-- Num ---- Username ---- Category ------------- Posted -- Expires --- Pages ---
| 1745 | CAPRIOJD | CHATTER | 02/02/97 | 02/16/97 | 46 |
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| Description: here's what really happened in Richmond |
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(Here's the original Star Wars script, very different from the
version we all know and love. Personally, I like this one
better.
I'll post the rest of it when it's finished. Maybe this week.)
DAK WARS
Episode IV
A NEW DOPE
by
George Lucas,
murpes & phoenix
Revised Fourth Draft
January 15, 1976
LUCASFILM LTD.,
murpes unlimited.
----------------------
A couple of nights ago, in a city far, far, away...
It is a period of civil war. Rebel students, striking from a
hidden base someplace in western Virginia, have won their first
victory against the evil Galactic Empire Lowes.
During the battle, Rebel spies managed to steal secret directions
to the Empire's ultimate weapon, the THX Theater, an armored space
station with enough power to destroy an entire eardrum.
Pursued by the Empire's sinister agents, Princess KT parties at
home, custodian of the stolen plans that can save her people and
restore artistic integretity to the galaxy...
INTERIOR: REBEL VALHALLA -- MAIN PASSAGEWAY.
An explosion rocks the house as two hobots, Robin-Detoo
(RBN-D2) and Omar-Threepio (OMR-3PO) struggle to make their
way through the shaking, bouncing drunks. Both hobots
are old and battered. I mean, really old. Really fucking
old. Anyway, Robin is a short, smart-assed tripod. Her face
is a mass of cheeks surrounding a sickeningly cute smile.
Enough to make you puke. OMAR, on the other hand, is a
tall, slender hobot of vaguely human proportions. He
has a gleaming bronze-like metallic surface of an ex-hippie
design. A cross between Dylan and Shakespeare, he can carry
on incessantly about nothing all the while dangling a
cigarette from his lips.
Another blast shakes them as they struggle along their
way.
OMAR: Did you hear that? They've shut down the cigarette
machine. We'll be destroyed for sure. This is madness!
Freshman rush past the hobots and take up positions
in the main passageway. They aim their weapons toward each
other.
OMAR: We're fucked!
The little RBN unit makes a series of electronic farts that
only another ... something ... could appreciate.
OMAR: There'll be no escape for the Princess this time.
RBN continues making fart sounds. Tension mounts as
loud metallic latches clank and the scream of heavy metal
are heard moving around the outside hull of the house.
OMAR: What the fuck?!
The nervous frehsman are so drunk they can't even walk.
Suddenly a tremendous blast opens up a hole in the main
passageway and a score of fearsome armored spacesuited
fratboys make their way into the smoke-filled corridor.
In a few minutes the entire passageway is ablaze with
vulgarity.
EXTERIOR: JAMES MADISON UNIVERSITY -- DESERT WASTELAND -- DAY.
A death-white wasteland stretches from horizon to horizon.
The tremendous stench of two huge frat houses settle on a
lonely figure, CC Skywalker, a farm boy with heroic
aspirations who looks much younger than his eighteen years.
Much younger. I mean, like fucking twelve or something.
Jail bait. His shaggy hair and baggy stomach give him the
air of a simple but lovable lad with a prize-winning smile.
A light wind whips at him as he adjusts several buttons
on a battered Sega Saturn controller which rests on his
livingroom floor.
CC: Someday I'll get out of this hellhole and fly a *real*
spaceship ... not just some fake Nintedo one.
INTERIOR: VALHALLA -- MAIN HALLWAY.
The awesome, seven-foot-tall Doug Lord of the Sex makes her
way into the dim light of the main passageway. This is
Darth Moonpie, right hand of the Emperor. Her face is
obscured by her flowing black clove smoke and grotesque
breath. Everyone instinctively backs away from
the imposing warrior and a deathly quiet sweeps through the
freshmen.
INTERIOR: VALHALLA BATHROOM.
A woman's hand puts a card into an opening in RBN's dome.
RBN makes orgasmic beeping sounds.
INTERIOR: VALHALLA RUNNER.
OMAR stands in a hallway, somewhat bewildered. RBN is
nowhere in sight.
OMAR: RBN! RBN-Detoo, where are you?
A familiar clanking sound attracts OMAR's attention and
he spots little RBN at the end of the hallway in a
smoke-filled alcove. A young girl in amazingly tight
pants stands in front of RBN. Surreal and out of place,
drunkenly and half hidden in pot smoke, she finishes adjusting
something on RBN's computer face, then watches as the little
hobot joins his companion.
