mouth and looked like they were going to melf, man.
Lucky for me, and the grossed-out customers, there was my knight in shining military garb, Oneida, several places back from this guy. She stepped up and tapped him on the shoulder.
He waved her off.
She tapped harder.
And, like, he seriously said in his Commtech, "Sorry about that, some stupid Hutt is bothering me."
And that was it. Oneida's eyes got all wide while she pulled out her blaster. She clicked a button on the side and aimed.
Everyone was, like, totally quiet. No, they weren't, as the idiots were still ordering, but I was enthralled, so I didn't hear, like, anything.
She fired and it sounded just like a smack. It was set on b!^@#-slap. The stupid Snivvian dropped his Commtech and turned toward her, holding his face. He opened his mouth to talk.
She held up her finger and sheathed her smoking blaster. "Don't you dare. If you don't want me to call in the clones and make this a real messy issue, you will just shut your face. We are here to by brownies, not to get treated to medical mishap stories. You will pick up your Commtech..."
He did so.
"You will close it and we will never again hear about your guts. Do you understand?"
He stood still, shaking.
"I said, 'Do you understand?!" Everyone turned to look at her.
"Eep." He nodded, gathered up his phone and rushed off.
There was a smattering of applause, but soon, it went right back to the grind, sans the stories.
She made me feel a little better, though. Oneida's a doll, man. When she came up, it was all smiles and no threats of violence or calling the supervisor to beat me with rubber hoses.
* * *
"Cut it down the middle." In front of me, there was the most snobby, stuck-up, scowling, made-up, glaring, evil Kaminoian being demanding.
I shook my head. "Wow, we, like, don't cut the brownies, man. They are squares."
She folded her long arms and sneered. "Cut mine down the middle. Didn't you hear me the first time? Should I inquire to your higher-ups why you should make your wages if you refuse to co-operate?"
"I'm, like, not getting paid."
She scoffed. "Well, if you were, it would be too much. Now cut my brownie."
Obviously this woman had never worked in retail or the mall before. Perhaps she'd never worked a day in her life. Her job was to torment the hard working blokes at the local stores, needling up and asserting her dominance, as she was superior because of her status.
Did I ever say I didn't like retail?
I put it on a plate and cut it down the middle, top to bottom.
She scoffed again. "You've ruined it. I wanted it cut horizontally cut and you've botched it by cutting it vertically. Give me another one, and cut it right."
I turned the plate, making the cut horizontal. "There, like, look. Horizontal, just like you asked."
Her big black eyes flared. "How dare you! Where is your supervisor?"
Mr. S'Naus Ages was there, with a placating smile. "What can we help you with, Ma'am?"
"It's Madam," she snapped. "And your bumbling oaf of an employee cut this brownie improperly. I demand proper service and a refund!"
Funny. She hadn't paid yet. When I went to, like, give ol' S'Nausy the FYI, he waved me off, gave her a new brownie, which he cut himself, and the money she didn't spend back.
For that, he denied me my second 15 minute break.
* * *
I was turned around, moving some brownies around, sorting and stuff.
"Miss?"
Whew, man, there is nothing like a guy who's nearly two metres tall and sporting a full beard and moustache getting mistaken for a woman, man. Now, I was turned around, but it wasn't the first time people had wrong, man. My hair was up in buns in a hair-net, but seriously... Mildly offensive.
Mom and a kid. Man, the little guy was really pale and frail for being a Duros. He had these giant rimmed glasses and a book tucked under his arm. Looked about 7 or 8.
"Yes, sir, can I help you?" Huh huh, I called her sir.
"My son is allergic to wheat, rye, barley, oats, soy, eggs, milk, lactose, Sodium Caseinate, whey, butter, peanuts, all forms of tree nuts, cocoa and spice. What can he have here?"
She had listed every ingredient that my brownies included (except one, can you guess what it is?). He looked totally bummed though, you know? I mean this poor guy can't feel normal because if he eats that way it might, like, kill him. Seriously sympathising with his plight. So, I went for something else I could whip up.
"Is he allergic to gelatine?"
The mother shook her head. "No, he is not."
"Hey, bud, do you, like, like strawberry?"
His mother looked miffed. "He can't have strawberries."
"Well, can he, like, have amyl acetate, amyl butyrate, amyl valerate, anethol, anisyl formate, benzyl acetate, benzyl isobutyrate, butyric acid, cinnamyl isobutyrate, cognac essential oil, diacetyl, dipropyl ketone, ethyl acetate, ethyl amyl ketone, ethyl butyrate, ethyl cinnamate, ethyl heptanoate, ethyl heptylate, ethyl lactate, ethyl methylphenylglycidate, ethyl nitrate, ethyl propionate, ethyl valerate, heliotropin, hydroxyphenyl-2-butanone, a-ionone, isobutyl anthranilate, isobutyl butyrate, lemon essential oil, maltol, 4-methylacetophenone, methyl anthranilate, methyl benzoate, methyl cinnamate, methyl heptine carbonate, methyl naphthyl ketone, methyl salicylate, mint essential oil, neroli essential oil, nerolin, neryl isobutyrate, orris butter, phenethyl alcohol, rose, rum ether, g-undercalactone, and vanillin?"
She was dumbfounded. He son was smiling. "I, I don't like the sound of that butter in what ever it is."
"It's artificial Strawberry flavouring. Has he had it before?"
She nodded. "Yes, he likes that added to his water."
"I've got just the thing." I started my makings, letting S'Nausy take over ringing.
"Change your gloves," she said. "You'll contaminate the mix."
I did so. But you know something, man, I'm dead. I can't contaminate anything. There is no part of me that carries contaminants since I can't, like, sport my poncho at work, and all.
Going through, doing my mixing.
"Change them again. You brushed against that knife."
I twitched while doing so, and glared into the mixing bowl, but, fine, whatever.
In about the span of 3 minutes, it was done, and with a touch of the Force, I set it and moulded it. I cleaned a plate, and my hands, and the plate again. Viola, he looked so stoked. Strawberry Jell-O Lego blocks.
She gave me a almost smile, but as she was mean and demanding, I'd written her off. Her little dude was diggin' the Jellegos.
That didn't suck.
* * *
All right, the past few nights, I'd been up baking, all night, man. 27/4, man. I'm needing some me time, man. The little tastes of brownies and the 7 seconds of good times I get a day are not working.
Suck thing is, man. Like, I have to do it again.
I've got to go make the brownies...
...I made the brownies.

Retail Hell Heck : the Mall Sucks (pt. 1)

2006-03-27T01:41:00.000Z

Okay, I've been informed of the basics of, like, what is going to go down during the next few days. And there is something that keeps being thrown around.
The Coruscanti Mall.
The are few words that feel me with such emotion. And this unpleasant, like, indigestion. Jedi are not allowed to hold on to their more powerful emotions. We, as Jedi, meditate about them and let them fade away into the Force.
Look, I've done my best. I spent the majority of yesterday, deep in a meditative trance. I pushed away all distractions and was, like, able to have a few hours to myself. Nothing but me and the calm of the Force.
Seriously, far out, man.
Made me completely forget the fact that I will be condemned to that bloody pit of consumerism.
Then, like, I remembered. Major bring-down. Buzz-killer like you wouldn't believe.
JJ knocked on my door. I called him in as I was not getting back to that peace without some serious brownie feasting.
It turned out that the ingredients had arrived at our shop and that we needed to start the bakin' if we were to get the twelve hundred dozen (that's 14,400 brownies, I think) that should get us through the week. With that amount, we might even have extras to gob and sell at a later date, but mostly gob.
Now, as a Master of Ethereal Travel, I could have just *poof*ed there, but this was me and JJ. Against the world, man! Stickin' it to the Man, but selling our stellar snacks to brain-washed mall-goers. Open up their tightly-closed little heads and fill them with mind-expanding spice. Show them truth, justice and the hippie way.
Oh, right... Well, instead of just going on my own and letting JJ tag along in his speeder, I decided that we needed to meet our fate together. So, me, JJ and the I-SUC droid all piled into his Mercedes Talz and made our way there.
The closer we got, the more I could feel the dark ripples in the Force. Something was amiss. Awry. Not good.
But the Force didn't clue me in on what it was, man. I just sat there thinking the worse. Like, our arrival would coincide when the Springtime Jolly Wampa comes, for kids to sit on his lap and ask for Eopy eggs. At least they finally learned to bring in someone in a costume. That one time I brought little Ben to see him... Well, let's just say, if it weren't for his Jedi reflexes... And all he got that year was a new pair of underwear he needed.
We neared the mall. My dread increased. I thought I pictured the worst. I was way off.
Your focus determines your reality, right? Well, I was focussing on the mall sign out front.
"COMING FIRST DAY - JIN AND JJS BROWNIES"
This was not so bad, other than misspelling my name, but it was advertising that would clue people in on the only place in the galaxy where they could go and get some snackies....
"BIGGEST SIDEWALK SALE OF THE YEAR ALL WEEK LONG"
Do you know what that means?
It means that every credit-pinching, haggling, snotty, indignant, grumpy, mean-spirited, witchy, spiteful, malicious, crabby, ill-tempered, cross, fussy parent and their whiny, sticky, screaming, flailing, kicking, stomping, spitting, pouting, pointing, grabbing, infantile children will flock to the mall, in droves.
I turned to JJ. I found that I couldn't blink. "When is Spring-break?"
JJ looked like he was thinking for a second. "This upcoming week."
Now, I couldn't close my mouth.
That means that not only will the sale-seekers and their screaming spawn be there, be also all the snobbish, rebellious, malcontent, spoilt, sweaty, awkward, segregated, rude, careless, thoughtless, disrespectful teenagers who are off from lessons.
To dust off an old cliché, I have a bad feeling about this.
When we pulled into the mall, we were allowed to park in the employee spaces. If you have ever been a mall employee, you know that these spaces are designated about 2 kilometres from the mall. This is to break your spirit as you trudge in to work. There is no other explanation for such torture.
It was light when we started from the speeder and the sky was dark when we got to the mall. I Force-pushed SUCy's wheelchair, and about half-way there, JJ had hopped in for the remaining ride.
We got to go in the Employee entrance and through the catacombs to our store. Don't let the name fool you, though, like, they were more cavernous, and there were a few less dead bodies.
Our store... Yeah. There was a kitchen. That was a plus. That was the only plus. I might be a bit cynical, though, as, like, I hate the mall.
Not hate.... Yoda'd wedgie me for saying that around impressionable Younglings.
I seriously dislike the mall and all that it stands for. Corporate brainwashing and rampant consumerism draining the souls out of the populace one trendy soft-drink or pair of ill-fitting, poorly constructed, ridiculously expensive pair of sneakers at a time.
Maybe I should, like, tell you how I really feel some time, man.
On with the tale, though, you know?
So right, we got in, took inventory. The Force smiled upon us, as we had everything we needed.
No plot hiccup there.
Seriously, everything we needed.
We took to making brownies.
We started in, and, I've got to, like, say that there is nothing like making some spiced snacks, man. Especially with my best buddy at my side and some funkadellic tunes on the radio. We got into it, and, by the end of the night, all 14,400 brownies were done. Some with sprinkles. Some were Green Riddle Chunky Riddle Monkey style. Some with Jimmies, the long mutant sprinks. There was even a batch where I added some Banana Phone Tree bananas. It was, like, seriously rewarding when I heard the things squeal while I was baking them. They don't ring ring no more. Flukey Fudge Ripple. Han's Hazelnut Surprise. Yatta's Wasabi Brownies (the green swirls are that of fire!), Padme Peanut Butter Chip, Oneida's Needa-'Nother Yummer Over-Named Brownie, and so on and so forth.
After a while, JJ was starting to fall-asleep in the mix. Poor little guy. See, I, like, never need to sleep. I'm dead. I need to meditate every once in a while, otherwise things get a little... Well, just go back and read what I'm like without the brownies. It's the same way when I don't get my, like, me time.
I let JJ snore away and covered him with my poncho. Me and SUCy got everything ready for the day.
I took a few minutes for myself, meditating. Just trying to psych myself up for the day. Yeah. Not gonna happen.
Zero hour.
Here we go.

Continued here and on JawaJuice Jump Up all week long!

Last Homecoming Post. Seriously.

2006-03-24T02:00:00.000Z

He wanted to go home. He simply wanted to relax with things that brought him comfort in a place where he knew he was safe. His pleasant brownie buzz was gone, and reality was looming in.
Reality, in the form of a ringing tree. The Banana Phone Shrub was created by Jon as his entry for the Big Brother contest that Qui-Gon had judged. The tree itself had lovely foliage, very green and healthy. The problem came from its fruit. The Banana Phone song may have won the the Galactic title as 'the Most Annoying Song In the History of Music,' it was taken far beyond the level of annoying by Jo Jo. Not only did he sing it, but it was his CommTech ring tone, that he had insisted on demonstrating for Qui-Gon every few minutes. The plump Banana Phone Tree fruit played a version of that song until it was ripe, picked, and unpeeled. When it was new and green, it was high pitched, but when it came time to be harvested, the song was deeper in tone, but no less annoying.
Qui-Gon sped, with his squawking plant to Second Banana Heaven. Passing through the gates, after swiping his visitor pass, and getting admittance from the new guard, Barney Fife, he dashed to Jo Jo's door. He rang the buzzer. Within seconds, he rang again, impatiently. He rapped at the door.
There was the sound of shuffling and Qui-Gon was able to make out humming. A hum that followed the tune of Banana Phone. With a click, the door sprang open, revealing Jo Jo, wearing what looked to be a choir robe.
Qui-Gon looked at the ghost before him, confusion clear on his face. "Why are you dressed like that?"
The Monkey Boy bowed. "Well, see, I died..."
Clenching his eyes closed, Qui-Gon suddenly wished he hadn't asked.
"And when I died, I did a lot of things, buddy of mine. Now I'm pushin' up the daisies. I kicked the bucket. Shuffled my mortal coil. But mostly, I ran down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible!"
The elder had heard this before. The whole monologue, stolen, from another brilliant programme. He knew that it was far funnier then, and now it, simply, was a pathetic imitation of true art. "You've been watching Melvin Cobra's Gliding Carnival again, haven't you?"
Jo Jo beamed. "That's right, my bananaiest buddy ever! That's where I'm learning about everything I need to know!"
"You're not a dead parrot."
The Monkey Boy shrugged and said, "I figured it applied to dead monkeys too. Ni!"
It took every bit of Qui-Gon's will to not leap at the unsuspecting chipper ball of fluff, and tear his stuffing out. He knew that his agitation was so severe because of the lack of brownies, thus making Jo Jo's childlike antics irk him further. He smiled, a near maniacal gleam twinkled in his eyes. "I have a present for you."
Jo Jo smiled wider, shaking with excitement. "A present! For me?"
As Qui-Gon turn round to get it, Jo Jo shouted, "It's a bomb! ... No, I'll wait for my birthday."
The Jedi offered the Banana Phone Tree to the monkey.
Jo Jo looked crestfallen, his animated features drooped. "But that was for you, my poncho pal..."
The look played on Qui-Gon's Jedi compassion. "No, Jo Jo," he said, putting a warm hand on the monkey's shoulder, "You see, I need you to watch over this for me. As a Jedi, I have much official business to attend to. I'm afraid I won't have the time to give this lovely plant the love and care that it needs. I..." He made a dramatic gesture with his hands, his tone intense. "Jo Jo, every Jedi in the galaxy needs you to tend that plant. It is your secret mission. Do you chose to accept?"
Jo Jo's saddened face brightened again, his smile brilliant and his eyes wide with wonder. "Okey-dokey, Skip! I think I can handle the secret important Jedi mission! I will make you proud and then when you come back, we can eat bananas while singing Banana Phone! That's our special song!"
Qui-Gon nodded, giving the monkey a grin. "That's right." He faked a stretch. "Well, buddy, I need to check on Gabby and go off to do special secret Jedi stuff. You can handle this, right?"
Jo Jo gave a rigid salute. "Yes, sir, Mr. Qui-Gon Buddy Pal, sir!"
Qui-Gon gave a nod, a short wave, and left.

His next stop was to visit his ghostly friend, Gabrielle. He reached the door with the model chakram hanging on it and smiled. He knocked.
Gabrielle tossed the door ajar and stood, leaning against the doorjamb. She tossed her long strawberry locks back, in a sultry fashion. "How are you doin', stranger?" She held up a wrapped packet of brownies.
Qui-Gon's eyes widened and he reached out, snatching the treat. "How did you know?"
"Ha," she said, scoffing a bit, "Jedi Mind Trick."
The Ethereal Master had already downed the snack, brownie crumbs dusting his beard. "A Jedi Mind Trick," he began, "is used to manipulate the weak minded. I think you are referring to a Jedi Mental Bond."
Gabrielle ushered the master into her abode. "Sure..." She went straight over to her brownie stash and procured a few packets. "Look... Here," she handed over the packs to the spectral man before her. "You need to go home." She spoke in a serious tone and laid her hand on his shoulder. "I'm almost out of brownies and JJ is home. You two need to start your business back up again. " She took his big hand into hers. "Look, you know that you are my friend. But you can't keep hiding from your problems."
The Jedi's eyes flashed with hurt for a split second, but soon, realisation filtered in. "I know..." He wasn't sure if his instinct would have let him stay in this place. It was safe, but he knew all of things he needed to attend to. He nodded and engulfed his friend in a hug.
She giggled, with his strong warmth around her. "Go on, ya' big lug..."
He let go, smiling.
Turning to leave, Gabrielle stopped him. She held her hand up. "Wait a sec," she said. She hurried off, returning with the pink bathrobe. Holding it out in presentation, she smiled widely at him. "I couldn't keep it. It's yours..."

In a short period of time, he was home. He sought out his dearest friend, JJ.
However, JJ was not the first person he found. Sitting in the main room, by a roaring fire in the hearth, was Dooku. Qui-Gon observed the back of his top hat.
The brownie had begun to dull reality, making the spectre's surroundings appear softer. That may have been why the sight of his former Master did not rattle him over much.
"Oh, wow..." Qui-Gon muttered in his usual idiom. "You're..." He laughed slowly.
"Padawan," Dooku said, regarding his former charge. "There was a mishap in a magic competition with that dreaded Starbucker gent. It seems that he metamorphosed me into a Sleestak."
The ghost was unfazed. "Uh, that's cool, man... Uh, I'm gonna go grab some munchies." He waved and started toward the kitchen.

