Scene: On the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer The Decider. A nervous communications officer approaches the dark clad figure gazing out at the stars.
"M-my Lord?"
"What is it, Private?"
"Um, it's Ensign, sir. This is a naval vessel."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Whadya want?"
"It's the Emperor, sir. He commands you to contact him."
"Uh, right now?"
"Yes, sir."
"Shoot, I was just fixin to start my next vacation! Well, steer the ship outta this asterisk shower so's I can get a good signal."
"Um..."
"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"
"Uh...that's...um, I mean no sir, no problem."
The great ship rises gracefully out of the asteroid field and levels off. In the Dark Lord's inner sanctum we find him outside the looming meditation pod/communications center/playstation.
"Now," he thinks out loud, "how do I get this darned thing open? Uh, Open Sesame! No, um, Abra Cadabra! Shoot! Oh, wait, now I rember." With that, he claps his hands twice and the massive top half of the chamber lifts off, exposing the faux leather Easy Boy that is the Dark Lord's sanctuary. He climbs into the chair, and punches the buttons on his dark remote.
"Herro, Fong's Take Out! E'ryting ready in fi-teen minute or it free. What you want?"
"Dang!" he severs the connection, and dials again. The pasty face and sunken eyes of The Emperor appear on the plasma screen before him. He grins. It only took two tries this time. He bows as low as he can while still reclining, and speaks.
"What is thy building, my mustard?"
The Emperor rolls his eyes. "I thought I told you to knock off the fancy talk. You suck at it!"
"Yes, my mas...um, I mean yeah, ok. Whaddya want?"
"Darth Goofus, you have served me adequately for the last 6 years. Your triumphs have been my triumphs, and your failures have been...your failures. But now the time has come for you to govern on your own."
"But Master, you know I'm not ready for that. How will I know what to say? Or when to say it? Or even how to make it be said rightly?
"You will still have the attack droid, Cheney, and the Dark Jedi, Gonzales."
"But Cheney scares the bejeezus out of me, and Darth Alberto's amnesia gets worse every day."
"These are, to coin a phrase, thy problems now. Work it out, Idiot Apprentice."
"Well, there is always Princess Condi. She'll stick by me."
Suddenly a burst of static obscures the screen. Darth Goofus bangs the remote uselessly on the padded arm of his chair, when just as suddenly the image resolves. The Emperor now appears bedecked in what appears to be sports attire, with a baseball cap reversed on his head. Around his neck hangs a large golden medallion depicting the Death Star, and next to him with her arm around his waist and wearing a metal bikini is Princess Condi. The Emperor speaks.
"Yeah, about Condi. She's going with me."
"But...but...but..."
"Nice motorboat impression, foo!"
"But, will I ever see you again?"
"True, dat, Homey. But me and the Condi Ho gots to get moving."
"Where will you go, my Master?"
"Where ever I wants. And don't call me that no more. From now on you call me...MC Rove, bitch!"
As the screen darkens, a plaintive wail echoes in the metal corridors of The Decider, and none who hear it can repress a giggle.
Fade to black.
2 comments:
Totally unrelated- but Star War-sy, so I thought you might get a smile. When I was at the knitting convention this weekend, in the same building was some kind of Wizard convention. While going back to my car a guy was gtrying to get into a very battered looking storm trooper outfit. He may have put on a few since the last wearing becaue he was having quite a time trying to snap the crotch. I walked to my car very slowly to watch the show unfold- the frantic grasping between the legs for something just out of reach, the mopping of the brow- probably from equal parts exertion and Chicago humidity.
Wish I had thought to record it for you- my description does no justice to the scene
And across the galaxy, the people of the old republic rejoiced in hope that a great evil had become less of a threat.
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