OMAR: At last! Where have you been? I need a light!
Fratboys can be heard battling in the distance.
OMAR: They're heading in this direction. What are we going to do?
We'll be sent to a Mac lab or smashed into who knows
what!
RBN scoots past his bronze friend and races down the
subhallway. OMAR chases after her.
OMAR: Wait a minute, where are you going?
RBN responds with disgusting burp sounds.
INTERIOR: VALHALLA -- CORRIDOR
The evil Darth Moonpie stands amid the broken and twisted
bottles. She grabs a wounded freshman by the neck as an
Imperial Officer rushes up to the Doug Lord.
IMPERIAL OFFICER: The THX directions are not in the main computer.
Moonpie squeezes the neck of the freshman, who struggles
in vain.
Moonpie: Where are those directions you intercepted? They were stored
on Falcon and are no longer in the public directory!
Freshman: I ... don't know what a command prompt is. This is a GUI
generation. Aaah ...
Moonpie: If this is a GUI generation ... where is the Help Desk?!
Commander, tear Valhalla apart until you've found those plans
and bring me a bong. I want to get high!
INTERIOR: VALHALLA-- SUBHALLWAY.
FRATBOY: There she is! Set for stun!
KT steps from her hiding place and blasts a fratboy with
a DAK in the face. She starts to run but is felled by a
cheap beer. The fratboys inspect her inert body.
FRATBOY: Mmmm, lookin' good. Inform Lord Moonpie we have a rodeo.
INTERIOR: VALHALLA PORCH.
On the main viewscreen, the lifepod carrying the two terrified
hobots speeds away from the stricken Valhalla.
CHIEF PILOT: There goes another one. Fuckin' drunk drivers.
CAPTAIN: Let 'em go. Most of the cops are in the back arresting
everyone anyways.
INTERIOR: LIFEPOD.
RBN and OMAR look out at the receding Valhalla.
OMAR: That's funny, the damage doesn't look as bad from out here.
At least not compaired to the swamp.
INTERIOR: VALHALLA -- HALLWAY
Princess KT is led to the upsairs of Valhalla. Her hands are
bound and she is brutally shoved when she is unable to keep
up with the fratboys. Interestingly, she is intrigued by
the kinkiness of it. They stop in a smoky hallway as Darth
Moonpie emerges from the shadows.
KT: Lord Moonpie, only you could be so bold. The Help Desk will not
sit for this, when they hear you've attacked a DAK ...
Moonpie: Don't play games with me, Your Highness. You weren't on any
debauchary mission this time. You were holding a DAK with the express
intend of distributing THX directions ...
KT: I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just here to get
liquored up and see people naked.
Moonpie: You're refusing to pay $7 for monophonic sound and a bad
picture, and a traitor! Take her away!
EXTERIOR: JMU -- DESERT.
OMAR: How did I get into this mess? I really don't know how.
I have a degree - I could get a real job. Instead, I sign up
for two more years. What the fuck. I seem to be made to suffer.
It's my lot in life. That malfunctioning little twerp. This is all
his fault! He tricked me into using Linux, but he'll do no better.
In a huff of anger and frustration, OMAR knocks the
pile of techincal documents over. His plight seems hopeless,
when a glint of reflected light in the distance reveals an
object moving towards him.
OMAR: Wait, what's that? Netnews?! Pseudo-technical support! I'm
saved! Over heeeere!
EXTERIOR: JMU -- DESERT -- UNCLE JOANNA'S HOMESTEAD -- AFTERNOON.
A NEWBIE SANDCRAWLER IS PARKED OUT FRONT.
The newbies mutter trite gibberish as they line up their
battered captives, including RBN and OMAR, in front of
the enormous sandcrawler, which is parked behind Uncle
Joanna's and CC's homestead.
JOANNA: CC, if you get a programmer make sure it speaks Unix.
JOANNA (to OMAR): You there, are you a Windows 95 droid?
OMAR: Why, yes sir I am ...
JOANNA: I have no need for a Win 95 droid. What I really need is a
droid that understands Unix.
OMAR: Unix! Sir -- My first job was programming Linux ... very
similar to your Unix. You could say...
JOANNA: All right shut up! (turning to newbie) I'll take this one and
the short one too.
INTERIOR: JOANNA'S HOMESTEAD -- GARAGE AREA -- LATE AFTERNOON.
CC: It just isn't fair. Oh, Biggs is right. I'm never gonna
graduate!