Continued further and with more humour in JawaJuice Jump Up!

Laundry Day

2006-03-03T05:51:00.000Z

There was something amiss. Gabrielle entered her tiny flat, tossing her heavy cloak over the nearest chair. There was a sound that caught her attention. Water was running, but as being part of Second Banana Heaven, the plumbing was second best. She heard something else.
Whistling?
It was a slow, sad tune, filling the hall.
Gabrielle glanced toward it. And did a double take. Someone was in her shower. That someone, left the door to the bath open, but also left the sliding glass of the shower ajar. She caught a glance of a nude spectral body, standing under the steamy deluge. They were lathering their long, dark hair. She took a few tentative steps, hoping that the visitor would not take notice. Her vision was not clear from the rolling steam, though she could see their backside and their long tall legs.
"Xena!" Gabrielle cried, smiling. It had been a while since her dearest partner had visited. It was just the warrior's style to arrive unannounced and use the facilities as if she owned the place.
There was no response, the sad tune continuing.
Gabrielle neared closer and her foot tapped an object in front of her. It was a large boot, leather, much like Xena's, only a lighter tan, with unusual buckles. From there, she spotted a pile of clothing. Earthen hues, creams and browns, were contrasted by a shining silver lightsabre hilt.
"Qui-Gon," she said, quietly to herself. She stooped to gather up the pile of clothing, when the smell hit her, taking her breath away. It was concentrated, stale, mildewed funk. "Whew!" She suddenly clapped her hand over her nose.
The man in the shower jumped, startled. "Who's there?" He turned round, looking through the spray.
Gabrielle looked to the elder and jerked her hand up to cover her eyes. He was very nude and very visible. "Wh, what are you doing here?"
The Jedi turned back to his scrubbing. "Showering."
His nudity made her uncomfortable, her cheeks glowing red. The shower was also weeping over the tub, leaving the floor and the bath mat wet. She lowered her hand and, stepping over the pile of stinking clothing, she reached out the shut the sliding glass door.
Like a jolt of lightning, he grabbed her wrist. "Please, don't."
After the initial shock wore off, Gabrielle breathed out, deeply, shaking her head. "I, I won't."
He let go and lowered his head, going back to his ablutions. There was a short sigh. "Sorry."
The bard decided to tread lightly. "Would you like me to wash your clothes?"
"I'd like you to burn them."
She stepped to the pile and kicked them together. "What will you wear?"
He nodded with a grunt. "Nothing. Clothes are too constricting."
"You sound like Master Windu."
The statement was simple, but powerful. It was enough for the Jedi to rethink his decision. "Wash them."
Gabrielle scooped up a towel off the rack beside her tub then wrapped the offending garments. She took them to the sonic cleaner chute and dumped them in.
The water turned off. Qui-Gon snagged the last remaining towel and began to blot himself dry.
The Amazon glanced over, suddenly clenching her eyes shut. "Yeah," she said, with an embarrassed smile, "That's nice." She waved out, blindly, in front of her. "You're going to have to put something on. This is just..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "My bathrobe is on the back of the door."
The elder looked at the ethereal robe. Pink. Fluffy. A terry cotton monstrosity. "Gabrielle," he shouted from behind the half-closed door, "How long before my robe is clean?"
"About a quarter hour," the feminine voice replied.
Qui-Gon sighed, wrapping the towel around his damp hair and tying it into a makeshift turban. He resigned himself to his fate, slipping the robe around his shoulders. It was small, clinging to his wet skin, coming to mid-thigh and felt uncomfortably tight. The sensation of the material on his skin made his intangible flesh crawl. He threw open the door, panting.
Gabrielle looked at him in disbelief for a mere moment before she was overtaken with laughter. She held her hand out, as if ready to speak, but could not draw the breath to speak. She knew this Jedi Master personally. She had seen his times, from good to bad. He was her friend. But this was just too much! A grown ghost of a man, one who lived a life of seriousness and serenity, before her in a pink robe and his hair wrapped in a white towel. "I have matching slippers..." she said, between giggles.
He began to untie the pink belt.
"No! Wait... I'm," she sighed, "I'm sorry. This is just too funny. Go look in the mirror. Seriously."
He trudged back into the steamy bathroom, his wet feet slapping the ethereal floor.
The sight that met his spectral eyes made a smile crack across his chiselled features. It reminded him of his days as Quiggy Starlust. All he needed was a feathered boa and some garish make-up.
He looked the nearly same as he had before the incarceration. Lines shone through deeper, the colours darker. Staring back at him, his eyes lacked the same glow that they usually burned with.
He took his hair down from the towel. Taking the comb beside the sink, Qui-Gon ran it through his long silvery hair. The tie he used to pull his long locks back was with the clothing in the wash. When he finished combing, he slid his fingers through the length. He would let it finish drying in the swirling ethereal air.
The door was nearly closed, which he could see from the mirror. He shuddered and threw it open, joining Gabrielle in the main room.
The young woman smiled at the man and patted a seat on the couch beside her. He sat, giving an incredulous smile at his pink robe.
Gabrielle opened her mouth to speak, but closed it with a sigh. She looked deep in thought for a moment. "So," she began, "How ya' doin, big guy?"
He simply shrugged his shoulders.
"What made you decide to commandeer my shower?"
The Jedi rolled the edge of the belt in his spectral fingers. "Ethereal showers are the best way for ghosts to clean themselves. Real soap and water doesn't work for us."
They sat in silence for a few tics, before Gabrielle said, "Who would have thought Jo Jo would pull it off? I didn't even think he could pick the nits off himself, and there he went defending you and Dooku."
The elder nodded, his mind a million miles away.
"He's a good guy, you know? Makes a mean banana daiquiri." Gabrielle smiled, running a quick hand through her ghostly hair. "You want a brownie?" She could tell by his graceful and consummate manner that he had not had one in some time. She knew him from his years of holovid programmes in that way, but she knew him personally, as Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi Hippie Master. She thought that he seemed to have more fun when he was under the influence of at least a few brownies.
Qui-Gon cocked his head to the side and looked at her, a smile on his face. "I thought that they were all sold out."
Gabrielle got up, taking a quick glance at the robe again, and made her way for the kitchenette. "They are," she began, "in most stores. But, see, I had made this little stash," she pulled out a small clay urn at the back of her cupboard, "a while back. So you and I could have a few when you stopped by."
A sincere smile crossed the elder's face. "Thank you for the generous offer." His smile faded a few watts. "However, I am going to have to pass. As soon as my clothes are clean, I need to be heading home."
Gabrielle gave him a superficial smile, her eyes, instead, showing her disappointment. "I understand. It's okay." She tossed him a packet from the jar. "Take a few home. You and Dooku can share."
He caught the wrapped square. "Are you sure? I hear that they are worth quite a bit on the black market."
Gabrielle nodded, pulling out several more packets. "You mean, cBay? Right now, they are worth almost as much as an unopened case of Clone Strike miniatures."
"Wow," the elder said, in hushed astonishment. "That's too rich for my blood." He held the snack out, handing it back in her direction.
"It's okay. Really," she said, pressing several more packs into the outstretched ethereal hand. "They are here to be eaten, not for financial gain."
"I understand completely."
Three sequential beeps sounded, followed by the sound of the door to a small dumb-waiter, beside Gabrielle's cupboard, opening. Inside it were Qui-Gon's clean and neatly folded clothes.
"All done," she said, brightly, pulling the garments from the compartment. "I have a request." She held the pile behind herself.
Qui-Gon stood, turning his head to the side, saying, "And what is that?"
"That you please, please change in the bedroom. I'll stay in here, and you go in there." She pointed to the room beside the 'fresher.
Smiling, he lowered his head, mocking defeat. He shot her a good natured grin, pointing out an accusing finger. "No peeking."
"No problem." She handed him the pile, and watched as he departed. Shaking her head, she took a seat on the couch.
A few minutes later, the man she knew exited the bedroom. He was dressed in his Jedi tunics and leggings, but carried his robe and poncho over his arm, with the pink robe over the other.
"You can keep that robe. The colour suits you."
"Keep it? Master Yoda would never let me live that down." He tossed the garment in question down the laundry chute. "I do hope no-one else saw me in that pink nightmare."
Turning to face her, he held out his arms, calling for a hug. "Thank you."
She grinned, shaking her head, embracing the big man. "Your tunic smells much better," she said, muffled by the cloth.
"I agree."
"Hey, Qui?" she asked, looking up into his translucent eyes. "Go home, have some brownies, and try to relax."
Loaded up with several packets of brownies and an armful of clean clothes, he left, smiling.

C! (Cybertainment Holovision) Trial of the Time Period

2006-02-27T05:11:00.000Z

Yes, that's right, my lovely friends, this is C-3P0, with the triumphant return of C!, Cybertainment Holovision. I'm here in Coruscant bringing you the Trial of the Time Period, the brownie mogul, Qui-Gon Jinn, and the sweet snack purveyor and Sith, Count Dooku, battling it out, to save themselves from a lifetime in prison, or worse.
If you don't know the story thus far, which is understandable since you didn't have C! Cybertainment Holovision to bring you the scoops, I'll regale it to you now, in my particular, dramatic, over-acted idiom.
Master Dooku, the Count of Serenno, aka Darth Tyranus, was sent to stay with JawaJuice, the JJ part of Uncle Jinn and JJ's Brownies, and Qui-Gon, the deceased Jedi Master and spiced brownie entrepreneur, after JJ lost a very important poker game.
During this game, Qui-Gon came across the ghost of Jo Jo, Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator's sidekick Monkey-boy, who had passed on a short time prior. After guiding him to the Second Banana Heaven, Qui-Gon returned to find his former Master living in his home! He fled back to Second Banana Heaven, where he stayed for over a month.
He returned home and the Master and his former Padawan reconciled their differences. The two began work on a new album.
After they finished one of their new songs, to which several record execs, who downloaded a bootleg off the Creamy Gnutella P-2-P-2 network, say is simply wonderful, the Coruscanti local Police burst in with a warrant for their arrest, as well as a search warrant.
We bring you the final chapter in the Trial of the Time Period!

"Will you just listen?" The elder Sith Master glared at the apparition before him. Dooku's fists were balled at his sides and his jaw was clenched, set in a frown.
The ghostly Monkey-boy simply smiled, his playful grin shown no fear. "Why are ya' worried, boss? I can lick 'em, no problem!" He wagged his tongue.
Dooku scrubbed his hand over his face, letting his fingers rest on his beard. He shook visibly. His eyes were filled with a mix of anger and fear. "I don't believe all of this." Sitting heavily on his cot, he reached to his side to grab the dulled metal box.
There was a faint tap.
"It is hopeless," Dooku said, shaking his head and absently stroking the container.
"It's never hopeless when you've got a Monkey-boy on your side!" The ghost began to rustle through papers in a manilla folder. "I've got it all figured out. You just need to follow me! Hoo hoo ha ha!"
Suddenly snapping, the elder stood, letting the box clatter to the floor. His eyes ablaze, he turned to the spectre, reaching out his strained manacled hands. "Look, you silly sod! We'll be put away forever if you botch this up! I'll spend my last few years in a wig as a b!*&# to Big Kowalski!" He looked manic, beginning to pace like a caged animal. "I know that I look good with long hair, old chap, but this is not what I had ever intended. I didn't even perpetrate this crime! My Master simply tired of me and pushed me aside, and this not even being the first time, as the Jedi Council excelled in that. I drove my Padawan away to the Nether World, and now I'm here, desperately grasping my soap in one hand and trying to hold onto the tattered vestiges of my fleeting sanity in the other!" He clenched both fists dramatically. "I have no faith in you and none in the Force, abandoning me here in this pit. I am..."
He was interrupted by a loud clanking sound coming from the box at his feet. The sound repeated once, twice, and after the third, all was silent.
Dooku looked down, sadness drooping his features, as he scooped up the box. "I'm sorry."
Jo Jo looked hurt as he spoke. "You don't think I can do this, bwauth?"
Dooku sat again, and shook his head. "My hope is gone. You might as well leave me to my fate."
The Monkey-boy knelt, coming into the melancholy Master's view. "This isn't about you. Hoo hoo." His laugh was flat. "This is about my buddy in the box. He did me a favour, Dooks, and I owes him one."
The Master absently ran his thumb over the lid. He knew how awful it was out here, away from the Force, away from the simple mundane pleasures of day to day. However, he had no idea what his former Padawan was experiencing. He simply imagined the worst a thousand times a night. He could tolerate life without the Force, but for Qui-Gon, the Force was the only life he could have.
Dooku sighed and looked at the ghost. "It is just hard to believe that you could be a barrister."
"What's a barrister?" Jo Jo asked, beaming.
Dooku scrubbed his face again.
"Just kidding. Hoo hoo ha ha ha ha ha! It's a fantastic story, bwauth. I didn't even know nothing about law or lawyers or judges or bananas... Well, I know bananas, but not the legal aspects of them, and so..."
Dooku sighed.
"Right, well, I was watching Farming with Celebrities, with that one guy from that one show with the gold chains and the attitude and the butt kicking and hoo hoo, and he was paired up with this lawyer from Bent Armpit, Dantooine. Well, they started talking and I knew that lawyers were smart people with suits and ties and briefcases full of papers with words on them. Something told me to be a lawyer. Something said, 'Jo Jo, you should be spouting legalese and would look good in navy.'"
Dooku examined his fingernails. "How did you become a barrister?"
"Well," the animated ghost began, "I talked to Janine Melnitz and she said I had to pass the Bar Exam. Hoo hoo. So, I found this place to study for monkeys called 'Monkey Bars' and..."
"Wait."
"What?"
"Wait a bloody minute. Stop the blog!"
Jo Jo looks to Dooku in shock. "You, you can't do that!"
"Yes, I bloody well can, my good man." He turns to face you, the reader, his dark eyebrows quirked, pointing a finger in your direction. "Listen! I think I've been a rather good sport through all of this, but even I have my limits. There are puns that are just far too awful, and that, my dear friends, is one of them. I am a man of honour. I've had a part in every major Spacepearean production of Sorenno, for Sith sakes!"
Jo Jo tries as he might to settle Dooku, waving his hands and making shushing noises. "It could be worse. Things could be all serious again."
"I don't understand that at all. Everyone has a level of humour in their blogs, and things around these parts have gone from occasionally funny to drab and depressing. When the author returned from hiatus, suddenly, things were serious, as if we had gone from casual blogging to angst competition fan fiction overnight. I think that my part in Qui-Gon's Survivor dream was powerful and well written. As of now, I am playing bit parts to a man in a can."
The box taps.
Jo Jo smiles, nodding. "That Survivor thing was really good. But, hoo hoo, you have to take into account that, for the writer, that piece of writing was so good that any attempts past that seem flat."
Dooku nods, rubbing his beard. "Have you noticed," he says, turning to Jo Jo, "that Qui-Gon's blog has gone from a narrative style to a novella approach?"
"I like it," the ghost says, smiling. "It's more detailed. Shows more stuff, you know? Ha ha?"
Dooku shakes his head. "Yes, but, the writer runs sentences on too long. They just try to cram too much in."
Sudden obnoxious tapping is loud, bouncing the container on the bed.
"Yes, yes," says the Elder, "we hear you." He sighs. "Do I really have to do this? I mean, I'm running without a script here and I haven't a clue what my motivation is." He dramatically rubs his forehead.
Jo Jo gives Dooku a toothy smile. "Like I said, hoo hoo, just follow my lead, I've read the script. I know what I am doing. Just trust me, bwauth."

"Count Dooku, please take the stand." Jo Jo had summoned the prisoner.
The trial thus far was very straightforward, giving the abstract of record, stating what was common knowledge. The confiscated spice was shown as evidence, and no-one had found any records of a permit for said spice.
Dooku heeded the call, and sat before the court, the lights shining off the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Jo Jo approached the bench, holding out a book, the Separatist Code, written by Dooku himself.
The prisoner laid his left and on the book and rose his right.
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you Force?" Jo Jo's manner was very professional, and it came as an empowering shock to the Sith.
"I do."
"Please be seated."
Dooku did so.
"Please state your name for the court." Jo Jo held a file in one hand.
"Count Dooku of Serenno."
The ghost looked at the file and back at the man before him. "You're missing something there. Please state your full and complete name."
He sighed. "Count Jard Dooku."
Subtle snickering could be heard in the audience.
"Okay, Jard," Jo Jo began...
Dooku interrupted the monkey-boy, raising his hand. "Please call me Darth Tyranus."
"No-one calls you Darth Tyranus, Jard. Hoo hoo." After the giggles in the audience had subsisted, Jo Jo continued. He held up a picture of a Ithorian female. "Do you know who this is?"
He pointed, saying, "That's Rhonda."
"And how is it that you know her?"
"I met her at Watto's when we were on Tatooine with Survivor in its early days. She was trying to seduce this rich old git to get his money. He had spurned her advances, but it was such a display of greed and lack of concern for others well-being, that I was just drawn to her. We chatted casually, yet parted when I had to leave to rejoin the cast. Later, when I came to stay with JawaJuice, I found that she had wed him whilst he was inebriated. I had foiled her little game and soon after, the two divorced."
Jo Jo rubbed his stuffed spectral hands together. "Sounds like they didn't leave on good terms."
Jard shook his head. "They did not," he said.
Jo Jo looked at his paperwork again. "It says here that you phoned Frick and Frack for assistance. What did you talk to them about?"
"We spoke about acquiring JawaJuice's copy of the spice permit."
Jo Jo nodded, looking surprised. He turned round to the audience, gazing at the two F.O.O.F.ers. "Frick and Frack, will you please bring the permit up here?"
The light of hope sparked in Dooku's eyes, as the two F.O.O.F'ers made their way up to stand before the Judge. Frick's hands here cupped together, obviously holding something.
He emptied a hand full of ash onto the Judge's desk.
Scowling, the Judge adjusted his spectacles, closely observing the pile of charred mess on his pristine banc. He jabbed at it with the end of his gavel.
Fear flashed in Jo Jo's spectral eyes. "What happened, guys?"
"Arrgh! I'm a pirate!" Frack said, flexing his non-existent muscles and squinting.
"Well, we started to..." Frick began.
He was interrupted by Frack. "Speak not! We can no understand you! You must speak... Like Fluke! As a pirate!"
The Judge's eyes widened and his face went red. He extended his right index finger and rose it, unblinking. He inhaled. "Do you realise that this is a court of law, counsel?" His tone stoked and blazed like a roaring fire. "If you do not cease and desist this freak show, I will hold you all in contempt! My decree will send your client to the lowest levels of the Coruscanti Detention Centre and his ethereal friend to an exorcist! The plaintiff has shown preponderance of evidence, as they have 18 kilos of unprocessed spice and you have given us a pile of ash." His glare bounced around to those before the court. "Carry on."

