![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chaosvizierIt's storytime, boys and girls! I know you sometimes wonder at the lengths I would go to to tell completely inane and meaningless stories make my housemates happy pandas. Well, sit back, relax, grab that popcorn, crack open a cold one and hold on to your seats- the action is about to begin!
I came home one day to seedeinemuse looking somewhat sad and downtrodden.
"What hath you so reduced to visage grim?"
"Alas, I can do naught but think of him."
Ah yes, the one that got away. Boba Fett, the King of all Bounty Hunters, the alpha male sex machine of the Star Wars universe, was within her grasp, and yet slipped through her dainty fingers. I empathized with her plight, and, motivated by her wistful gaze, vowed to find young Boba and return him to her. Then all would be right.
But where to find the legend himself? He wasn't listed in the Verizon Yellow Pages, oddly enough. But I am not without resources. My old and trusted ally, the Archangel of Nuclear Fire, would surely have insight into a solution.
"Oh angel, bright with uranium glowing,
Are you the whereabouts of Fett now knowing?"
"To seek the Mandalorean assassin,
You should the Tatooine Jawas be asking."
Well, that was quite helpful of him. Remind me to mail him some depleted uranium shells to say thank you. So I swigged a gin and tonic, climbed into my 1982 Custom GMC X-Wing starfighter...
..., and headed off to the desert planet. Fortunately Paul "Muad'dib" "Kwisatz Haderach" "Dukey Duke" Atreides told me I had taken a wrong turn at Giedi Prime, and I set off to the OTHER desert planet... Tatooine. I knew I had the right place when I saw this sign:
God, I hate deserts.
I shuffled around the dunes for several days until I finally heard the familiar "dink dinks" of the Jawa language. Dink #24 and I chatted within his sandcrawler for hours. My unfamiliarity with Dinkese and his unfamiliarity with English led to much frustration on my part. Artoo wasn't much help either. Never a pansy-ass protocol droid around when you really need one.
"Damn your mis'rable burlap-clad hides!
All I want is where Boba resides!"
Surprisingly enough, screaming the word "Boba" finally got through to the little dink.
Thanks for nothing, half-pint.
However, as luck would have it, it turned out the little dink messed up. Instead of being pointed toward young Boba, I found his daddy, Jango Fett. And Jango was pretty buddy-buddy with the men of the Imperial Army, if you know what I mean. Not surprising, I guess, since they were his clones and all.
I Think I'm A Clone Now...
Tough crowd... but hey, Jango was a mercenary. I figured I'd get right to the point, appeal to his desire for profit, and offer to buy his son. I mean, hell, he was just a clone. He could make another...
"What price for yonder clone would you now set,
That I might then acquire young Boba Fett?"
"I KEEL YOU HOR!"
(That last line is taken fromcleolinda and used especially well in her fifteen-minute summary of Troy. She is a writing genius and comedic gold. Go worship her now. Now, I tell you.)
Unfortunately for my future well-being, Jango was pretty unreceptive to the whole "sell his cloned son to me" idea, so he instead forked me over to his Imperial clone buddies in exchange for a few credits and a case of Huttweiser.
I think these guys have been watching way too much Cops or something. They roughed me up good.
"What fist through mine own jawbone squarely breaks?
It is a clone, whose armored hand doth strike
With grim and vicious purpose undesried,
While dark-clad comrade waits to act alike."
Beaten, battered, and bruised, I succumbed to their might and was interrogated by one of their officers.
And so I spent the rest of my days in an Imperial dungeon getting raped by bears.
I never saw Jango or young Boba again... but the experience did set me firmly on the path of the Dark Side. I'll save that story for another day.
Today's moral: Cloning is bad.
(Special thanks to George Lucas, all the Star Wars fans at Origins 2004,ladybugbutt, cleolinda, William Shakespeare and iambic pentameter, the country of Belarus and the city of Kiev, Frank Herbert, Mr. T, whoever first brewed gin from juniper berries so long ago, and my wonderful housemates, The Borg.)
I came home one day to see
deinemuse looking somewhat sad and downtrodden."What hath you so reduced to visage grim?"
"Alas, I can do naught but think of him."
Ah yes, the one that got away. Boba Fett, the King of all Bounty Hunters, the alpha male sex machine of the Star Wars universe, was within her grasp, and yet slipped through her dainty fingers. I empathized with her plight, and, motivated by her wistful gaze, vowed to find young Boba and return him to her. Then all would be right.