OMAR: Yeah, you're probably right. Sucks to be you.
CC: You got a lot of liver scoring here. It looks like you boys
have seen a lot of beer.
OMAR: With all we've been through, sometimes I'm amazed we're in
as good condition as we are, what with the DAKs and all.
CC: You know of the DAKs?
OMAR: That's how we came to be in your service, if you take my
meaning, sir.
CC: Hey ... hold on! I don't need *your* service - that's a one way
chute, if you get my meaning. Have you been to alot of DAKs?
OMAR: Several, I think. Actually, there's not much to tell. I'm
not much more than a host, and not very good at that. Well, not at
making them interesting, anyways.
CC struggles to remove a small metal fragment from RBN's
nose. He uses a larger pick.
CC: Well, my little friend, you've got something jammed in here real
good. Then, from the stories I've heard, you're used to that ...
The fragment breaks loose with a snap, sending CC
tumbling head over heels. He sits up and sees a twelve-inch
three-dimensional hologram of KT, butt-naked, going down on
a service droid. RBN beeps apologetically, and displays
another Princess KT, this time clothed and looking much
more innocent.
KT: Help me, Ober-Wan Joker. You're my only hope.
CC: Well, Goddamn! Look at how tight those pants are! Play it back
... play back the message with her and the service droid!
KT: Help me, Ober-Wan Joker. You're my only hope. Help me, Ober-Wan
Joker. You're my only hope. Help me Ober-Wan.
OMAR: Oh, she says it's nothing, sir. Merely a malfunction. Old
data. Pay it no mind. Back from her college days.
CC: Ober-Wan Joker? I wonder if he means old Ben Joker?
OMAR: I beg your pardon, sir, but do you know what she's talking
about? I thought she was just drunk again.
CC: Well, I don't know anyone named Ober-Wan, but old Ben lives out
beyond Mason Street. He's kind of a strange old pervert.
CC's gazes at the beautiful young princess for a few
moments.
CC: Uh ... excuse me. I'll be right back.
CC exits to his bedroom and returns after about 5
minutes.
RBN beeps something to OMAR.
JOANNA: CC? CC! Come to dinner!
CC stands up and shakes his head muttering something
about "the cranky old bitch" and heads towards the farm
house.
CC: Well, see what you can do with her. I'll be right back. I need
to go teach a bitch something about respect.
OMAR: (to RBN) Just you reconsider playing that message for him.
RBN farts indignantly.
OMAR: No, I don't think he likes you at all.
RBN burps.
OMAR: No, I don't like you either.
CC enters the garage to discover the hobots nowhere in
sight. He takes a small joint from his utility belt
and lights up. He takes a hit and OMAR, letting out a
short yell, pops up from behind the Skyhopper spaceship.
CC: Oh fuck! This is just a uh ... Camel ... regular cigarette,
that's all.
OMAR drunkenly stumbles forward, but RBN is still
nowhere in sight.
OMAR: Hey, man, you think I was born yesterday? I told you I was
around during the Clove Wars - everybody did that stuff back then.
Gimmie a drag, and I'll tell you where RBN went.
CC: Who? ... (starts giggling) Hey, you hungry?
CC stumbles out of the garage followed by OMAR.
EXTERIOR: JMU -- DESERT WASTELAND -- CC'S SEXTURBINE 2000 SPEEDER
CC: Old Ben Joker lives out in this direction somewhere, but I
don't see how that RBN unit could have come this far. We must have
missed her. Uncle Joanna isn't going to take this very well.
Wait, there's something dead ahead on the scanner. It looks like
our ho ... hit the accelerator.
OMAR (to RBN): Master CC here is your rightful pimp. We'll have no more
of this Ober-Wan Joker jibberish ... and don't talk to me about your
self-respect, either. You da ho, he da pimp. Clear?
CC: Well, come on. It's getting late. I only hope we can get back
before Uncle Joanna gets drunk and starts pissing on the neighbor's
shrubs again.
OMAR: If you don't mind my saying so, sir, I think you should
deactivate the little fucker until you've gotten him back to your
workshop. Then you can backhand him 'till your hand bleeds.
Suddenly the little hobot jumps to life with a mass of
frantic whistles and screams.
CC: What's wrong with him now?
OMAR: Oh my...sir, he says there are several creatures approaching
from the southeast. Either that, or a flashback. Listen closely,
see if he starts saying anything about "Jerry."
CC swings his rifle into position and looks to the south.