And carry on they did. Hours of amazing testimony and rebuttals. Some of the finest courtroom drama this droid has ever seen.
However, you just have to believe me on this, as we are getting close to time, and Pimp My Droid is coming up next.
The final court decision, you ask? Well, of course, Qui-Gon and Dooku were exculpated. Things would get rather boring around here if Qui-Gon were to remain tinned. However, Dooku in a saucy story of surviving day to day in a prison. A harrowing tale of him holding onto the soap.
* * *
Oh my! It seems that the ratings did a bit of a slump there. I assure you that, as he has been freed, there will be no disturbing bathing scenes of Dooku on the airwaves any time soon.
How did Jo Jo win the case, you ask. Simple, my friends. All of this was a premeditated attempt at revenge by Rhonda, JawaJuice's ex-wife. She was looking to have both JJ and Dooku imprisoned, yet, she did not take into account that JJ had gone on to do the Big Brother programme and that Qui-Gon was nabbed as well. She had gone through the trouble of getting a job at the Coruscanti Legal Records facility. There, she disposed of the original documentation for the Spice Permit and proceeded to tip off the local authorities about the occupation of the Brownie moguls. She didn't take into account that there was another copy of the permit that JJ carried with him.
'Jard' Dooku contacted the F.O.O.F.ers and had the attempt to recover the document. They destroyed it, but there was a single copy made when Qui-Gon and JJ went to Kessel, which was kept on file at Yatta the Hutt's place of business.
With this, Jo Jo cleared our favourite hippie and posh Sith gentleman.
We were able to catch up with them after the trial and Dooku had this to say, "It feels wonderful to be free of the Force restricting manacles." *rubs his wrists, slowly clenching a fist* "I do hope that there will be very little repercussions from our litigation. I feel that people will hold true and not follow the slander that has so recently been published about my incarceration. Mostly, I do hope that Rhonda lives long and prospers."
Sadly, Rhonda le'Bitka died, soon after the trial let out, of asphyxiation. It was believed that she had inhaled a hard piece of candy and choked, but no evidence was found. She was 37.
We were fortunate enough to be there when ethereal master, Qui-Gon Jinn, was released from the 'Ghost Trap' by Egon Spangler, heartthrob of the Ghostbusters fame.

Pan out, showing outside of Court-house, crowd parted and retained by navy robed Senate Guards. Dooku and Jo Jo standing on left side, looking on. Egon with blinking trap.
Pan in. Egon setting out trap. Hitting button. Flash of light. Focus on box. Lid open, empty.
Pan up. Qui-Gon, in ethereal spirit form, standing. Focus on face, dazed and confused. Jo Jo and Dooku at Qui-Gon's side.
Dooku: How are you, Padawan?
Jo Jo: How ya' doin', bwauth?
Qui-Gon: Psst. Hey Guido. It's all clear to me now.
Dooku: What is clear?
Qui-Gon: You are the keeper of the cheese... And I am the lemon merchant! Get it?
Jo Jo: Hoo hoo?
Qui-Gon: *leaning close to the two, pointing to Egon* And he knows it. That's why he's going to kill us. So we have to beat it. Yeah.
Jo Jo: Do you know what 'non compos mentis' means?
Qui-Gon: Before he sets loose the marmosets on us!
Dooku: Not of sound mind. Yes. I will agree with you on that.
Qui-Gon: Don't worry, little missy! I'll save you! *floats off and fades from view*

Isn't that great! Everyone is freed and though Qui-Gon is spouting nonsensical rubbish, it's better than hearing that stupid Banana Phone song again.
Update on the brownies, and the current lack there of. Since the actual documentation for the spice permit was destroyed, Uncle Jinn and JJ's Brownies can't use spice in their product. Worse off is that they cannot apply for a new permit without JawaJuice being present. So, no brownies for a while, my C! Snack Junkies! The prices for the remaining baked goods have skyrocketed on cBay, pulling nearly 100 credits a packet!
Well, my friends, this has been C-3P0 for Cybertainment Holovision, bringing you the Trial of the Time Period!

Cybertainment Holovision (C) XXMLXXCXX This has been a Ren Hoëk Production. Presented in Hoëkvision. Thanks to our sponsors, Wizzleteats Music, Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen Women's Apparel and Eveningwear, and new Jedi LOG, with real lightsabre action!

Preparations

2006-02-22T04:54:00.000Z

It had been over a ten-day since he had arrived. Hope fled as the days drudged on. The constant dehumanising activities, such as 'Wig-making for Dummies,' 'Learning Safety Words in 50 Different Languages,' 'Rehabilitative Brainwashing,' 'Achieving the Perfect Clean with a Fire Hose and Soap-On-A-Rope,' and 'It's Not a Sweat-Shop if you're Imprisoned,' were meant to break his spirit. However, he was a man of Darkness. He had known, first hand, the incredible usefulness of torture. He knew that one whose soul had been crushed was easier to manipulate. As he was forced into participation of these pathetic acts, his most comforting thought was that of the terror he would reek the moment his Force inhibitor collar came off. He dreamt of Sith lightning arcing through victims, cooking them from the inside. He imagined the cool weight of his lightsabre in his palm, and the hum as it hissed through soft bodies with ease. Were he free, he would rewrite the mind of the psycho-hypno-therapist, leaving her in a drooling, babbling stupor. These thoughts brought a smile to his face during the worst of the tasks.
However, when he returned to his cell, reality crashed down on him. The tiny mirror above his foul sink showed the truth of his state. The vibrant orange jump-suit, smeared with stains that he endured as the other inmates harassed him at the group lunch, glared loudly in his reflected gaze. Large dark rings hung under his glossy, red eyes, yet this was the least of the effects of the accumulating lack of sleep. Years back, he had developed a mild tremor, easily calmed by the Force, but here, the shake was distracting. He wondered if it were simply his fear manifesting outward. His hair was greasy, as it had been far too long since he had been able to clean it properly.
He sighed and sat heavily on the edge of his cot. Waking nightmares played in his head. He saw that of weeks turning to years, and a fuzzy vague image of an ancient and crude implement called a Guillotine. Hands and head gone. Life a lie.
His mind reeling, his eyes slipped closed. A light tinny tapping sound broke him free of the terror which gripped him. A smile crossed his sweaty face as he stepped over to the metallic box on the floor.
"Thank you for getting my attention, Padawan," he said, letting two fingers rest on the cold metal lid. The tapping sound had weakened in days past. Dooku worried that the small enclosure prohibited Qui-Gon his powerful connection with the Force. Being that he was a Force Ghost, this could not have been a good thing.
Dooku sat there, deep in a lack of thought, for an indeterminate amount of time.
He was startled awake by the harsh crack of wood on metal.
"Wake up, you maggot!" a squat guard called, standing directly outside of the cell. He was dressed in the flowing blue robes of the Senate guards, however, his were ill-fitting, his large belly made the fabric tight. The centurion face-guard was pushed up, revealing a pock-mark covered scowl.
Dooku blinked up at the man. He could not hide his revulsion and his face wrinkled in disgust.
"What're you lookin' at, Jedi scum?"
"I am Sith, my good man," the Count said, with his usual air of grace, "And, simply, I am looking at a pathetic little creature that will never achieve his dreams of being the Human Cannonball at the Bumbling Brothers Circus." He grazed his finger tips over the metal container, his lips quirking up into a smirk.
With a grunt of rage, the diminutive guard keyed the lock and threw the door open, stalking in and grabbing the front of Dooku's shirt, hauling him to his feet. "Big laughs, old man. If you didn't have the be upstairs right now, I'd bust up your head!"
The elder stifled a laugh. "'Bust up my head'? Dear me, you didn't pass the Coruscanti Police test, did you, Prison Guard, sir?"
The strike was fast and hard, knocking Dooku to his knees. Blazing white pain arced up the right side of his face, robbing him of his breath and sight. He held the back of hand to his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
"Do you..." Dooku cleared his throat, rising, slowly to his feet. "Do you feel big, hitting an unarmed man?"
The guard smiled, shaking his head. "Naw," he said, "I feel big when I'm taking home my pay cheque for it." He grabbed the edge to the metal box, and dragged it toward him, scraping it along the floor.
"What are you doing?" Dooku said, absently reaching out for the container.
The guard scowled. "Never you mind, Jedi freak. Just follow me and shut up."
Dooku was uncomfortable with the lout holding the box. He wondered for a moment if Qui-Gon could feel the motions inside.
With a tug of Dooku's chains, the two started down the hallway. Both men were silent, only the sound of the footfalls echoed through the durasteel cavern of cages.
The elder thought long and hard on the situation and where he and Qui-Gon were going. Fear came in waves as his mind jumped to a vision of an electric chair warmed up and waiting for him.
He dared to speak. "Where are we going?"
The guard's baton butted Dooku in the gut, making him gasp in pain. The small man said nothing, keeping up his pace.
Finally, the two reached the showers. The guard removed soap, a short stained towel, and a clean orange jump-suit from a large locker. He forced the items into Dooku's arms. "Shower and git dressed. You got 10 minutes of hot water." He turned away, pulling a folded magazine from his pocket. He sat on one of the cold metal benches and began to read, ignoring Dooku.
This was the first shower that the elder had the pleasure of taking alone since his arrival. This was also the first with the exquisite sin of hot water. He showered quickly, though spending extra time to wash his hair. Within 15 minutes, he was clean, dried and dressed.
From there, the two went to an elevator and travelled upward 12 floors.
The guard elbowed the elder in the arm. "Don't say nothin'."
When the doors hissed open, bright flashing lights blinded Dooku. He held his chained hands up, covering his eyes. With a sharp tug, he was lead forward into a crowd.
When his eyes focussed, he saw a sea of news reporters. The cacophony of shouted questions bombarded his ears, unable to make out a single word. He was pulled through, mutely. The guard lead him into a grand courtroom, with marble floors and sturdy wood benches. Dozens of people filled the seats, all turned to gaze at him. The jury section held ten. There were several armed Senate Guards posted at the doorways.
Dooku was paraded in front of the court and before the judge. He sat tall, looking down on the elder, contempt clear in his eyes. His face was old and wrinkled, but lacked the lines of mirth, but instead was craggy with the sharp cuts of disgust. He wore a white curled wig, as all of the local judges did.
The guard dropped the container down, on the table before the judge, hard, the harsh echoing clang ricocheted through the noisy room.
All of this had been happening too fast for Dooku. A lost look was on his still face as he gazed down at the box.
"Order," the Judge said, his huge voice booming.
Silence reigned.
"You," he pointed out a twisted bony finger at Dooku, "Do you know why you are here?" He spoke with an accent much like that of Dooku himself, but the voice lacked compassion. It was as cold as his ice blue eyes.
He touched the corner of the box. "Yes, your honour."
"Where is your counsel?"
Dooku froze as his hope sank. As he knew of nothing, he assumed that Frick and Frack had failed. He was not prepared in the least. He shook his head. "We haven't a barrister, your honour."
The judge scoffed. "Haven't a barrister?" He slipped on a pair of tiny reading spectacles he wore around his neck on a chain. Leafing through papers, his thin lips curled in a wicked smile. "Well, 'Count,'" he said, mockingly, "we will provide you with a Solicitor. Free of charge." He waved his emaciated hand. "Send in the Solicitor."
A guard bowed and disappeared into a connecting hall.
Moments later he returned, with the barrister in tow.
The Count's jaw dropped. He blinked in disbelief.
"Since one of your party is also dead, I felt that this gentleman would understand your needs and serve you best."
The words of the Judge were soundless to Dooku. He was in shock.
"We will reconvene tomorrow morning at zero eight hundred sharp to allow the counsel to commune with his clients. Dismissed!"
The barrister turned to the elder, smiling. "How ya' doin' bwauth?"

Coded Messages

2006-02-14T06:15:00.000Z

A light tapping sound echoed from the darkest corner of the cell. It was in near unison with a red blinking light that seemed to bring an eerie glow with every flash.
Dooku shifted on his thin cot, sucking in a long snore. The light from a cosmos of stars shone in the barred window, casting pale illumination on the sleeping man. He had drawn his stained grey wool blanket over his shoulders, leaving his socked feet uncovered.
The rhythmic tapping intensified, sounding much like rain hitting a metal roof.
The elder groaned, gathering the tattered blanket around his ears.
A sudden jolting noise of metal impacting with a hard surface ripped through the air.
Dooku sat erect in bed, immediately, throwing a glare to the shadowed corner. "Yes, yes," he said, his voice deep with residual sleep, "I hear you, old chap." He yawned, hugely, stretching out his arms above his head, the cuffs around his wrists clinking together.
The tapping resumed, very faintly.
The old man wrapped the cover around his shoulders like a cloak. He exhaled a short sigh, swinging his long legs over the side of the cot. He sucked in a hiss, as his feet touched the freezing floor, stepping toward the sound.
Observing the blinking metal box, the Dark Master noted that it was on its side. He set it upright and laid a gentle hand on the lid.
"I'm sorry, Qui-Gon," he said, sitting on the frigid durasteel, leaning his back against the solid wall.
The tapping resumed. The sounds were different than before, though. The taps grew in length at times, others were short. There was no even pattern, but there was something very familiar in the presentation.
"Talz code." In the dim light shining between the bars, Count Dooku smiled. He had used the primitive communication form several times in the past. Once, he recalled, he had to send emergency transmissions to the Council, without it being detected by a renegade faction stationed in his area. The lessons of the language were taught to all Padawans when he was training in the Crèche. Technology had left the code behind, but he had made sure to pass it on to his own Padawan.
He tapped out eight dots, signalling that he needed the message to be repeated.
The reply came. "-- .- ... - . .-. ..--.." Master?
".--. .- -.. .- .-- .- -. .-.-.-" Padawan.
".- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-.. .-.. / .-. .. --. .... - ..--.." Are you all right?
Dooku sighed. Things were not well and he would not have considered himself all right. ".. / .- -- / ..-. .. -. . .-.-.- / .- .-. . / -.-- --- ..- ..--.." I am fine. Are you?
There was a pause. ".. / -. . . -.. / -.-- --- ..- / - --- / - . .-.. .-.. / .--- .--- / .-- .... .- - / .... .- .--. .--. . -. . -.. .-.-.-" I need you to tell JJ what happened.
A trickle of fear ran through the elder. Qui-Gon had not answered his question. He tried to reach out with the Force, but the handcuffs inhibited his ability. He could sense nothing, the feeling left him empty.
More code began, ".... .- ...- . / ... --- -- . --- -. . / .-- .- - . .-. / -- -.-- / .--. .-.. .- -. - ... .-.-.-" Have someone water my plants.
".. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. .-.-.-" I will.
"--. --- / -... .- -.-. -.- / - --- / ... .-.. . . .--. / .- -. -.. / -.. --- -. .----. - / .-- --- .-. .-. -.-- / .- -... --- ..- - / -- . .-.-.-" Go back to sleep and don't worry about me.
Dooku sighed and ran his finger over the cool metal of the box. For telling JawaJuice, he would do his best to inform the Jawa of the situation. As for the last part of the request, he knew that it was something that he could not heed.
He stood slowly and returned to his cot, wrapping the blanket around himself, suddenly feeling very cold. He stared, blankly, at the ceiling, until the purple light of dawn began to break through the bars.

Unexpected Visitors

2006-02-06T05:07:00.000Z

The ghost and the Sith were finishing the last few touches on a new single they had collaborated on, Anakin's Rhapsody. The song was far different from most of their other work, incorporating elements of opera with rock. Dooku was not experienced in singing operatic vocals, but his voice had taken to the style well. Qui-Gon, on the other hand, had not only used opera, but had been known to yodel in his solo work.

This is the real life-
There is no fantasy-
It's been a long ride-
Your focus is reality-

Opened my eyes,
Looked to the skies to see-
I'm just a poor boy
A slave with no family-
Because it's
Easy come,
Easy go,
Little high,
Little low-

Anywhere Padme goes,
The only thing that matters to me,
To me-

Mama, I killed their clan,
Taking off each one's head-
Now my hands are stained blood red-
Mama, your life had just begun,
But I've gone and let you die that day-
Mama, ooo,
Didn't mean to let you die,
But you'll see what I'll be this time tomorrow-
Padawan, Padawan,
No I'm a Jedi Master-

Too late, his time has come-
Force Lightning down my spine-
Dooku took my hand this time-
Good-bye, my dear Padme,
I've got to go,
Got to leave you there behind
And face Dooku-
Mama, ooo-
You won't see me cry,
But at times I wish I'd never been born at all-

I know the ways that darkness taints a man
Anakin, Anakin, Wow, Mace just killed Jango
Dooku with Sith Lightning, very very frightening me
Anakin, oh, Anakin, oh-
Anakin, oh, Anakin, oh-
Anakin, oh, Just let go-
You must let go-
But I'm just a slave boy and no Jedi loves me-
He's just a slave boy without any family,
Spare him his life of these monstrosities-
Easy come, easy go-
Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Hey Yoda!
No! Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Please don't go-
Hey Yoda! Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Please don't go-
Hey Yoda! Will the Dark Side take its hold?
Let me go-
No, no, no, no, no, no, no-
Mama mia, mama mia, mama mia,
I just don't know-
Darth Sidious has a co-op put aside for me-
For me-
For me!