But where to find the legend himself? He wasn't listed in the Verizon Yellow Pages, oddly enough. But I am not without resources. My old and trusted ally, the Archangel of Nuclear Fire, would surely have insight into a solution.
"Oh angel, bright with uranium glowing,
Are you the whereabouts of Fett now knowing?"
"To seek the Mandalorean assassin,
You should the Tatooine Jawas be asking."
Well, that was quite helpful of him. Remind me to mail him some depleted uranium shells to say thank you. So I swigged a gin and tonic, climbed into my 1982 Custom GMC X-Wing starfighter...
..., and headed off to the desert planet. Fortunately Paul "Muad'dib" "Kwisatz Haderach" "Dukey Duke" Atreides told me I had taken a wrong turn at Giedi Prime, and I set off to the OTHER desert planet... Tatooine. I knew I had the right place when I saw this sign:
God, I hate deserts.
I shuffled around the dunes for several days until I finally heard the familiar "dink dinks" of the Jawa language. Dink #24 and I chatted within his sandcrawler for hours. My unfamiliarity with Dinkese and his unfamiliarity with English led to much frustration on my part. Artoo wasn't much help either. Never a pansy-ass protocol droid around when you really need one.
"Damn your mis'rable burlap-clad hides!
All I want is where Boba resides!"
Surprisingly enough, screaming the word "Boba" finally got through to the little dink.
Thanks for nothing, half-pint.
However, as luck would have it, it turned out the little dink messed up. Instead of being pointed toward young Boba, I found his daddy, Jango Fett. And Jango was pretty buddy-buddy with the men of the Imperial Army, if you know what I mean. Not surprising, I guess, since they were his clones and all.
I Think I'm A Clone Now...
Tough crowd... but hey, Jango was a mercenary. I figured I'd get right to the point, appeal to his desire for profit, and offer to buy his son. I mean, hell, he was just a clone. He could make another...
"What price for yonder clone would you now set,
That I might then acquire young Boba Fett?"
"I KEEL YOU HOR!"
(That last line is taken from
cleolinda and used especially well in her fifteen-minute summary of Troy. She is a writing genius and comedic gold. Go worship her now. Now, I tell you.)Unfortunately for my future well-being, Jango was pretty unreceptive to the whole "sell his cloned son to me" idea, so he instead forked me over to his Imperial clone buddies in exchange for a few credits and a case of Huttweiser.
I think these guys have been watching way too much Cops or something. They roughed me up good.
"What fist through mine own jawbone squarely breaks?
It is a clone, whose armored hand doth strike
With grim and vicious purpose undesried,
While dark-clad comrade waits to act alike."
Beaten, battered, and bruised, I succumbed to their might and was interrogated by one of their officers.
And so I spent the rest of my days in an Imperial dungeon getting raped by bears.
I never saw Jango or young Boba again... but the experience did set me firmly on the path of the Dark Side. I'll save that story for another day.
Today's moral: Cloning is bad.
(Special thanks to George Lucas, all the Star Wars fans at Origins 2004,
ladybugbutt, cleolinda, William Shakespeare and iambic pentameter, the country of Belarus and the city of Kiev, Frank Herbert, Mr. T, whoever first brewed gin from juniper berries so long ago, and my wonderful housemates, The Borg.)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 08:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 07:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 08:00 am (UTC)More bears! More rape!
Date: 2004-07-01 08:04 am (UTC)Re: More bears! More rape!
Date: 2004-07-01 08:23 am (UTC)Bears and rape, on the other hand, I could use less of.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 08:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 08:25 am (UTC)As an English Major...
Date: 2004-07-01 09:42 am (UTC)I am an English Major and I approve this post.
Re: As an English Major...
Date: 2004-07-01 10:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 12:09 pm (UTC)..remind you of this photo?...
no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 12:13 pm (UTC)Although Private Lynndie does remind me of a bear...
no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 08:36 pm (UTC)You WISH you were getting raped buy Private Lynndie.
And I'm pretty sure she's man enough to do it too.
Not that there's anything wrong with a chick doing you with a strap-on. You know, different strokes for different folks and all.
no subject
Date: 2004-07-02 07:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-02 07:40 am (UTC)(Man, there's a combination of words you'll probably never hear again in that order)
no subject
Date: 2004-07-02 07:48 am (UTC)NO stop this right now
Date: 2004-07-06 12:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-01 01:55 pm (UTC)Oh my god!
Date: 2004-07-01 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-05 05:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-07-06 01:44 pm (UTC)I have herd many things about the Imperal Prision bear but i am happy to say that i do not know what you mean