CC: Cops! This is worse! Come on, let's take off. It's no where
close to 30 days yet.
CC, OMAR and RBN wander back to the Sexturnbine and take
off, driving until they reach a small, warm hut in a
rocky part of the desert. A lawn ball rest out front,
and a recycling bin full of bottles is beside it.
The door is answered by a lanky, old wizard dressed
in a kilt. His long, scruffy hair hangs way below his
ass. At his side, we weilds a Saranac Black and Tan.
CC: Ben? Ben Joker! Boy, am I glad to see you!
BEN: The JMUland wastes are not to be traveled lightly. Tell me young
CC, what brings you out this liberal-arts hellhole?
CC: Oh, this little cunt! I think she's searching for her former
pimp...I've never seen such devotion in a ho before...there
seems to be no stopping her. She claims to be the property of an Ober
Wan Joker. Is he a relative of yours? Do you know who he's talking
about?
Ben ponders this for a moment, scratching his scruffy hair.
BEN: I haven't gone by the name Ober-Wan since oh, before the days of
New Orleans.
CC: Then the droid does belong to you.
BEN: Don't seem to remember ever having hemeriods. Very interesting...
CC: You fought in the Clove Wars?
BEN: Yes, I was once a One Knight Stand the same as your father.
CC: I wish I'd known him.
BEN: Many people did. At least for a couple of hours.
He was the best dak-maker in the galaxy, and a cunning macker.
I understand you've become quite a good macker yourself. And he was a
good friend. Which reminds me... I have something here for you. Your
father wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but since
you seem to be stuck on 16 forever, what the hell. Your father's
blender.
Ben hands CC the blender.
BEN: This is the maker of a DAK. Not as clumsy of random as a
beer, and much more potent.
CC: How did my father die?
BEN: A young One Knighter named Darth Moonpie, who was a fiance of
mine until she turned to evil, once tried to make a DAK with
Mickey's, not rum. Once sip murdered you father. Moonpie was
almost banned from Chatter after that.
CC: Chatter?
BEN: Well, Chatter is what gives a One Knighter his power. It's an
energy field created by Raven. It surrounds us and penetrates us.
It binds the galaxy together.
RBN makes gurgling sounds.
BEN: Christ, what do you feed that thing?
CC: I saw part of the message he was...
BEN: I seem to have found it.
CC stops his work as the lovely girl's image flickers
before his eyes.
KT: General Joker, years ago you served my father in the Clove
Wars. Now he begs you to help him in his struggle against Lowes.
I have placed information vital to the survival of artistic
integretity into the bowels of this RBN unit. Obviously, if I put
my trust with you clowns, this is our most desperate hour.
Help me, Ober-Wan Joker, I need some dope.
BEN: You must learn the ways Chatter if you're to come with me to
a DAK.
CC: (laughing) What the fuck ever, old man. Maybe you're as senile
as Joanna says. I'm not going to a DAK. Bunch of freaks, man. I'm
going home. It's late, I'm in for it as it is.
BEN: I need your help, CC. She needs your help. I'm getting too old
for this shit.
CC: Look, I can take you as far as Wayland. You can get a
transport there to The Swamp or wherever you're going.
INTERIOR: TITLESS KETTLE SPACESTATION -- CONFERENCE ROOM.
Eight Imperial senators and generals sit around a black
conference table, playing beer pong.
OBERON: Competition will no longer be of any concern to us.
I've just received word that the last movie theater in town has
been bought by us. We can lower quality and raise prices at will.
RANDOM FUCK: That's impossible! People will travel to get the quality
they want!
MOONPIE: They would need directions and they will soon be back in
our hands.
RANDOM FUCK: Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerery shit,
Lord Moonpie. Chatter may have ruled once, but now it has to
compete with the International Internet.
Suddenly, Lord Moonpie blows clove smoke into Random
Fuck's face. His eyes begin to water uncontrollably.
MOONPIE: I find your lack of faith disturbing.
OBERON: Enough of this! Moonpie, if you're going to smoke those,
share!
Moonpie: As you wish.
EXTERIOR: JMU -- JOANNA'S CHARRED HOMESTEAD.
The sexturbine roars up to the burning homestead. CC jumps
out and runs to the smoking holes that were once his home.
Debris is scattered everywhere. Porno mags flutter in the
breeze. Paraphernalia litters the landscape. It looks as
if a great party has taken place.
Joanna's charred body lies face down in the sand.
HeR smoldering remains catches CC's eyes. A look of horror
crosses his face ...