So you think if you wound me that I'll start to cry-
So you think you can steal her and leave her to die-
Oh baby-
Can't do this to me, baby-
Won't talk this out-
You've got to get right out of here-

Only Padme matters-
I'm the only one to see-
Only Padme matters-
Only Padme matters, to me-

Wonder what the future holds...

They had gone through several dozen brownies and several dozen fun sized bags of Funyuns. The spiced treats had given them creativity, but not so much as to ruin their newest creation.
They had been recording when the first knock came. The sharp rapping echoed throughout the empty lower floor.
The recording light flicked off and the two returned to the mixing room. They were both giggling, brownie crumbs obvious in their beards.
The knock was sharper the second time.
Dooku stopped and held a hand out to stop his friend. "Did you hear something, old chap?"
Qui-Gon laughed slowly. "Oh wow, man, yeah. You, like, said some words, or something."
A look of seriousness crossed the living elder's face. "No, Padawan. I heard something downstairs." He returned his black electric guitar to its stand. "Were you expecting visitors?"
Qui-Gon looked deep in thought for a moment. "Uh," he stammered, "I don't remember, man. Then again," he laughed absently, smiling, "I don't remember a lot of things when I eat brownies, man." He began to giggle.
The knock came again, yet this time it was followed by muffled shouting.
Dooku held out two fingers, stopping Qui-Gon's laughter with a touch of the Force. "I know I've heard something this time, Padawan."
An acute look of distress broke through Qui-Gon's silent laughter. "You've muted me, man," he said, soundlessly.
The Count clenched his outstretched fingers into a fist. "You're fine now. I do wish you'd take this situation seriously. Do you not feel the ripples in the Force? There is danger downstairs and you feel the need to giggle so loudly as to draw attention to us."
Qui-Gon scowled, silently. He turned away from the living man and phased through the door of the mixing room. Dooku exited soon after.
Both were startled by a smashing noise below them. Shouting came soon after.
"Whoa," Qui-Gon muttered, his face a mask of shock. "Who'd want to break in here, man?"
The Count glanced at the Titanium albums adorning the walls and the thousands of credits worth of musical equipment. He looked to his former student and shook his head. "I feel the more relevant question is, how shall we defend ourselves against the raiders?" He drew and lit his lightsabre, holding it fast in a defensive position.
There was thundering noise on the stairs, ascending upward. More calling followed.
"What did they, like, say?" Qui-Gon asked, absently fumbling for his ethereal weapon at his side. Once he had hold of it, the noise was in the conjoining room.
The shouting came clearer this time.
"Police!"
Both men faltered for a moment, not even daring to breathe.
The ghost began to shake. "Oh wow, man," he said, repeating it again and again in rapid succession.
"Get a hold of yourself, Padawan!" Dooku reached out to slap the quaking spectre, but his hand drifted through the ethereal haze.
Very suddenly, the door flew open and several uniformed officers flooded the room. They took advantage of the incapacitating fear that gripped both the ghost and the master. Within seconds, Dooku was Force Inhibitor cuffed around his neck and with his wrists behind his back and read a chain of quickly spoken rights. His sheathed lightsabre clattered to the floor.
Qui-Gon, on the other hand, was intangible, thus the normal detaining methods were useless.
A familiar face flashed before the spectre seconds before the beam wrapped around him like a lasso.
"Amazing..." the Ghostbuster, Egon Spengler muttered to himself. He kept a firm hold on his engaged proton pack whilst he kicked out the rectangular containment box.
There was a very faint "Bummer," that escaped from the ghost before he was sucked away. Smoke rolled off the closed box while a small red light on its lid turned red.
The Ghostbuster in glasses tugged the cord attached to the box toward him, skidding the still smoking container to him. He held it up, triumphantly. "I regret to inform you, Mister Jinn, that you are under arrest for the possession of great quantities of unrefined Spice without a formal permit from the proper authorities."
Dooku looked at the uniformed scientist. "Possession of Spice? Then what, may I ask, am I under arrest for?"
An officer stepped in front of the elder, scoffing at him. "Possession of Spice is just the tip of the Sandcrawler, buddy. How about 'assault with a deadly weapon,' 'unauthorised limb removal,' 'prolonging the stereotype that all Counts are prim and proper,' 'selling addictive junk food to impressionable Younglings across the Galaxy,' 'attempted murder,' 'causing a shortage of top hat polish,' 'green riddle monkey abuse,' 'breaking wind in an elevator and blaming it on little old lady Vanderschmoot.."
Dooku's eyes widened. "You, you knew about that?"
The officer gave a quick smirk. "We know everything, Dooku." He led the prisoner away. "You're goin' downtown, you and your little undead brownie buddy. You got some questions to answer."
The Ghostbuster and the lit box followed.

Songs

2006-01-27T03:07:00.000Z

The room was silent, lit only by a purple lava lamp. A beaded curtain in the doorway rustled with a gentle breeze from the vent on the ceiling, casting waving shadows. Several of the posters, covered in a light layer of velvet, glowed neon shades in the low illumination.
There was a whoosh of displaced air and the regular occupant suddenly returned after over a month's absence. Qui-Gon Jinn was home.
He took a deep air-less breath, drinking the familiar sights and sounds of the place he knew so well. With an ethereal wave of his ghostly hand, the overhead lights brought sudden illumination to the room. He smiled broadly, catching sight of a holo-pic of both himself and JawaJuice on Tatooine, after the end of Survivor. They wore grins, though the exhaustion was evident in their eyes. Qui-Gon sighed, still smiling.
He drifted downstairs, going slowly, taking in the sights as if he'd never been in the house before. "JJ?" he called in the main room of the flat. The place was nearly silent. The only noise came from the closed kitchen.
The ghost made his way there, expecting to find his best mate, JawaJuice, mulling over the daily paper, sipping a mug of coffee.
Instead, Qui-Gon found his former master, Count Dooku, sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea before him. The aged master locked gazes with the spectre and for a moment, both froze.
Dooku regained his senses first. "Padawan," he said, gazing over the floating ghost, "Good of you to return from your hiding." He took a long drink of his tea, rolling his eyes at Qui-Gon.
Qui-Gon bowed his head. "The 'Spiritual Retreat' was lovely. Thank you for your obvious lack of concern." He went to the cupboards, Force opening them, and drawing out his favourite mug. With an out-stretched hand, he levitated the cup to the counter. He took a seat and poured himself a mug of tea.
"Show-off. That is egregious usage of the Force, my good chap. The Council would have your head." Dooku took a biscuit off the plate before the two. He broke off a small piece and popped it into his mouth.
Qui-Gon gave him a quick grin. "Since my passing, the Council has little say in my affairs." He tossed his hair back and took a drink. "But, then again, I rarely heeded their advice." His smile faded. He gave a quick sigh, snatching up a biscuit and nibbling the edges. "Hmm," Qui-Gon said, after swallowing a bite of biscuit, "These are good. Are they yours?"
Dooku held the remaining bit of biscuit aloft. "Little Sithy Ginger Snaps." He cocked his head to the side, observing the dead master before him. Holding out his finger, he said, "There is something different about you."
Qui-Gon, in his ethereal form, had not changed whatsoever since the day of his demise. He had chosen to cover his physical formlessness with his poncho from time to time, but he wore the standard Jedi dressings and boots. However, as Dooku had noticed, there was something different about the man.
It took the elder just a mere moment of observation to discern the change. Qui-Gon, as Dooku remembered, was always very mellow, and his manner illustrated it. His posture was slouched, his eyes drowsy, and his speech was slow, filled with sounds of confusion and indecisiveness.
The ghost before him sat erect, showing an air of self confidence. His blue eyes shown, alert and knowing. Each time, he spoke the words were clear and succinct.
The only other time that Dooku had seen Qui-Gon with such grace was when he had taken Obi-Wan as his Padawan. He was focussed and determined at that time.
"You are acting different," Dooku said, pouring himself another cup. "You are conducting yourself as a Jedi Master should."
Qui-Gon gave a chuckle. "I am surprised that you remember how a Master should conduct himself." His tone was mild.
"Ah, my dear boy, I've simply turned to the Dark Side, not succumbed to old age and senility."
"The Dark Side," Qui-Gon echoed, a twinge of sadness in his voice. "Living is easy with eyes closed."
The Count's eyes lit up and his lips curled into a smile. "Misunderstanding all you see," he sung back. His voice was rich and husky.
Qui-Gon looked amazed. "You remembered!"
"Of course I remembered, Padawan," Dooku said, "Coruscant Fields Forever. Our music wasn't about Light or Dark. It was just the music itself. I even still play from time to time."
Qui-Gon smiled, taking another biscuit. "I never would have imagined. You left us so quickly, I thought you had given everything up from your past."
"You shouldn't have assumed."
Both men fell quiet. Qui-Gon studied the half-eaten biscuit in his hand, whilst Dooku looked out the broad window.
The spectre cleared his breathless throat. His voice was quiet. "Have you seen my studio?"
"Studio?" Dooku's interest was piqued.
Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes. JJ designed me a lovely recording studio." He smiled. "It's much better than most of the ones we recorded in years past."
The Count stood. "Wonderful." He gave a stretch.
"Follow me," Qui-Gon said, holding out an intangible hand.
"Wait," the elder stopped the ghost, "I'm still a bit peckish. Care for a brownie?"
At one time, Qui-Gon survived on nothing but his brownies. When he had taken on young Obi-Wan Kenobi, he had ceased his addiction, only indulging on special occasions. After his passing, he had taken up the old habit again, dulling reality. However, whilst he was at his retreat, he fasted. His last brownie had been nearly two months before. Qui-Gon shrugged.
After Dooku had procured his treat from the ice-box, the two went upstairs to the studio. The elder was in awe. His eyes widened and he nearly lost his grip on the plate of brownies. "This is impressive, old chap." He toured the rows of guitars, tapped the cymbals on several drum kits and gazed at the mixing board. "Most impressive."
Qui-Gon smiled, taking an intangible seat in one of multiple tie-dyed beanbag chairs. "It is a welcome retreat. A place where I can leave behind my fears and focus on my music."
Dooku turned away from Qui-Gon's warm gaze, looking at a Platinum record of theirs hung on the wall. "Unless your fears are here with you."
"How do you mean?" Qui-Gon asked.
The elder turned, gathering a handful of his cloak as it swept behind him. "This is your retreat, unless your fears follow you in."
Qui-Gon gave a sad smile. "You mean my 'Spiritual Retreat'?"
Dooku nodded, taking a seat in a beautifully upholstered chair with wheels on the feet.
"It is true," the spectre said, hanging his head. "I fled when you arrived. I went to Second Banana Heaven and tried to get away from reality by losing myself in meditation. Gabrielle pulled me out of it. I'd have sat there forever, completely shut off to the worlds. Living is easy with eyes closed," he sung, melodiously. "But in the end, I was wrong."
Dooku gently grabbed a brownie, offering the plate to the ghost. Qui-Gon took a square, and the two sat, eating, in wordless silence.
The Count spoke. "Have you written anything new?"
Qui-Gon gave a melancholy smile. He stood, taking a seat at the piano. "I have. Mind you, I'd been thinking about Obi-Wan when I wrote this." With a touch of the Force, he played a hauntingly sad tune and sung along.

What have I got to do to make you see me
What have I got to do to make you care,
What can I do since life has left me
And you still think that I'm not there?

What have I got to do to make you know me,
What have I got to do to be heard,
What do I say since my time is over?
And sorry seems to be the hardest word.

It's sad (so sad)
It's a sad, sad situation
There is pain, you know that's assured
It's sad (so sad)
I can't seem to get over
Oh it seems to me
That sorry seems to be the hardest word.

What have I got to do to make you see me
What have I got to do to make you care,
What can I do since life has left me
What have I got to do?
What have I got to do
When sorry seems to be the hardest word?

He stopped playing, the chords resonating a solemn feeling in the air. He cleared his throat.
"It's not your fault you died, Padawan." Dooku went over to an electric guitar, its black varnish shining under the lighting. He strummed his thumb over the strings and carefully tuned it, saying nothing. Once the pitch was on, he flashed a satisfied grin and plugged into a small amp at his feet.
"Your songs were always so full of emotion, " Dooku said. "Mine on the other hand..." He began to play something fresh. "I call this Sympathy for the Sith Lord."

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long long year
Stole many Jedi's soul and faith

I was around when Qui-Gon died
Obi-Wan was just too late
Made damn sure that Qui-Gon
Left Anakin and met his fate

Pleased to meet you
I know you've seen my game
But all that you want
Is someone you can blame

I closely watched the Chosen One
I knew it was time for a change
He killed those Tusken Raiders
Qui-Gon screamed in vain

The highest rank
I commissioned the tanks
When the Clone War raged
And the droid ships sank

Pleased to meet you
I know you've seen my game
But all that you want
Is someone you can blame

I watched with glee
as Naboo's Queen
Fought the Trade Federation
Over their blockade

I shouted out
"Who killed the Younglings?"
When after all
It was you and me

Let me introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I laid traps for the Jedi Masters
Who get killed before they reached the fray

Pleased to meet you
I know you've seen my game
But all that you want
Is someone you can blame

Pleased to meet you
I know you've seen my game
But all that you want
Is someone you can blame

Just as every Jedi is a Sith Lord
And all the Sith are saints
As heads is tails
Just call me *coughcough*
'Cause I'm in need of some restraints

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy and some taste
Use all your well-learned politics
Or I'll start you down Dark Side way

Pleased to meet you
I know you've seen my game
But all that you want
Is someone you can blame

Tell me, baby
What's my name
Tell me, honey
Can ya' guess my name
Tell me, baby
What's my name
I tell you one time
You're to blame

As the Count sung, Qui-Gon's melancholy demeanour faded. He began to tap out the beat on his knee, but half-way into the song, he took up a bass guitar, feeding the rhythm track.
"That," Qui-Gon said, his speech slow, "Was far out, man. Whoa." His eyes were wandering, as he snatched another brownie.
Dooku smiled. "I concur, my dear boy." He picked out the beginning to Some Jedi To Love. "Do you remember this one?"
Qui-Gon joined in.
Music echoed in the empty flat throughout the night.

Returns

2006-01-20T02:34:00.000Z

The gentle hues of the breaking morning played over the rocks and sand of the meditation garden. The lone occupant sat completely still, as he had been for days on end. Butterflies fluttered around his serene face.
"How long has he been like that?" Gabrielle said, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear.
Dr. Watson adjusted his spectacles and drained his mug of tea. "Several weeks, my dear. I dare say, I feel he is lost to us."
The young woman looked crestfallen. "Lost..." she echoed, sadly. "So nothing you've tried has brought him out of the trance?"
The older man clicked his tongue and blushed. "We've not tried anything too invasive."
Gabrielle's concern dropped, anger flashing in her eyes. "You haven't tried anything, have you?" She sighed. "So he's been like this since I left."
Boo Boo the Bear spoke up, "We, uh, didn't want to, uh, bother him, Yogi... Uh, Gabby."
Arthur, the Moth Man, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "He looked so serene. I d,didn't want to bother him."
"So, did anyone take into account that this has kept him away from his friends for, oh geez, has it been an entire month?" Gabrielle scrubbed her face, in an irritated fashion.
There were several shrugs from the the collected group, others hung their heads.
Gabrielle threw her hands up. "You know what," she exclaimed, "I'll handle it. You guys go back to drinking banana daquiris." She stormed off with a sigh.
"Golly," Boo Boo said, "I think she's a might pissed, guys."

Gabrielle approached him slowly, taking quiet steps in fear that she might wake him. When she reached his side, she cocked her head looking at his motionless form. She exhaled a small sigh. With a trembling hand, she reached out for his shoulder.
A sudden hand grasped hers. Gentle blue eyes smiled at her. "Hello Gabrielle," Qui-Gon said.
After the moment of shock had worn off, she shook her head, blinking. "You scared me!"
"A Jedi is meant to be aware of all things around him in the moment."
Something about his manner had changed. His words were spoken with impeccable grace, unlike his normal idiom, which was slow and were as if the words tripped over themselves.
"Are, are you okay?" She noticed that he was still holding her hand. "You've been out here for a long time."
He released his grasp on her palm. "I am..." There was a pause and a broad smile crossed over his face, "I am fine."
"Do you know how long you've been out here?" There was a touch of concern in the young woman's voice.
He shrugged. "When you have no need of food or sleep, you can lose track of time."
"A month."
The peace drained away from his face, replaced with disbelief. "A, a month?"
"That's right," she said, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You came right before I left on holiday to the Hall of Heroes to see Xena. You said that you were going to be meditating and for us lot to let you alone." She plucked a tiny white flower at her side. "So we did."
His face paled. "I've been in meditation for an entire month?"
"That's right. You've been away from your friends, your foes and your brownies."
His blue eyes went comically wide. "But I left JJ with a two week supply of brownie mix..."
She nodded. "Which means," she said, continuing his thought, "He's been having to run the show without his partner and best friend."
His slacked mouth drooped into a frown and his shoulders slumped slightly. "How could I have done this?"
Gabrielle wrapped her arm around Qui-Gon in a hug. "Dooku is still there."
"He is?"
She nodded. "Yep, and I know how hard it is for you to have him around."
He blinked at her. "You do?"
"I read the novels. Saw it on holo-vid. Watched the musical." She smiled.
He flashed a ghost of a grin. "I know I should go back, but what if something has happened? What if everyone is angry that I left? Or they've forgotten me?"
"Do what I do." She plucked a petal from the bloom. "Before you work yourself up and sign in here for a lifetime membership, which we'd love to have you, but still, figure out how you would deal with each thing. First, something bad happening?"
He thought for a moment, plotting out his words. "I would have to deal with whatever it is. Be that Dooku taking over the company or Jar Jar taking over the senate."
Gabrielle laughed. "That wouldn't be bad. That would be terrifying. What if people are angry that you left?"
"I'd have to accept it and work to earn their trust again."
Gabrielle plucked another petal. "That, and you can remind them of that big Survivor cheque you sent out. Now, do you honestly think that they would forget you?"
"I wonder about Obi-Wan sometimes. But, no, I don't think that they'd forget me. Not even Master Yoda."
Gabrielle handed the partially plucked flower to the elder. "So, now, the big question is, how will you handle Dooku?"
Qui-Gon sighed, pulling a white petal off with his big fingers and dropping it into Gabrielle's hair. She giggled and brushed it away. The tiny leaf caught the slight breeze and fluttered to the ground. "I suppose I should let it go. Just because I don't believe that his lifestyle choice is a good one, doesn't make him a bad person."
"It's those killings and limb removals that..." She stopped abruptly. "I'm gonna drop that tangent. What do you both have in common still?"
He thought deeply, running his hand over his beard. "Music. I've wanted to do that reunion concert for quite some time. I just fear that I can no longer trust him. The Sith are dangerous, no matter how familiar the form."
She looked down at the flower in Qui-Gon's large hand. A single petal remained. "Do you think he's all evil? There is no good left in him at all?"
He gazed down, noting the single petal. "Are you sure you aren't a Jedi Master, Gabrielle? This lesson mimics many of the lectures I've given Obi-Wan in the past."
She smiled from ear to ear. "I know. Where do you think I get all my Jedi-like wisdom from?" She reached out and plucked the final white leaf."Are you going to go back?" She got to her feet and offered a hand in assistance."I mean, I'd love for you to stay, and I think Jo Jo would be really stoked too..."
Qui-Gon took Gabrielle's hand and rose. "Thank you, but no. It's taken me a month to forget that bloody Banana Phone song."
Her gentle smile dropped. "Well, then, you might want to leave. Here comes Mr. Ring Ring himself." She pointed out and a few metres away, Jo Jo was walking towards to two, with a tray of yellow drinks in hand.
The Jedi Master swept the young Amazon into a hug. "Thank you, Gabrielle," he whispered. He, then, flew toward the exit, calling out a fleeting farewell to the Monkey Boy as he passed.
"Banana phone!" Jo Jo yelled back.
"Oh bugger..." The lyrics returned to the Master as he left the gate.