CC: No! No! My ... they took my Saturn! They took my fucking Sega!
Those bastards! I will have my revenge!
BEN: There's nothing you could have done, CC, had you been here.
The fratboy's strength comes in their numbers.
CC: I want to come with you to The Swamp. There's nothing here for
me now. I want to learn the ways of Chatter and learn how to make
DAKs like my father.
BEN: The Swamp. You will never find a more wretched hive of
scum and villainy. We must be cautious.
EXTERIOR: THE SWAMP -- STREET.
The speeder is stopped on a crowded street by several
frat boys who look over the two hos. A fratboy questions CC.
FRATBOY: How much are these hos?
CC: About three or four hundred a night.
BEN: They'll have butt sex if you want them.
FRATBOY: Let me see your tits.
BEN: You don't need to see her tits.
FRATBOY: We don't need to see her tits.
BEN: These are not the hos you're looking for.
FRATBOY: These are not the hos we're looking for.
EXTERIOR: THE SWAMP.
The Sexturbine pulls up in front of a rundown townhouse-
cantina on the outskirts of town. Various strange forms of
transport, including several unusual beasts of burden, are
parked outside. A newbie runs up and begins to fondle
RBN.
OMAR: I can't abide these newbies. Disgusting creatures.
As CC gets out of the speeder he tries to shoo the newbie
away.
CC: Do you really think we're going to find a pimp here?
BEN: Well, most of the best pimps can be found here. Only watch your
step. This place can be a little rough.
INTERIOR: THE SWAMP.
The young adventurer and his two mechanical servants follow
Ben Joker into the smoke-filled Swamp. The murky, moldy den
is filled with a startling array of weird and exotic alien
creatures and monsters. At first the sight is horrifying.
One-eyed, thousand-eyed, slimy, furry, scaly, tentacled,
fat, skinny, high, drunk, naked, and clawed creatures huddle
over drinks. Ben moves to an empty spot at the bar near a
group of repulsive but human scum. A huge, rough-looking
Bartender stops CC and the hobots.
ZLOGAR: We don't serve their kind here!
CC still recovering from the shock of seeing so many
outlandish creatures, doesn't quite catch the bartender's
drift.
CC: What?
ZLOGAR: Your roids. They'll have to wait outside. We don't want
them here.
CC: Really? Listen, why don't you wait out by the Sexturbine. We
don't want any trouble.
ZLOGAR: HA! I'm just giving you shit. Hell, I'll serve *anybody*.
Do they fuck? Send them over this way! And grab a cigarette outta
the bag ...
CREATURE: Negola dewaghi wooldugger?!?
The hideous freak is obviously drunk. CC tries to ignore
the creature and turns back on his drink. A short, grubby
Human and an even smaller rodent-like beast join the
belligerent monstrosity.
HUMAN: It's his birthday.
CC: I'm sorry.
HUMAN: It's my birthday, too. Don't insult us. You have to kiss me.
We're wanted men. Everybody has to kiss me!
CC: I'll be gentle, then.
HUMAN: You'll be dead!
BEN: This little one isn't worth the effort. Come, let me kiss you.
Ben kisses both the human and the unpleasant creature.
BEN: This is murpesbacca. He's first-mate to a pimp that might suit our
needs.
Strange creatures play exotic techno music on odd-looking
instruments as CC, still giddy, downs a fresh Mickeys and
follows Ben and murpesbacca to a booth where Judge Solo is
sitting. Judge is a wirey, roguish starpilot about 20 years
old.
JUDGE: Judge Solo. I'm captain of the Mackdaddy Falcon. Murpie here
tells me you're looking for a pimp.
BEN: Yes, indeed. If you're a good pimp.
JUDGE: Good pimp? You've never heard of Scully?
BEN: Yes, I have.
JUDGE: Well, I pimped that slimly hole! I got somebody to fuck
that! Now, *that's* good pimping!
CC: Well, anyone who's drunk enough would fuck anything!
JUDGE: Yeah, kid, but who's good enough to get someone to *pay* for
it? You?
CC: You bet I could. I'm not such a bad pimp myself! We don't have
to sit here and listen...
BEN: Yes, we do. Anyone that can get something to fuck Scully and
pay for it is good. Real good.
JUDGE: Okay. You guys got yourself a pimp. We'll leave as soon as you're
ready. Docking bay Sixty-Nine.
INTERIOR: SWAMP.
As Judge is about to leave, Phoenix, a slimy green-faced
alien with really small tits, pokes a gun in his side.