Ackmena's Golden Pub

2005-11-27T03:11:00.000Z

It's been rough around here lately. Like, seriously.
See, we got the flat remodelled, and it was a fully functioning bachelor pad. A swingin' one at that. Problem with that is that me and JJ, well. As for bachelors, we aren't, like, Don Juan De La Nooch, that's for sure.
But, JJ, man... He's married now. Like, tied the knot. Hitched the nearest post he could find. Bought a hundred thousand credit ball and chain.
And didn't even invite me to the wedding.
To say that I was a bit miffed was not an understatement, because I'm usually really mellow about everything. I think I was slightly hurt, but it was a serious slightly.
When I brought it up, he, like, went on a tirade. Called her 'Mrs Black N'Decker,' whatever, like, that means... But he was being really heavy. Like, King of the Bringdown people. Lord von Bad Time. Emperor Palpameanie (where did that one come from?).
As an empath, I could sense Rhonda's sadness. That, and the big goobery tears that Ithorians cry. She ran to JJ's room and fell on his bed, sobbing. I did my best to calm her down, but being ethereal and all, the shoulder patting (do Ithorians even have shoulders?) didn't work.
"Why does he hate me so much?" she sobbed.
Look, I've woken up in some strange situations in my day. I know how it feels to not remember making the mistake, but have it blinking up at you, all saucily the next morning, with the taste of cheap death sticks and sick in your mouth and your Jedi Robe hanging out the window.
Thing is, Jedi are negotiators. We know how to get out of spots like that. That and there is this really stellar clause in the Jedi Code that makes all pre-nups null and void on Knights and Masters. But then there is that counter clause that says that Jedi aren't supposed to get well pissed and marry the nearest female.
So, right, once Rhonda was done with her blubber-fest, and, that's, like, not me being insensitive, man. Seriously. She has two mouths. Bawling coming from both. Stereo crying.
Well, she said she needed a drink. Now, there are plenty of pubs and bars around Coruscant. There is even a nice one right outside of the Temple. And O'Shenanigans down the way from our flat.
"Nothing like that!" she said, suddenly, all, like, not weepy. "I'll take you to my special little place!" She drug my poncho, thus me, into her wedding present, parked in the docking bay of our flat. An '06 Mercedes Talz luxury speeder, fully equipped with leather interior, a 400 audio-disc changer, toe-warmers, tea-maker, 1.21 Gigawatt Flux Capacitor, cup-holders, gun-holsters, towel-rack, in-dash GPS thermal detonation system, the CLUB (R), the RACK (TM), Easy-Bake Oven (TM), a cooler, a freezer, an ice-box, wind-screen wipers, wind-screen wiper wipers, track lighting, Sno-Cone maker, deep fryer, candy corn compartments, Stow-And-Go seating, Smash-And-Go roadkill removal device, Kill-And-Gob roadkill cooking device, a broiler, gun sentries that drop from the ceiling if the speeder is stolen, a change machine, and platinum spinner bling rims.
It was the most gaudy and redonkulous vehicle that I'd, like, ever seen. "Wow..."
"Yeah," she said, in stereo. "Ain't it a beaut! My little Scrummy-lumpin got it for me. It was a steal at 2 million credits!"
There was a scream from down stairs. And some stuff breaking. And some sobbing and cursing. I guess JJ found the receipt.
I sighed. I hoped he'd be okay and would have, like, gone to make sure that he wasn't in the process of drinking all of the Ajax in the place mixed with some of that hydrochloric acid that we keep in case of emergencies, but she'd already started. We were already half way to, uh...
"Where are we going?"
We were past light-speed. Moving onto ludicrous speed. I closed my eyes. It was even blurrier than the Ether.
"To my special little place! Weren't you listening?"
I knew that tone. I played it cool and kept quiet. That, and if I'd have opened my mouth, I'd have melfed brownie in her posh new interior. Too bloody fast for someone who lives their days at the speed of brownie influenced thought.
We skid to a halt and after I found my bearings and fell out of the door, she scooped up a handful of poncho and drug me inside.
It was a grungy little place, filled with all female patrons of any species that you could imagine. They all sat at high tables, sipping on glowing drinks.
"Ackmena!" Rhonda brought me to the front of the bar.
"Rhonda!" came a deep voice. The person behind the counter had long grey white hair, with thick dark eyebrows, and wore a tasteful tunic. With my Force sense, I knew the person before me was a woman, but she was so very masculine, man.
Rhonda introduced me. "This is Qui-Gon, Ack. He's a Jedi ghost."
The woman stared at my poncho, with disbelief. She shrugged her broad shoulders. "I'll take your word for it."
Rhonda turned to me. "Qui, this is Ackmena. She runs the bar here."
I waved. She ignored me. "What will you have, dear?" she said, looking through me.
Rhonda giggled. "I'll have a Purple Nerfle... Give Qui a hot cocoa."
I love hot cocoa! "I love hot cocoa!" I said. It's like an unspiced brownie in drinkable form. With those little marshmallows all mixed in.
Ackmena shook her head and called out our order.
"Hey, Rhonda," I said, pulling out a Jinn and JJ brownie. "Give this to Ms Non-Believer. She'll see me in no time, man."
Ackmena watched Rhonda and blinked. "Where did you get that brownie?"
"Magic. It's for you."
The older woman copped the brownie goodness and it was gone in a flash of dentures. Within moments, she was looking buzzed. "I see dead hippies." The giggles came then. "Rho'Tsu! Bring me some funyuns! And some Snapple!"
I knew what that meant. "Munchies, man."
From the swinging saloon kitchen doors, another older looking woman exited. She carried a tray with drinks and assorted munchies on it and had big white poofy hair. The, like, closer she got to the table, the bigger her eyes got. "You're a ghost!" She handed us our drinks.
I drank mine straight away. The cocoa was good. Very good. Better than the Brew of Dooku. Better than Dagobah cocoa, with the, like, mud and sticks at the bottom. And, like, infinitely better than Obi-Wan's infamous Skittle-Brau. "This is, like, really stellar, man."
"Oh yes," the waitress said, "It's an old recipe from St. Olaf. We used to make it every frosty winter. I've got a plate of Weiderhugen Crispies too. It's a traditional snack dating back to Viking times... Back in St. Olaf, we'd..."
She was interrupted by Ackmena. "Rho'tsu! Don't scare off the customers! "
A small woman piped up from the back corner. "No, pussycat, that's your job."
Then, like, the weirdest thing happened. Laughing came from out of nowhere.
Rhonda turned to me. "That's something about this place too, Qui. There is a laugh-track."
"Sounds expensive." I'd been to places like that... I think, like, Bob Saget had to pay millions to keep his laugh-track running at Full House Land on Skaari Minor. He'd gone mad... And that tinny recording was the only laughs he got.
The little woman in the corner replied, "With jokes like these, it costs a fortune." She looked up at me. She was, like, really small, and like, she was the epitome of a little old lady, man. In her dressing gown with a light robe over it, with curly white hair, she wore spectacles and fluffy slippers. "You're new around here. What brings you to Dorothy's Karaoke Bar?"
"Ma!" Ackmena yelled, "It's Ackmena!" She looked at me and Rhonda. "You'll have to excuse my mother. She suffered a slight stroke a few years ago which rendered her totally annoying."
There went that laugh track again.
"Picture it," the smaller woman began, waving her hand, "Gungan City, 20 aught 6 tango 2. A young beautiful woman delivered a baby with the biggest ears and feet in the whole village..."
Ackmena looked relieved as another woman entered, like, thus interrupting her mother's story. She was about the same height as the waitress, but with reddish hair, and like, a very pretty face.
She greeted the others. "Hello Rho'tsu. Hello Sof'ia. Hello Do... Ackmena."
The returned the greeting. "Hello Blanjhe." She started sauntering toward the kitchen. She stopped when she, like, caught gaze of the dead hippie, who is, like, me. She was over to our table, sitting, her head propped up on her elbows, gazing at me, in a flash. "Hello there."
Rhonda rolled her eyes. "Blanjhe, this is Qui-Gon."
She nodded. "Qui-Gon."
I was fairly nervous. "Huh, yeah."
"He's a ghost."
She nodded again, looking in my eyes. "Interesting."
"He's a Jedi."
Another nod. "Bet he has a big lightsabre."
Laugh-track. Bleh.
"He's a hippie."
She started nodding, but stopped suddenly. Like, her face bunched up in a look of disgust. "A hippie? Ain't no way I'm gettin' with another hippie!" She stood. "The last one was trying to get me to join his commune and 'show me the beauty of Mother Nature' in the back of his Fahrfegneugen Bus!" Laugh-track. She stormed off and went like behind the counter.
Ackmena handed her an apron. "You know what time it is."
Rhonda clapped her hands. "Spontaneous song time!"
She wasn't lying. Suddenly, there was this sappy sitcom theme music piping through the place. Worst thing was, I knew the song. It was weird, because, like, I had no control over myself, and I started singing along with everyone else.
Thank you for being a friend.
Travel down the road and back again,
Your heart is true.
You're a pal and a confidant.
And if you threw a party,
Inviting everyone you knew,
You would see
The biggest gift would be from me,
And the card attached would say
Thank you for being a friend.
This whole experience was traumatising. See, like, not only did the little women, and Ackmena sing, but so did all of the other species in there. Snivvians, Wookies, Chagrinians, those Yak-Faced things... All singing, or barking, or bleating, or snorting, or belching that song. Everyone singing.
After the, like rousing choral number, the little woman spoke up. "Rho'Tsu, get me a stronger drink. I just glanced at that picture of Dorothy's ex hanging on the wall and I want to burn my retinas."
As a hippie Jedi, I'm not allowed to hate anything. So, right, I seriously disliked that bloody laugh-track, man. I wanted to find it and hack into little bits with my big lightsabre.
Rhonda started to talk about JJ. "You would not believe it, Ack," Rhonda flashed that big gaudy rock. "I'm married."
The women looked shocked. Sof'ia shook her head. "The woman who could double as hardware gets hitched and I can't even find one old coot to swap dentures with."
"He's a Jawa," Rhonda explained.
The old woman blinked. "He's yours... I don't want to date anyone shorter than I am."
"So," Blanjhe asked, "What's under his robe?"
This conversation was creeping me out. "Uh."
"Well, let's just say that JJ's shortness is made up in some other big ways."
Laugh-track. Bloody buggery laugh-track.
I wondered if Tahl went to places like this when we were married, as I was trying to keep my mind off the current convo topic.
"...think Polish sausage..."
Meditate! I'd needed something desperate to run screaming from the horrid things that were trying to form in my imagination. I exhaled and began to settle into my trance.
"...studly Jawa stamina..."
Mantra! Peace! Uh, the Code of Jedi stamina... No! The Ethical Under the Robe Sausage of Serenity... Oh WOW... NO... All I could see is a giant hot dog wearing JJ's robe. Dancing. Singing that Banana Phone song.
"Uh..." I interrupted Rhonda. "I need to go. Now. Jedi... things... Lightsabre handling... Man things... BUT, uh! No, I need to watch wrestling and, uh, drink beer. Eat, like, Brownies..."
"Brownies, huh?" Sof'ia asked. "I bet I eat the same kind of brownies for my glaucoma."
I laughed like a goon with the laugh-track. I was freaking out. I needed brownies. I needed Scooby Doo. I needed out of there.
Rhonda got the hint. "I think me and Qui need to get back. My Schmoopie should be rested up now. He's so grumpy when he hasn't had enough sleep and booze."
They all hugged Rhonda and gave those, like, womany good luck comments. I waved and was out the door and strapped into the speeder but quick.
It too Rhonda a minute, but she got in and started off as soon as she turned the platinum key. "What did you think, Qui?"
"I think I need some male bonding. At least there we hardly ever break into song."

Second Bananas

2005-11-08T04:52:00.000Z

"A journey through the Ether." Qui-Gon Jinn knew that he needed to help the spirit of the side-kick before him.
JawaJuice cocked his head to the side, his large bright eyes inquisitive. "Can I come too?"
The ghostly master's shoulder slumped. He gave a fleeting half-smile. "You gotta be dead to get a passport to travel out there, man."
The Jawa's face creased in a frown.
"Hey, you can, like, listen to my vintage vinyl while I'm gone," Qui-Gon suggested, "But no pawning the rare stuff on eBay, man. Or any other pawn shop, for that matter."
JJ nodded. "No pawning. Check." He fiddled with a frayed edge of his sleeve. "Want some brownies for the trip?"
"I want a banana daiquiri!" JoJo said, bouncing on his heels.
Qui-Gon and JJ shot JoJo a glance and returned their focus back to the task at hand.
"I could use some brownies. Something to keep me going," the Jedi said.
JJ rifled through his utility pouches, procuring a packet of brownies. A Journey Pak of Uncle Jinn and JJ's Home-Made Super-Fudgy Special-Spiced brownies. "Good luck, Qui." He handed the packet out toward the ghost.
"Brownies!" JoJo exclaimed.
Qui-Gon shook his head, taking the packet. "What a long strange trip this is going to be."

They had been travelling for 12 hours, non-stop. As both were in spirit form, neither had to walk, but keeping a constant pace while floating, drained Qui-Gon’s energy. He had devoured his Journey Pak of Uncle Jinn and JJ’s brownies in less than an hour, and their soothing effects had long since worn off.
The Ether itself was an environs of peace. It was all colour, meshing, swirling, flowing like water. However, it was in constant motion. The hard lines that formed craggy peaks one moment shattered into fragments of light and bled into the ebb of the skies and rivers. They had ventured through the 'Vast Swirly Expanse,' 'Wow, This Place Looks Just Like The Nothing From That One Flick,' and 'Man, This Place Is Yellowy' plains.
His companion, JoJo the Monkey Boy, was full of bouncing and vibrant energy. Throughout the entire trip he playfully sung the Banana Phone song, as well as a round of Numa Numa.
"...bee doo bee doo..."
His nerves were frazzled and the lack of progress had left Qui-Gon agitated. "Stop."
"Banana phone!"
"I said stop it," the elder snapped.
JoJo's bottom lip jutted out, comically. "What's wrong, bwauth?"
Qui-Gon slid his eyes closed. He inhaled deep and breathlessly. The Force hummed through him, calming the gaps between his tense nerves. "Where are we going again?"
The Monkey Boy plucked a colourful sheet of paper from his back pocket. He took great care in unfolding it and opening to the centre section. He smoothed out each crease with painstaking effort. He licked at his translucent fingers pressing them gently along a pesky fold at the top right part of the paper.
With enhanced Jedi speed, Qui-Gon yanked the sheet from JoJo's grasp. The Monkey Boy continued to rub at the air with an outstretched thumb.
"What is this?" Qui-Gon flipped the paper over, glancing at the type. "Second Banana Heaven."
JoJo shook his head briskly, making an obnoxious noise while doing so. "That's right," he said. "That's the brochure."
The master read over the paper. "Looks like the ideal place for you, man. Banana trees, Cable holo-vid with 12 pay-per-view channels. Free heat and trash removal. And, like, all the government cheese you can eat."
"Bananas plus cheese equals yum!"
Qui-Gon's eyes went wide. On the bottom of the back part of the brochure was the map that JoJo had said he had lost. "What is that?!"
The Monkey Boy grinned, sheepishly. "Hoo hoo ha ha ha ha ha ha! That pesky map. That's where it got to. I looked all over."
"So you're telling me that I've been forced to endure the Banana Phone song for, like, 12 hours, non-bloody-stop, to find out that you had the map the whole time?"
JoJo nodded, smiling hugely.
The elder blinked, his jaw open. "Why?"
For the first time through the trip, JoJo looked serious. "Because I was lonely being dead. I don't gots my buddy Jon around anymore. It's just me and my Banana Phone."
Qui-Gon looked sympathetic, his ethereal blue eyes shining. "I know how it is, man. I'm just lucky I've got JJ, Fluke and, like, Master Yoda." He felt his waning motivation renewed. "Let's see what the map says."
"Does it say... Banana Phone?"
JoJo's enthusiasm was not reciprocated. Qui-Gon sighed. "Don't you know any other songs?"
He began a new tune. "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts!"
Qui-Gon fell in with the beat. "They're lovely." The two marched in time with the song.
"There they are all standing in a row."
"One, two, three, four."
"Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head."
The elder chimed in with a smile, placing a hand on JoJo's shoulder, "And bigger!"
"Give them a twist, a flick of the wrist.
"That's what the showman said!"
"I've got a lovely..." JoJo skid to a halt, pointing a stuffed mitt out to the distance. "What in the peel is that?!"
Before the two stood Second Banana Heaven, as told by the large neon yellow and green sign. This was one of the permanent locations found in the Ether. These places were not subject to the ebb and flow of the world around them. It was a glorious looking group of buildings, all with balconies and sliding glass-doors. There was a large crystal blue swimming pool.
The two darted over to the entrance where there were two barred doors made of shimmering pearl.
Qui-Gon gave an absent laugh. "Huh huh, I never thought there would really be, like, pearly gates, man. That's, like, really cool. They're pearl. Huh huh."
A gorgeous young woman walked toward the two from behind the gate. She wore a billowy green sports-bra and a billowy-brown wrap-around skirt, showing off her muscular abs and legs. Her hair was straight and past her shoulders, coloured a strawberry blond. She carried a staff, bound with leather straps, and wore a leather pouch at her side. She gave the two a warm, friendly smile. "Hey guys, what can I do for you?"
Both Jedi and Monkey Boy stared for a moment.
"Uh, guys?" the young woman asked at the drooling pair.
Qui-Gon snapped back into reality. "Oh wow, like, yeah," he said, in his disoriented idiom. "JoJo is, like, supposed to be here."
JoJo gave a rapid nod.
"JoJo, huh?" She pulled an ancient looking scroll from her bag. Unfolding it, she read, "Arthur, Babalooey, Barf, Barney Rubble, Booboo, Bucky, Donald Duck, yours truly," she pointed to herself, with a smile, "Gabrielle, Dick Grayson, JoJo, Jughead, Kato, Janine Melnitz, Muttley, Odie, Pinky, Miles Prower, Sancho Panza, Scrappy Doo, Tonto, TV's Frank, and Dr. Watson. That's all of us."
JoJo clapped his stuffed hands together. "JoJo! That's me!"
Gabrielle smiled and pressed a button beside the right gate. With a clicking and squeal of metal, the doors opened from the inside out. She held up a hand. "Hold on, JoJo. Who is this that you are with?"
"My new bestest friend in the galaxy! This is Qui-Gon Jinn! He's a top banana, for sure!"
Qui-Gon smiled and held out his hand in a gesture to shake. "Nice to, like, meet you."
"Likewise." Gabrielle firmly shook Qui-Gon's hand. "The Qui-Gon Jinn?" She looked awe-struck. "You're a legend in these parts!"
The three went to a large white brick building, marked Visitor's Centre. The decor was precisely what one expected in a visitors centre, stiff-backed chairs along the walls. There were framed maps and holo-pics of the grounds. A woman with bobbed red-hair and thick black rimmed glasses sat at a desk, snapping her gum and filing her nails. A holo-vid was playing what looked to be a trashy soap-opera.
"Hey, Janine," Gabrielle called. "We've got a new acquisition. Can you pull up the papers on JoJo?" She gently patted JoJo on the back.
"Typical. I get into my stories, and someone shows up." The receptionist clicked a button on a remote, turning off the show. "Come on over here."
JoJo went over to the desk, while Gabrielle pulled Qui-Gon aside. "It's gonna be a while. He's got about 500 forms to fill out, in triplicate. So," she said, looking closely at the big man's face. "What brings you here to Second Banana Heaven? You should be living it up in the Hero's Palace on the east side."
Qui-Gon shook his head. "I've never been one to settle down."
Gabrielle started for the door. "Let's take a walk."
The Jedi held the door open with a bow.
Gabrielle took the master outside, where they sat in a wrought iron bench that over-looked a small pond. "So you never told me, why are you here?"
"I wanted to help JoJo, like, find his way. He was lost."
A look of seriousness crossed the young woman's face.. "You're a Jedi. I know about you. And how you died."
Qui-Gon looked perplexed, his head cocked slightly to the side. "Like, how?"
The young one smiled. "I've been here a while. I started watching your exploits back when they started airing them in season one."
The master's confusion grew. "Season one?"
"That's right. See, they ran the seasons out of order. They started with four through six and then went back and ran seasons one through three."
"Seasons of what?"
It was the young one's turn to look confused. "You don't watch holo-vid out here, do you?"
Qui-Gon shook his head. Suddenly something clicked in his mind. "I know who you are. Gabrielle." His brow creased as he rubbed his beard, thinking. "The Amazon Princess. With that, like, Xena chick."
Gabrielle flashed a beautiful smile. "That's right. Me and Xena." She heaved a sigh. "Travelled all over the land, saving lives and righting wrongs."
"And bathing together."
The young woman laughed and ran a nervous hand through her hair. "It seems no-one can forget that. Our exploits were chronicled on holo-vid."
Qui-Gon gave a wry smile. "That I know. I, like, watched, like, all the time."
Gabrielle blushed. "So then you know how I met my end."
"Uh," the elder stammered, "Well, about that…" He tugged at the end of his robe. "I stopped watching at about the fourth season. I got, um, busy with, like, these big, um, Jedi things…"
She put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him mid-ramble. "It's okay. Not many people kept watching. But, do you see? Look around." She waved a hand out to those around them. Barney Rubble was sitting on a bench having what looked to be a very large steak burger. Dr. Watson was walking Muttley, with the comical dog leashed, lifting his leg on a fire hydrant and snickering. Miles 'Tails' Prower was leaping from building to building, collecting what looked to be shining golden rings with an audible 'ching' noise. Scrappy Doo shouted a mighty "Puppy Power!" before taking a flying dive into the pool. James 'Bucky' Barnes and Dick 'Robin' Grayson sat at a table under a large shade umbrella, discussing their prior adventures.
Qui-Gon knew nearly everyone of these people. Their lives had been chronicled in one way or another, either by data comics, holo-vids, novelisations, or holo-games. "I think I'm getting this," he said, "All of you are famous sidekicks, right?"
Gabrielle nodded. "In one way or another."
"But you know about me, right?"
"That's right," she said. "I know about you, and Survivor. JJ and the brownies. Yoda. Anakin. Obi-Wan. There is one thing about being in the ether, though. We get to see things before they happen."
Qui-Gon's blue eyes went wide. "The future?"
She nodded. "That's right. Sneak previews. Okay, you guys are currently in Season 2-ish. I've got three through six back at my place, if you want to see."
Moments later, the two were watching hastily loaded holo-vids.
The pain. Sadness. Anguish. Over-acting. The future played out before the master, each scene a look into all that could not be stopped. Hot tears slipped down his cheeks as he observed what was to come. Nothing that he saw he could deny. It was so very real. Gabrielle laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.
After the first vid ended, he stood. "I've got to go. Like, this is awful. I've got to warn them." He wrapped his robe around himself tightly, as if he were chilled.
Gabrielle retrieved the disc. "You can't," she said, sadness infusing her tone. "You can't. If you leave, you'll forget everything you've seen."
He bounded for the door. "I have to try."
Flying for the exit, Qui-Gon knew Gabrielle was close behind. He turned. "Thank you. Please, like, watch JoJo for me. And," he said, a ghost of a smile touching his features, "I hope you like bananas."
Gabrielle embraced the big man briefly. "Good luck. I hope you can get to them."
The gates were closed.
"Push the button, Frank!" Gabrielle called. The gate keeper, TV's Frank, did just that.
As the gates creaked open, the master burst through.

His return journey was far faster, taking several hours. The Ether was a blur of whirling colours as he rushed through.
Finally, he came to the doorway in which he came. Pushing through, he was in the flat again. The dull hum of idle speakers filled the area.
Qui-Gon found JawaJuice asleep in a recliner in his recording studio. The small Jawa snored lightly, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His bare feet were kicked out.
"JJ, man," Qui-Gon said. There was a lump that remained in his incorporeal throat. The visions were so vivid. He could hardly blink, as when his eyes closed, painful images leapt forward. "JJ. Come on, man, I gotta talk to you."
The Jawa yawned and rolled over to his side in the chair.
"Get up, man. Please."
JJ turned around, looking the spectre in the face. "That has better be good. Yoda isn't the only one who dreams of big busted women, you know."
Qui-Gon opened his mouth. "Banana phone." That wasn't what he had meant to say. The thoughts had left his mind. Everything he had seen was gone, only strong emotions remained. He began to sob, dropping to his knees. "Banana phone."
The Jawa looked perplexed as he stood from the chair. "I know, man." He patted the ghost's back. "Banana phone is the worst song in the history of history. It makes me want to cry too."
"But, I... Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring... Banana phone."
The dire feeling that something important was to be said remained with Qui-Gon, but all he could think of was that horrid song.
JJ gave the master a concerned look. "I think you need some brownies. Big time." He held out a small Jawa hand, which Qui-Gon took, and helped the ghost to rise.
The two went into their kitchen, but were stopped at the swinging door entrance by a voice. "Thanks a lot, bwauth! It's great here! Hoo hoo ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! There are trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers who twiddle their thumbs and toes and I think I hear the banana phone!"
The crushing emotion had dulled for the ghost. "You're welcome, JoJo... Now, JJ, brownie, me, man."

Can Lost Souls Ask For Directions?

2005-11-03T02:09:00.000Z

There was a ghost in my flat.
Yes, yes, I know. I'm, like, a ghost, yes. But, like, wasn't me, man.
It was Jo Jo the Monkey Boy. And it seemed that, not only has he, like, bit the big one, but he's also learned a new song.
I had brought JJ up to my meditation room to, like, check it out. See, I've seen ghosts before, man. But this was different. This wasn't Darth Maul regaling me of his work experiences. Or Yarael Poof and his bongos. This was a Monkey Boy. Jo Jo the Monkey Boy to be exact.
JJ looked at me and I looked at JJ and, like, we both shrugged.
We asked Jo Jo why he was here.
"Hoo hoo ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" He wiped a tear from his ethereal eye. "It's very sad, bwauth. You see, I'm dead." Again, like, he gave that kind-of maniacal but kind-of really just annoying laugh.
"That's not, like, sad. It's not all bad being dead." Like, I should know, you know?
"No. No no no no no no no. See, I'm not supposed to be here, bwauth. I'm supposed to be somewhere else."
"Ya' think?" JJ sucked on his cigar. I've, like, tried to get him to quit smoking, but it really is, like, vital for his stereotypical character.
"Ya' got any bananas?" Then came the most annoying song in the history of songs, and I really mean this. There has never been a song more evil, more vile, man. "Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring, BANANA PHONE!"
JJ had, like, obviously never heard it before. "What?"
"Jo Jo! Jo Jo! Noooo!" But it was, like, too late. It had taken me six years to purge that little ditty from my mind with meditation and spicy brownie residue clogging the thought processes.
"Hoo hoo ha ha! Isn't that the best song ever? I learned it while waiting in the queue at the DMV."
JJ looked confused. "I didn't know you had your drivers license."
"Nope. No no. It's the Dead Monkey Vortex. It's where we Monkey Boy Sidekicks go when get get disintegrated. Hoo hoo ha ha!"
This had to have been going somewhere. So I asked, "So, like, is this going somewhere?"
"I need your ghostly expertise," Jo Jo said. "You have seen the Shaman of the Whills, right? Ha ha?"
Look, I never told anybody about that. Ever. It's how I got here. Like, here with JJ and Yoda and Jon and everybody. It was really heavy, man. "Yeah. How do you, like, know about that?"
"Look, Mr. Qui-Ghosty, when I died I went through the Study At Home Correspondence course on Mastering the After-Life. And flower arranging, which is very useful in day-to-day situations. Creating decorative centre-pieces that motivate the hero in your life to save the galaxy. I used a lot of bananas. Hoo ha!"
"Jo Jo, this is about the Shaman, not about bananas." I wanted him to get to the point. "So, like, get to the point."
"Weeeeeell, see, you're famous in the Ether, old Jinny Jinn Jinn. You are the first person to even see the Shaman. But it is said in the books of something that sounded really old and important but I forgot, that you will go on to find us dead folks real forms and stuff like that."
I thought about that for a moment. A real form. Not my fusing the Spores or using the Fur, but something that everyone could see.
JJ was less than patient. "But that doesn't tell us why you are here, Jo Jo." He stubbed out his dwindling cigar into one of those little pouches on his utility sash.
"Oh! It's very tragic!" Jo Jo nodded his head. "Very tragic indeed, bwauth. I'm a lost soul."
I suddenly felt very sympathetic toward Jo Jo, even though Banana Phone was bouncing around in, like, my dome, man. Even JJ looked on the Monkey Boy ghost with those big Jawa eyes of sympathy. "Wow," I said, "A lost soul. That's a major bring down, man."
"See, I'm supposed to go to Second Banana Heaven, but I lost my map."
JJ and I smacked our foreheads at the same time.

I smell bananas, man.

2005-10-25T04:16:00.000Z

The remodel was, like, more impressive than, like, anything I'd ever seen before. JJ worked, like, really hard to get us this far out flat, man. He took me through and I was just, like, amazed. I never thought that I'd, like, live like this, though I'm dead and not really living, but that's just a technicality.
When I did my thing on Tatooine, I had to face my fears. One of them was JJ, like, letting me go, and stuff. Though I knew that my brownie recipe would keep me around for the money, I still had this lingering, like, doubt. I never understood why JJ saw me, and even some of the, like, biggest names in Jedi didn't. That fear followed me home.
And then JJ did all of this for me, but, like, more-over, he made me his partner in the business. He told me that I was, like, his best mate. He trusted me. It wasn't just about the marketing potential of my magical brownies of love.
Needless to say, I was a bit emotional. I get that way, like, a lot. But not, like, Baldy McBurgerbra, or anything.
I went around a bit, threw on some Pink Fambaa, as per JJ's request, and checked out the pad, man. It was, like, better than those, like, big posh hotels we stayed in when me and Dooks were touring. The thing with those places was that, like, they never felt like home. There was a mint on your pillow and, like, your own personal bar of soap, but if you forgot the mint, you'd have this big gooey blob of chocolate on your pyjamas and the soap would get replaced every day, which was, like, a big waste of soap, because there are Gamorean guards in Jabba's palace who need that soap, and it got eaten by a TRASH-E droid. Wasteful, man. You know? Not like home at, like, all man.
So, right, this place was the poshest of posh (all right, that, like, Naboo palace was the poshest of posh, but this was a close second, man), but it was, like, home. There were holo-pics of me and Ben on the wall. JJ even put up his Padawan tail, which I kept like a sentimental old fool. There were pics of the party at Aayla's. Me, Fluke, Han and JJ after the Yatta fiasco. Me and Dooks titanium albums. Yoda and me at my knighting.
JJ made this place home.
He invited me to poker night, but I said that I might be down later. I needed to meditate. This was a lot of, like, really far out stuff happening really fast. I needed to process it. With a plate of brownies.
I went into my meditation room. It was so cool, man. It was like a door to the ether, without, like, the entry fee. There was this hep shag rug on the floor in the sacred pattern of a Yin-Yang, but it was, like, swirled paisleys, man. Totally far out.
One thing I noticed was this smell. It was peaceful, like joss sticks and something else.
I sat and started in. But there was a disturbance in the Force. In that room. A presence. I slipped my eyes closed.
"Who's there, man?"
The smell was more profound.
Bananas.
A familiar laugh rang out in the room. "Hoo hoo ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!"
I was startled. Like, let's say, if I were alive, we'd have needed the carpet to have a, like, good cleaning.
Out of the sudden blast of fear, that, like, won out over the peace of the brownies, I bolted downstairs.
The guys were still playing poker.
"JJ!"
He looked a bit loaded and angry that I interrupted him. "What?"
"Like, I don't want to, like, alarm you, man, but it's, like, haunted upstairs."
JJ stubbed out his cigar and took a swallow of his Ol' Mos Eisley. "Qui, I don't want to have to be the one to break this to you, but, you're a ghost."
I slapped my forehead. "I know that, man. No, like, there is a GHOST upstairs, like, NOW, man." I pointed up. "Haunting my meditation room."
JJ and I went upstairs, leaving the others to play a round without him.
I pointed to the door, but my hand was, like, shaking. "In, in there, m, m, man."
"Do I smell bananas?"
He opened the door.
"JOJO?!"

"Howya doin' bwauth?"

Never Turn Down A Senatorial Tag

2005-10-16T03:05:00.000Z

Oh wow. So right, I was just like checking the mail. And, like, *BAM* there was this, like, letter from the Offices of Padme.
I got Tagged. But, like, she thought I was a hottie, so it's, like, cool, man.

10 Years Ago I was: Shuffling my mortal coil. I think. It's been a long time since I was alive. I might have already, like, kicked the proverbial bucket. Bummer, man.

5 Years Ago I Was: Dead. Ashes to ashes. Funk to funky. Searching for a way to breach the ether so I could communicate with those I left. Watching Ben screw up. Watching Anakin screw up. Watching Mace moisturise. Watching Yoda administer Force Wedgies.

1 Year Ago I Was: Uh, like, see above. Ditto.

Yesterday: Still dead. Spending quality time with JJ at the mall. Seriously disliking the mall and everything it stands for. Planning the renovations on our flat.

5 Snacks I Enjoy Most:
1. Uncle Jinn and JJ's Home-Made Super-Fudgy Special Spiced Brownies
2. Chunky Riddle Monkey Uncle Jinn and JJ's Brownies
3. Funyuns
4. *coughcheetoscough*
5. Don't like say anything to Dooks, but uh, his crumpets...