PHOENIX: Going somewhere, Solo?
JUDGE: Yes, Phoenix. As a matter of fact, I was just going to see your
boss. Tell Rooj that I've got his dime bag.
PHOENIX: It's too late. Rooj has already smoked up. He got his
stuff from another seller. You should have come earlier.
JUDGE: Yeah, but this *really* good stuff.
PHOENIX: Oh, okay, in that case, I'll let you go. Thanks, Judge.
As Phoenix get up to walk away from Judge, Judge draws his
blaster and cowardly shoots her in the back.
INTERIOR: DOCKING BAY 69 -- DAY.
Rooj the Smut and a half-dozen grisly pirates and purple
creatures stand in the middle of the docking bay. Rooj is the
grossest of the slavering hulks and his tightly packed bowl
is a testimonial to his ability.
ROOJ: Come on out, Judge!
JUDGE: I've been waiting for you, Rooj.
ROOJ: I expected you would be.
JUDGE: I'm not the type to run.
ROOJ: (fatherly-smooth) Judge, my boy, there are times when you
just gotta smoke up. Why didn't you deliver? And why did you have
to fry poor Phoenix like that?
JUDGE: It was in self-defense. She fired first!
ROOJ: (mock surprise) Judge, why you're the second-best macker in
the business. I enjoy the competition. But you keep smokin' my
dope, I'll kill ya.
JUDGE: Rooj, you're a real human being.
INTERIOR: SPACEPORT -- DOCKING BAY 69
murpesbacca leads the group into a giant dirt pit that is
Docking Bay 69. Resting in the middle of the huge hole is a
large, round, beat-up, pieced-together hunk of junk that
could only loosely be called a starship.
CC: What a piece of shit!
JUDGE: She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts,
kid. I've added some special modifications myself. I had to replace
the springs in the back seats. There's a S&M playroom in the back.
I just restocked the bar.
INTERIOR: MACKDADDY FALCON.
murpesbacca settles into the pilot's chair and starts the
mighty engines of the starship.
EXTERIOR: TATOOINE -- SWAMP -- STREET.
Eight Fratboys rush up to a darkly clad creature.
FRATBOY: Which way?
The darkly clad creature points to the door of the docking
bay.
FRATBOY: All right, men. Load your weapons! Stop that ship! They're
charging money for a party! Stop them!
Judge Solo looks up and sees the Fratboys rushing into the
docking bay. Judge uses a sure-fire way to stop any frat
boy ...
JUDGE: Think for yourself! Freewill! Be an individual!
The Fratboys fall dead in their tracks.
JUDGE: murpie, get us out of here!
INTERIOR: MILLENNIUM FALCON -- CENTRAL HOLD AREA.
Ben watches CC practice with the blender as he makes
"mocktails." He practices putting ice, mix, and other
ingredients into the drinks.
BEN: You'd better get on with your exercises.
OMAR watches murpesbacca and RBN who are engrossed in a
computer game in which the player jockies for control of a
star system called Orion.
JUDGE: Anyway, we should be at New Orleans about oh-two-hundred hours.
BEN: Remember, a One Knighter can feel a DAK flowing through him.
CC: You mean it controls your actions?
BEN: Partially. It makes you do things you wouldn't dream of sober.
JUDGE: Hokey mixed drinks and ancient blenders are no match for a good
beer at your side, kid.
CC: You don't believe in DAKs, do you?
JUDGE: Kid, I've taken just about every substance in this Galaxy, and
there ain't nothin' I've seen to match a good brew. Looks like we're
coming up on New Orleans. What the...? Aw, we've come out of hyperspace
and we're at New Orleans, alright, but somethings wrong.
CC: What do you mean something's wrong?!
JUDGE: Our position is correct, except ... look at how fucking clean
this place is!
CC: What do you mean? Where's the mess?
JUDGE: Thats what I'm trying to tell you, kid. It ain't there. It's
been totally blown away.
CC: What? How?
BEN: Destroyed ... by the Empire!
JUDGE: The entire starfleet couldn't destroy that mess. It'd take
a thousand ships with more fire power than I've...
CC: Let's head for that small moon.
BEN: That's no moon! It's the Titless Kettle!
CC: I have a very bad feeling about this.
JUDGE: We're caught in a Maria beam! It's pulling us in!
CC: But there's gotta be something you can do!
JUDGE: There's nothin' I can do about it, kid. I'm in full power. I'm
going to have to shut down. But they're not going to get me without a
fight!
************** TO BE CONTINUED *************