5 Songs I know All The Words To:
1. Some Jedi To Love
2. We Are the Champions (of the Force)
3. Rebellion Rebellion
4. Sweet Home Geonosis
5. (Padawans Train) Eight Days A Week

5 Ideal Places for Running Away To:
1. The Ether (so peaceful, yet, like, so boring)
2. Me and JJ's flat (pre-FOOF)
3. Kessel
4. Oh, wow, you know the little meditation garden on floor B-12 of the Temple, that one
5. Yoda's pad (with my plants, of course)

5 Items You'll Never See Me Wear:
1. A Bomb
2. A Leisure Suit
3. The Happy McBurgerBra Costume
4. A Wife-Beater Shirt
5. Parachute Pants

5 Biggest Joys in my Life:
1. My little plant babies
2. Mixing up brownies
3. Licking the bowl
4. Eating fresh brownies
5. Forgetting, like, all my troubles, and like, watching Scoob

5 Favourite Toys:
1. My solar powered mixer, that JJ got me, with the removable whisks, so that I can, like, partake of more raw brownie dough with every batch (Oh, like, warning, eating raw dough with eggs and stuff in it can, like, give you food poisoning and a really heavy case of the melfs, so it's, like, recommended that you, like, steer clear, and pass all of it on over to me. The dead don't get food poisoning. Just, like, FYI, man.)
2. That one Lava Lamp that Ben got me for his Padawan Anniversary.
3. That one Lava Lamp that Dooku got me for my Padawan Anniversary.
4. That one Lava Lamp that Yoda got me for passing my Knighthood drug test (boy, did I, like, have to study for that one, man)
5. Super Uber Ultra Mega Fluke action figure with 47 points of articulation and Spore Fusing action

5 Tags:
Flukey Mc, like, Flukenstein
Yarael Poof (We dead folks got stick together, man.)
Commando RAGE (Wow, Rage, like, if you had a brownie, would you be Commando MELLOW?)
Princess Leia (Woot-cha, man! Uh, lady...)
Mace Windu (look, man, it's like a chance to share your, like, feelings with the blog reading public)

Braving the Mall

2005-10-11T02:07:00.000Z

We needed some, like, new clothes. Me and JJ were without our swingin' bachelor pad and the majority of our stuff was covered in an orange haze after spending time at Obi-Wan's. So we went to the best place to get overcharged for shoddy merchandise, the Coruscant Western-Northern Mall.
It was Go'Oorchuk's Day, so there were all these crazy sales. Nothing draws Jawa to a mall like sales. And, like, they weren't even good sales. It was like in the adverts "45% off Scratch and Melted Candles at Quark's Magic Wax Barn," "Save an additional 10% of 1 and 3/4 % of 15% on already discounted fashions by Snarvf at Snoots for Snivvians," and "Free Toothpick at Posh'n'Co with purchase of Dilithium Crystal jewellery (starting at only 2000 credits!)."
With the sales, the parking was crazy. We had this nice one, like, out front, but some jerk in this really posh BMW cruiser pulled in. JJ showed him what he though of him with one finger, and I caught the plates. 'PALPS.' Negative vibe merchant. We had to park in section QQQ4.
Once we got there, after I gave JJ a Force ride on my back because, like, he said that he had to hike double the length because of his little legs, we went in through the entrance at Veers, a big imperial department store. The place was, like, huge, and very militaristic. All the employees clicked their heels and saluted you and everyone was in these awful grey suits with little colour-coded pins on their chest. We, like, bolted through there. I think we had our fill on overpriced appliances, to which you had to, like, buy a warranty, or they'd deliver the stove like on your pet dog. And, like, their clothes. Not suitable for hippie Force ghosts and Jawa business-jawas. They, like, don't carry fringed frocks or flared trousers and their suits in Jawa size were all mauve or puce. JJ is a business-jawa, not a mob boss.
The centre of the mall is this bright and beautiful atrium. It has these glass panels in the ceiling so that the sun can shine through and, like, all this great open space. But it is, like, ruined. See, it would be beautiful, except they let the Coruscanti public in. Not being, like, overly negative about our, like, natives, but, um, wow. Bubbling preppie teenaged females. Check. Several vain guys wearing, like, either Alderaan Eagle or those pink shirts that say "Tough Guys Wear Pink." Check. Some total, like, jerk who is trying out the ringer on his new Commtech. Check. Seriously, there is only so much Cantina music you can hear in butchered bleeps. The Mallrats, who you can, like, notice by their emulation of that movie, Jay and Silent Bob Save Easter. Check. Then, like, moms with screaming baby in the stroller. Check. Why is the baby, like, screaming? Are they hungry? Did mom refuse to buy them the newest non-recyclable Ultra Uber Ninja Mega Power Fluke doll with nine action phrases and 47 points of articulation at the toy store? Are they on fire? We don't know, but all of Coruscant knows they are miffed.
"Hey, let's stop off at Wicket's Short and Small. I need another robe."
I nodded and we started for the escalator.
"When, like, do you think we can move back in?"
JJ shrugged. "I don't know. Hopefully soon. I'm stick of this living in the Sandcrawler stuff."
"Oh, wow," I said. "I am, like, so with you, man. It smells like rotten baked beans in there. Which is, like, a major improvement from Obi's, man, but still."
"Hey, if I could find them, I would pitch them."
There was a voice behind us.
"Oh my goodness, JJ! Who are you, like, talking to, 'n junk?" It was Senator Amidala and her 5 handmaidens. Padme was dressed in the highest fashion, like always, and her girls were in matching outfits. I felt bad for all of them because they looked like pack-Eopie being weighed down by loads of bags.
JJ pointed to me. "Qui-Gon."
"Oh, like, you didn't see the sign? All ghosts must be on a leash. So we can, like, totally see the leash, so we like, totally don't think you are all, like, schizo 'n junk." Her handmaidens nodded.
I sighed. This leash law was, like, really stupid, man. Ghosts on a leash. "I don't want to wear a leash."
JJ looked ahead and suddenly had this look like he got an idea. "I've got an idea! Have fun, Princess!" He grabbed my spectral hand, and we, like, dashed away.
"It's Senator! Geez!"
I laughed to myself, while being dragged. "Senator Geez. Huh huh, he's from Gorf II. Gorf. Huh huh."
We went to Unnecessary Necessities. JJ made me stay by the door and went in. A few minutes later he came out with a bag.
"Ta-Da!" He presented me with a dry erase board, on a hanging rope, a green marker and an eraser.
It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had given me since... I think, before I died. I gave him a big intangible hug and put it around my neck. It floated there.
I wrote "Thank You, Senor JJ" on it.
He smiled and, after I bent down, he erased the message and put on his own. "Do not feed the ghost."
It took me a moment to get because, like, it was upside down. It worked good enough for me and we went on.
After buying a few new robes at Wicket's (which, like, FYI, their stuff is, like, covered in Ewok fur, so, like, if you are looking for something there, don't go black as it seriously shows), we went to Purple Haze for me, which is this, like, far-out store that has an Ethereal section, and picked up some new tie-dyed tunics, a fringed robe, and flared leggings. JJ also got me a new Lava-Lamp. He's a good guy. Said it was a tax-write off as a gift for one of the clients.
"You hungry?" JJ said, loading me up with yet another bag. I had a Force load on my back.
"Brownies."
JJ shook his head. "I don't think they have them here... Can you even eat real food?"
I picked up the scent. I smelled brownies. Several stores down there was the Creamatorium, an ice-cream parlour. I bolted towards it, but waited for JJ to make his way over.
"I was thinking something more substantial. Gamorean, Gungan, Thai. Whatever is in the mall."
I wrote on the board "Brownies."
"Fine fine fine. Go get a brownie, you big dork."
I wrote "One brownie, please."
The older saggy Twi'lek lady at the counter said, "I'm sorry, we don't serve possessed dry-erase boards, hun. Next?"
I wrote, "Like, no, I'm a ghost."
"A ghost?"
"Yes."
"One who wants a brownie?"
"Yes."
"Here." She handed me a brownie. "Just take it and go away. I have enough trouble from those meddling kids, I don't need to be haunted on top of things."
"Thanks."
I drifted back over to JJ, brownie in hand. "Wow, she was like an unpleasant old bag."
She shouted to me, "Old bag! Meddling kids!" There was more tirade, but I wasn't there to hear it, as we started to the food court. I gobbed my brownie but quick. It was just a brownie. No special spice. Nothing. And it tasted like they added cement meal to the cocoa. It got a thumbs down.
"What, like, are you going to have?"
There were so many choices. McDooku's, Antillies Fried Mynock, Greedo's Pizza, Imperial Burger, and E-Wok. We checked the menu at McDooku's. It was funny to see the face of my old Master as the new spokes-Sith-Lord for greasy fried fast food. See, McDooku's offers an assortment of foods deep fried to mask the taste. McTauntaun Nuggets (I'm scared to ask if they are from the Tauntaun or from the Tauntaun), 'chips' (no-one really knows what they are chips of), McFillet of FishFace (I fear that it's, like, Mon Calamarian, but the reports have been unconfirmed). As I was concerned about JJ's well-being, I told him to avoid McDooku's all together.
"This is Obi-Wan's favourite restaurant," I said, and that convinced him.
With that we moved onto Antillies Fried Mynock. JJ ordered a container of popcorn mynock and we had a seat in the dining section.
Like, the dining section would be cool, but there was this, like, dramatic lack of space, especially for an invisible ghost carrying loads of bags and wearing a dry-erase board. We finally found a seat parked between screaming baby (FYI, this one was not on fire) and some really loud bread-head businessman talking on his Commtech loud enough to be heard over squalling daemon child.
I drew pictures on my board to keep JJ entertained as he wolfed down his mynock.
Once he was done, we stopped at the Little Jawa's room and went on to the Decor Store. We picked out load of stuff for the new flat, but, like, I won't tell you about it until, like, it's done, man.
We decided it was, like, time to go, go JJ loaded me up, and sat on top on the way back to the Sandcrawler. That got some looks. We went in, dumped our new acquisitions and drove back to the Temple Parking Garage.
Like, all in all, other than I, like, think that the mall is a pit of greed and, like, filled with customers who are like really heavy bread-heads, it was, like, a good day, man.

Cleaning Sux0rz

2005-09-29T02:52:00.000Z

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.
Cleaning.
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.
Except.
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."
"EX-TER-MIN-ATE?"
"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!

Cheeto Haze

2005-09-17T06:31:00.000Z

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.

Spice Wars : A Fluke of a Victory

2005-09-02T06:06:00.000Z

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.
ROUND ONE. FIGHT!
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!
ROUND TWO. FIGHT!
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!~

Spice Wars : Who You Gonna Call?

2005-08-30T05:13:00.000Z

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.

Spice Wars : What's a 'Zig?

2005-08-23T05:46:00.000Z

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.~

Spice Wars : the Quest for more Money

2005-08-18T13:13:00.000Z

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.

Forgetting something...

2005-08-11T22:18:00.000Z

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

Not Tipping the Pizza Guy

2005-08-09T05:23:00.000Z

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?

Fool of the Dates, or something like that

2005-08-08T17:17:00.000Z

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

2005-08-08T06:24:00.000Z

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

2005-08-08T03:51:00.000Z

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

Guest Post: Goldie's Weekly Scoop

2005-08-01T23:13:00.000Z

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."

C! (Cybertainment Holovision) Weekly Scoop

2005-07-24T04:12:00.001Z

Greetings, my esteemed fans of C! (Cybertainment Holovision). I am C3P0, back by popular demand, to bring you vital news pertaining to the most famous and beloved citizens in our fair galaxy.
First on the docket is a piece of information on one of the most well known space commanders, Captain Han Solo. It seems that Captain Solo has developed an alarming addiction to Uncle Jinn and J.J.'s Homemade Super Fudgy Special Spiced Brownies (R). Close friends and co-workers have given C! (Cybervision Holotainment) startling reports about the wellbeing of Captain Solo.
Mistress Leia Organa, formerly of the former Alderaan, has stated that "Han has always been a scruffy looking nerf-herder. Just now, he's like an Ewok on PixyStix(TM)."
The Wookie, Chewbacca, had this to say about his most valued friend; "hhhRRrroWWll Mmrrff rrOWWll. HHHHRRRR!" How apt a statement about such a tragic situation.
C! (Cybertainment Holovision) acquired this shocking photograph of the deposed General showing the severity of his addiction. The contributor informed us that Commander Solo was gambling for a pot of brownies in a game of Sabacc. He had wagered his clothing, blaster, and his infamous 'lucky credit.' As seen in this disturbing and graphic photograph, he was suffering tremendous losses. At the moment of the shot, Commander Solo covered himself with Wabbaboo the Ewok, who was also competing in the game.
When C! (Cybertainment Holovision) questioned Captain Solo directly, he had this to say, "A brownie problem? Ha! HA Ha Ha Ha *blows a raspberry*! I don't have a problem with brownies. I mean, I like brownies. Who doesn't? Someone who smokes Death Sticks, they've got a problem. For them, they can't function without a Death Stick in their mouth. *eats a brownie in one bite* Me, I can stop any time I want to *snaps fingers*. Everyone should have brownies, man. They are uh, ...good. Once you have one, you want another and then you are willing to trade off your pet Wookie and the fastest ship in the galaxy for one. You do know the Falcon does the Kessel Run in 12 Parsecs, right? That should be worth, like, twenty... twenty-five brownies, easy. Have you got any brownies, Goldenrod?"
After a rather unpleasant wire check on my circuits, Captain Solo wandered off, a bit dazed and confused.
We, at C! (Cybertainment Holovision), wish Captain Solo the best of luck, and we do hope his recovery is soon, as we would love to feature it as an informative headline.
C! (Cybertainment Holovision) is asking for any degrading information about Captain Solo pertaining to his current lowly state. We willing to offer Sith Scout cookies, generously donated by Little Dookie Baked Goods. You will enjoy our delicious biscuits. Resistance is futile.
On an up-beat note, the Jedi heartthrob, Master Ki-Adi Mundi has just signed on to an exciting movie deal with Galactic Monopoly (formerly Paramount, Sony, Viacom and Underbudget independent Films Inc.).
He will be starring as Beldar Conehead in the aptly titled film, Coneheads. The film is based on the hugely successful skits on the programme "Very Late Evening Weekend Skit Comedy Show."
Our Genosian reporter, Trill Click Warble, was able to ask Master Mundi a few questions before dashed off on some Council business.
C!: Hutt koom hack den keeger *click* nerrt?
K: Oh certainly! I am very excited. I've been a fan of the Coneheads since I was a little cone. *laughs*
C!: Ooba weet *click click trill* narn wooshook bababa?
K: Yes, I am predominantly a Spacesperian actor. I have all the classic training. I've studied under the finest masters in the galaxy, Ford, MacGregor, Neeson, Hamill, Guinness, and even the great master Keanu Reeves.
C!: Kkht oof dippo *click click shimmy* zoobamafoo?
K: Well that's what I really need; a change of pace. I've never done straight comedy before. So we'll see how it goes. I am excited about the chance to 'narfle the garthok.'
C!: Wabajook? Napippa nashook! *click click growl*
Tough luck, Master Mundi! It seems that 'narfle the garthok' means something very derogatory toward ones mother in Geonosian. We at C! (Cybervision Holotainment) do so hope that the 2 days in the Bacta tank heals those bite marks. To the Click Warble family, we are very sorry for your loss.
Thank you for your patronage! This has been Threepio for C! (Cybertainment Holovision). (C) Cybervision Entertainment MMXLMMLLXIIVIII+3 Typed in front of a live studio audience.

Guest Post : C3P0

2005-07-19T04:39:00.000Z

Hello. I am C3P0, Human Cyborg Relations. I have been asked by my compatriot, Master Qui-Gon Jinn, to provide a post for his amusing blog, as he is away on Tatooine.
I come to you with current reports on the whereabouts and wellbeing of some rather famous people, on behalf of C! (Cybertainment Holovision).
It seems that my creator, Master Anakin Skywalker, is having a torrid love affair with Senator Padme Amidala, of Naboo. As seen above, the two engaged in a kiss, which is forbidden by the Jedi Council Code 3263827. When Master Reporter Thom Thompson asked Senator Amidala about said matters, she replied, "OhEmGee! Like, no-one was like totally supposed to see that and junk! And, and, and... Like it wasn't a kiss or anything. Seriously. It was like, I was choking on a Rolo. And, like, Ani, being a Jedi and all, he like was all selfless and wanted to rescue me, and junk." Afterward, Master Thompson met up with the Maker, Anakin Skywalker. We wish Thom a speedy recovery after the loss of both of his hands.
In other news, there has been a notable battle between Little Dookie Baked Goods, the mother company of Sith Scout Cookies, and the fledgling enterprise, Uncle Jinn and J.J.'s Brownies Ltd. Our Ace Twi'lek reporter Gabook'Li spoke with Count Dooku himself on the recent accusations that his baked goods are laced with highly dangerous chemicals.
Gabook'Li: Count Dooku, it is always a pleasure.
Dooku: Certainly, old chap. *offers tea and crumpets* Cuppa?
G: Thank you, but no, sir.
D: *waves his hand infront of Gabook'Li* You will have a cuppa and a crumpet, and you bloody well best enjoy it.
G: (monotone) I will have a cuppa and a crumpet and I will bloody enjoy it. *takes a cup of tea and a crumpet* Um, yes, my question. There has been a lot of negative press about your multi-system corporation recently. It is said that your foods have been known to contain MSG, DDT, PCP, THC, and traces of BVD's. What the galaxy is dying to know is, are any of these accusations warranted?
D: *runs his fingers over his beard, looking deep in thought* These current recriminations have hurt, not only our sales base, but also the moral standards of the company itself. I assure you, our foods contain nothing that you have just listed. We use only the finest ingredients in our line of snacks. *coughandsodiumpenthanolcough*
G: What was that?
D: *waves his hand in front of Gabook'Li* It was nothing. It must be allergies.
G: (monotone) It was nothing. It must be allergies.
Well, there you have it! Top notch reporting from C!'s own Gabook'Li!
Well, until next time, this has been Threepio for C! Cybertainment Holovision (not to be confused with any other branch of Cyber Enterprises, Cybernaughts, Cybermen, Cybersmut, or Big Bad Beetle Borgs).

Disturbed Force Brownies

2005-07-14T23:42:00.000Z

So wow.
Okay, like, something uncool and heavy happened. But, I like can't remember what. I mean, like, I had a brownie at the Temple and then everything got really fuzzy. I believe I had, what the healers at the Temple call, a 'Freak Out,' man.
I think I remember some numbers and, for some strange reason, I think I
saw Tahl. It's been a really long time. I mean, she was my flower princess. She was my geisha goddess. I was really bummed out when she died. We were different; she was all into apples and windows, and the kings of Nintendooine, or something, and I was all about vegetable rights and peace.
But, yeah, so, like, when I came to, I was somehow back in my flat and um, suffering from a slight case of nudity. The good news; J.J. is home! So, that's like a plus and stuff.
Then I found this picture. It's of the council, right? I see some Jedi
and Yoda, and stuff. There was a note with it.
"Qui-Gon, You may want to lay off the brownies. Look in the top right corner. That's right, you've taken up a new hobby. Exibitionism. Thank goodness that you aren't corporeal, or you'd be facing a hefty fine for exposing yourself. There are only two copies of this photo. To keep this out of the Coruscant Courrier, start making brownies. I'll be by to collect them later."
There was no signature. But, I remember this time that, well, let's just say, it was summer, it was hot, and Dooks and I were sick of the whole baking in Jedi Robes treatment. So yeah, that one time at band camp.... Well, I didn't care about post the picture. Like, no-one can see me anyway, so how could they see me in the picture? (Except J.J., so like I hope you aren't scarred at the sight of streaking dead guys).
I'm off to start baking anyway. It helps me to think until I forget what I was thinking about.
QGJ

Missing: One Jawa

2005-07-12T00:44:00.000Z

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS JAWA?
Tall for a Jawa, but that means that he is like 3 foot 4. Smells like VibroAxe and brownies. Answers to the name JawaJuice, JJ, MasterJuice, Juicy the Jawa, Jabababa, teh JuiceMeistre, and Eric, the Half a J. Likes money, bread, credits (Imperial or otherwise), phat cash, and blasters that are bigger than he is. Totally not uncool or heavy. Last seen wearing Jawa robes, Jawa pouches, size 3 jawa boots, and a Blobby Huttfinger belt. May be armed with a hydrospanner, a Thermal Detonator, several restraining bolts, and a Journey Pak (TM) of Uncle Jinn and J.J.'s Brownies (R). Missing since that day that we spent lounging around the flat eating brownies and talking about the philosophical significance of modern television and pop culture.

Any information please contact our flat. And, like, leave a detailed message, and stuff. Reward of baked goods, or something. Thanks, like, in advance.
QGJ, missing his best friend, man

Who I am not, man

2005-07-08T03:16:00.000Z

Okay, wow.
Like, I am like feeling all paranoid for some reason. Like people are like talking about me. because, there are like these new Jedi that were like little Padawans when i was alive and stuff. Now they like know me by my brownies and my cowbell. Which is a problem for me, man. They don't know the real me, you know? I'm not all baked goods and haunting with nagging. There is more to me.
So, yeah, with these young little Padawan punks and their lack of comtemporary classics, I'd imagine that many feel that, from a character standpoint, I resemble these two the most. You know, weed and fart jokes. Who would read a blog about that? I mean, sure, they are really entertaining, but I get this like uncomfortable feeling when I see they guy in the pansy red booties. Like, I think Fluke knows a guy who knows them. They lack the brownies, but they do have that cool Berserker song. But see, they are really just the politically correct versions of my idols.

I'd bet most of you kids, with your Zima and your Pac-Man video games; your Hula Hoops and your Dan Fogelberg records, don't know who these guys are. And if you do, man, then either you are the far out offspring of a flower child, who must now be all into that New Age crap and listen to Enya and *shudders* Yanni (who is far too evil to be a Sith, even they have limits), or, like, you hung out with all the brownie eaters at the Temple, watching late night Cheech and Chong movies and making runs to Taco Bell. Nothing wrong with that.
But, yeah, there is more to me than the brownies, man. I've just, like, forgotten most of it.
QGJ
BTW, Han, I am not the Doughboy. Seriously, man, like, stop calling me that and, like, trying to poke my belly, or I'll, like, have to bogart your brownies and, like, totally cut you off.

More Cowbell!

2005-07-05T01:37:00.000Z

Master Yoda still can't see me. He said that I need to give some warning to when I show up. "A little bell, you should wear."
So, right, like, I went through my flat and found something.
This is Bonnie, my cowbell. I got her a long time ago when me and Dooks were recording Don't Fear the Ether. Dooku sure liked the sound of her. We recorded the track as normal and he was all like "it's missing something, old bean." And I'm all like, "uh, like what?" And he was all like "Something classic. Something that gives it a primitive feel. Something that symbolises life. You hear it and think of the eternal plight of the commoner." Dooku did a lot of LDS, let me tell you. So we searched the recording studio and nothing. Nada.
We went out to the streets of Coruscant at the peddlers markets and Dooks heard it. He followed the sound, dragging me behind him, rushing through the crowds. And there it was, man. The Jawa called it a 'cowbell.' It was this metal bell that made this 'clang' noise when you hit it and it had this bow on it that was said to be magical. So, Dooks paid 25,000 credits for it and we went back to the studio.
The initial layout for the song was done, and each section was finished. Dooku wanted a layer of Cowbell. Then another and another. After the 273rd layer, the recording machine short circuited and the cowbell layers caught fire. We recorded one more overlay for the finished track, and if you listen you can here the magical cowbell.
So to make a long story redundant, I've got my Bonnie out. If Yoda doesn't like that, I'll get out the enchanted boat horn we used on Ruptured Eardrums.
QGJ

"Quiggy Starlust"

2005-07-02T04:41:00.000Z

Alright. All this talk of Dook's and my musical past has really gotten me nostalgic. I Force pulled out the old albums yesterday. Good times, good times.
I do owe my old Master an apology though.
Our roots were very humble. He was my Master, and I his Padawan. He would harmonise while meditating, and as I learned, I followed suit. We both enjoyed the contemporary musics of the Twi'lek Temptations, HuKchuba OooOtha (the Gentle Huttsmen), the Beagles and of course, Elvis. After coming across my journal, Dooku found out that I was a songwriter. We collaborated on a lot of fresh material and produced out first album, A Hard Day's Knight.
It was met with less than success, as it sold no copies. We did give Master Yoda a pressing, and he said that it was cliche, sounded as if it were recorded in the mens toilets, and the art looked to have been done at one something in the morning on photoshop by an amature. "Do, or do not. There is no try. Next time, do not."
Though a bit discouraged, we ignored the grumpus that is Master Yoda, and started on more music. After our first big hit, "Some Jedi to Love," we were untouchable. There were groupies on every planet in the Republic. We lived wild and fast, touring everywhere we could. We had stopped in Kessel to play the Kesselstock concert and things changed. We were introduced to spice and that became a driving force behind our music. We went from thoughtful lyrics to insane trippy nonsense. We went from (Padawans Train) Eight Days A Week to Funky Mr. Moonpants, the Cosmic Jester Holding A Pint of Orange Sorbet (which was 3 1/2 hours of impromptu jamming and giggling).
From that came Quiggy Starlust.
I changed my image from a young mop-topped padawan to a cross-dressing glam rocker. I spent most of my days in a spicy haze. All I can really recall from that time was flirting with some guy called Mick and how bad lipstick tasted. I do believe, as I was going through my own freaky trip, Dooku had joined Hoth's Angels, a swoop club, wore a lot of leather and chains, and nicknamed himself Lord von Kikaz.
After that, the band broke apart and Master Dooku went to the Dark Side. For all of that, I am sorry, man.
The moral of this story, kids, is don't do spice in such quantities that you begin to think you would look good in PVC pants and a boa.
QGJ

2005-06-29T18:00:00.000Z

As of late, I've been doing a lot of watching. Before, I spent most of my time pleasantly meditating and grooving to the waves of the Ether. I would stand with my Padawan and whisper words of strength into his ear, but all-in-all, I shied away from the other Jedi that I shared my life with. After observing Anakin slaughter the village of Tusken Raiders, paying no heed to my cries, I faded away. Master Yoda has drawn me back to the ones I love.
The downer is that, though I have a form, the Jedi cannot see me. Others can, like some of my new friends. I had, like, no idea what was up, man. I mean, I 'fused the spores' and baked, like, enough brownies to feed the whole Jedi Academy, and nada.
So I got out my copy of the Handbook for the Jedi Deceased. Seriously, that thing reads like stereo instructions, and like ones for the new fangled stereos with woofers and tweeters.
In the Intermediate Interface chapter on Haunting, it says that Jedi should see the dead if they are in tune with the Force. Yoda is the most 'in-tune' guy I know, and I still scared him when I tried to return his fondue set. He saw a floating fondue and obviously, not me, as he freaked, leapt into the air, did, like, this bounding leap off the wall, pulled out his lightsabre, and that poor old pot was in three pieces before Master Yoda touched the floor. I got an earful. "Older than you are, that pot was! Trained you with more manners than that, I have. Scaring an old master. Lucky, that dead, you are, Padawan Jinn."
So, if Yoda can't see me, something is not right. I looked it up in that stupid book. Okay, there is a chapter on throwing your voice, possession, stupid parlor tricks, and then one on Troubleshooting for the Dead.
If Jedi cannot see you in your translucent form, there could be one of two issues. Firstly, the Jedi could not have the power to see the Living Force. Many unskilled Padawans lack the training to recognise the Living Force in its spirit essense form. If this is not the obvious case, then there may be a greater issue. It is possible, however unlikely, that there is a great phantom menance that is suppressing the power of the Living Force making the deceased spectral forms of fallen Jedi invisible to the existing mortal Jedi. Be this the case, offer your silent support and pray for the living.
That's all it says! I've got a bad feeling about this.
I wish you could hear me Ben. I'd tell you that I miss you more than anything else from living. I'd say that I am proud of you. I love you, man.
Master Qui-Gon Jinn

Consider the Spores Fused

2005-06-25T23:42:00.000Z

Okay, let me lay this on you. For over 10 years, I've been without a body. That sucks. I mean, like, I've got a form out here on the Ethereal Plane, sure, but nothing that I can come see my old mates with. I can talk to them, but that isn't good to do to a 900 year old Master. He gets grouchy. And other Jedi aren't fans too. Mace said that the fact that I can see him but he can't see me is violating his personal rights and that he may see legal advice if said actions did not cease and desist. So yeah, I've not visited him since, let's see, about 9.99 years ago. Narc. I've tried to talk to Ben more than once. *sigh* I don't know what to do about him. Anakin, for the love of Jimi, I can't understand a thing coming out of his mouth! What are 'spinner rims' anyway?
So, as recommended by a good buddy called Fluke, I turned to the Spores. He said to 'fuse' them. This would lead me to a body. And after a few brownies, that is what I did.
First, I visited the Spores masters on the planet Nintendooine. There was a multitude of great masters there. All classics. Not a single Padawan hasn't heard of the great Master Maarioh. After much pasta and meditating, I channeled and 'fused the spores.'

This is what I came up with. That's a problem. What master would take me seriously in those overalls (other than Kenobi; he's got a pair just like them)? Staying like that would mean I would keep that wicked double jump and allow me all the mushrooms I want, but it was not the right form for me, man. They did have some stellar 'shrooms, though, so we traded shrooms for brownies. I went away happy, but form less.
I was directed by the Spores to travel elsewhere. I was led to a dark planet. It was obvious that the Sith controlled much of it. It was called Disney World. Lies covered every sign there. "Happiest Place in the Galaxy." Only the wisest Jedi know the happiest place in the galaxy, and it sure ain't there. I mean, like, they made me leave my brownies behind, and charged me 47.95 for parking. I don't have a car. Parking for the dead should be free. Breadheads. So, wow. I went to this secluded area there, past the Pits of Plush, and Chip'n'Dale's Happy Fun Live Organ harvest ride. I met with the greatest master in that whole sector, Ker-Met de Fro-Guh. He told me of the plight of his people, the Muupits. Once, his people flourished in the land of frankOZ. The Muupets were strong with the ratings. Then a group broke away and called themselves Seesami-Striit. For a while, the two groups lived at peace, until the greatest leader of their people, Jimm-Bi Henson, died. The dark Lord, Darth Elmo took over. It was a dark time for his people, and the Disney Empire enslaved the Muupits. Now they are forced to make bad movies with washed up actors. He helped me channel who he called a 'great master.'
Great master my eye! He smelled bad enough that it made me gag, and I'm dead! The smell reminded me of that time that Obi-Wan lost that jar of mayonnaise that he tried to soak pork rinds in. It was open in the bottom of his closet, and when we found it two weeks later, it proved the theory of spontaneous generation. It was sentient and called Jose. Nice guy, but Jose stunk. So, like, again, I ain't got no body.
Finally, I came home. I was a little let down. I mean, you know, I am a Jedi Master and all I can form is a plumber and a talking trash heap. I had a few brownies. Got all serious. I thought about all my friends. I mean, like, I've seen all of them recently, but it's been 10 years since they've seen me. I remembered the best times of my life, and more than one of the people I visit were there with me in those times. Even though he is a screw-up, I am proud of Ben. Even though he is old and crotchety, Yoda is a good friend. Even though he is a wimpy little wannabe, Anakin, uh, he could whine better than anyone. Mace, he... Um, do I have to answer this one? Can't I mark (e) None of the above? Aayla, she's hot. Like Joni Mitchell hot. JarJar has big ears. And Fluke, JawaJuice, and WookieHobbit, they've only seen those polaroids of me that one time that I was taking a photo introspective of my life because I was really really full of brownies.
After all of that, I found my form.

I went to JawaJuice's party prouder than I've ever been in my afterlife.
Thanks guys!

Wayne

2005-06-24T00:34:00.000Z

So yeah, this is Wayne, my rubber plant.

He's way cool and not like a Narc or anything. He was killed by a Sith Lord, too. Palpatine decided that Miracle Gro and water were too much. Starved him to death. Really sad.

Sith Lords suck.

QGJ

Bored

2005-06-20T06:03:00.000Z

There isn't a lot to do out here.
Honestly, there isn't a lot out here. I mean the Living Force is like *everything*, but there is a conciderable lack of shopping malls and theatres.
There are loads of people here. Lots of old-time Jedi. All I hear are stories about the old battles and the hardships of the past. Like they had to trek through three feet bantha poodu to get to the temple and they didn't have all the modern luxuries like indoor plumbing and hyperdrive power cuplings. Their Astromech droids were from the A1-A1 series and were made of clay and and glass and Protocol droids only spoke 27 languages. They didn't that these new fangled "Do-It-Yourself" Lightsabre kits and had to mine the metals, temper them themselves and go to the outer reaches to get the crystals. Back then all lightsabres were white because they hadn't invented the other colours yet.
To avoid the old-timers whining, I've been watching my old mates. You don't need reality tv when you have the Jedi Temple. It is like a bad soap opera, man.
Anakin is the comic relief because he really believes that he is all that and a bag of Cheetos. He is under this incredibly enteraining delusion that he will be the strongest Jedi ever. Uh, yeah, sure, Annie. He'd have to sell his soul for that.
Windu is just Windu. He's always been a kiss up. Like Yoda would say "Jump, I want you to" and Windu would be like, "how high and can I wear my ballet shoes? They are just so comfortable!" He's not all that bad, but he is that stereotypical man that thinks that he is in touch with his feminine side and represses his masculinity. He needs to hang out with me, man. He did for a while, which is when those pics that Yoda posted came from.
Poor old Obi-Wan. My former Padawan really is inching toward the Dark side. You can determine how much food he has in his beard because he weighs himself daily. When he's put on three or four pounds of filth, Yoda gets out the pressure washer. "Drink from the fire hose, you get to!" What frightens me is that Obi-Wan gets all excited when Yoda says that. I think he's killing off his midiclorians with his Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. I've tried to contact him, but there has been no reply. I hope he can still read e-mail. I don't want to lose him like I did my first Padawan. Obi-Wan is dramaticaly different than Xanatos, but the Dark Side is the Dark Side, man.
I've been able to contact Yoda, but I don't think that he can see me. I was there and he like did nothing and then I said something and he like freaked and got out his lightsabre and I think I owe him a new lamp. He's like a little ninja whirly thing when he's all one with the Force and stuff. Don't get me wrong, Yoda is a cool cat and can be mellow with the best of them, but man, he is just like on auto pilot when he gets all Force-juiced. When he went up against Dooku, don't tell him, but I, like, laughed the whole time. There is nothing like Grampa getting schooled by a psycho green midget. It was like either he has like a stunt double on a wire or he was one of those really good holograms. And yeah, I can call you that, Dooku, you went to the Dark Side and didn't even bring me back a teeshirt.
So I think I need to get me a form. Talking to these guys isn't enough, because they sure aren't listening. It's really hard to do that blue see-through thing the geriatric Jedi keep talking about. You have to concentrate for long periods of time. You have to remember the stuff that you were taught Padawan. I can't, like, even remember my birthday. So, screw that. I need an alternative.
QGJ

Back stories

2005-06-14T02:39:00.000Z

I'd imagine that you are expecting a long-winded recap of my life events. I should use this space to wow you with my adventures being a Jedi Knight, my tragic childhood, and my unforseen death.
I'd rather not speak of said things.
Simply, after the time I spent as part of the living Force, my past means nothing. My life in that tired vessel has ended. Now I should concentrate on more important things.
The 'should' is the variable in that statement.
Being one with the Force is like nothing I'd ever experienced. A high unsurpassed by any human experiences.
At this moment, I am euphoric. I can't recall the last time I ever was. It is possible that I had never experienced such a feeling in mortal life. I am one with everything. I am stardust. I am the stars themselves. And it is like, far out.
I don't know if I am ready to speak with my old Padawan. It sounds as though he is slipping into the Dark. I fear that he will leave the Jedi order to become a slave to this 'Walmart.' Nascar and professional wrestling are tools of the Sith. Does he not know that the very Sith Lord, Darth Maul, that killed me, was the Maulinator from the GWOotOfWitG (Galactic Wrestling Order of the Organisation for Wrestling in the Galaxy)? I do hope that he has not taken up chewing tobacco again. There is nothing more horrid than stepping in a gob of warm slimy tobacco spittle. Even with the Force, he had poor aim. And we lacked a spitoon.
But, I digress.
Peace be will all of you children of the Force and the stars and the moons and all that is groovy.
QGJ