Preview — Star Warts
Star Warts
“Here’s a grand piece of shite!” blurted confidently Darth Vader, who had just marched out of the lavatory, leaving a ghastly cloud of noxious gases in his trail. Had anyone been able to observe his face under the distinctive black helmet, then they would have seen the hint of a wry, satisfied smile getting depicted on that man’s disquieting, ghost-like cemetery of scars, scabs, sores, boils, charred sizeable protruding veins, uncharred sizeable protruding veins, and cherry-size purple verrucae. The new moon-like, orbital, hi-tech, bloody-expensive, imperial, deadly machine, which had been christened this time over “The Destruction Sun” (out of sheer yet well-founded superstition and minor copyright concerns) was nearly complete. “New strategies, new successes!” hollered the impressive military leader at the not-so-numerous yet patently-martial troops standing close to or around him—all of whom were fighting with enormous courage and no negligible degree of competence the crippling dizziness caused by the stercoraceous stench following each of his heavy, thumping, evenly-paced, leather-booted steps on the cold and well-polished metal floor. He was thinking, in particular, of those well-trained, courageous troops’ innovative, democratic system of individual interpretation of the Emperor’s orders and the clones’ groundbreaking standards for self-regulation. “Modern, enlightened, efficient!” was the slogan that he had pitched to the Emperor himself, who had snorted wickedly hence approvingly—thus launching the Cosmic New Order. The crucial hour was drawing near: The annihilation of the rebel planet Usud XI.
As soon as the Ares-like, specially-appointed, good-looking, impeccably-combed, blue-eyed, blond-bearded, tall, half-drunk, young, adjective-loving General pressed the unmistakable big red button in order to fire the lethal, high-intensity, green energy beam in the clear direction of the doomed celestial body—the inhabitants of which had noticed three years before that dramatic moment how the imperial forces had been engaged in the gradual and relentless construction of the new moon-like, orbital, hi-tech, bloody-expensive, imperial, deadly machine, and consequently moved to the adjacent planetary system Usud XII—everything around the young General started falling apart: Beams, planks, springs, bolts, nails, neon lights… Even shoelaces, in some peculiar cases. “What on earth is going on?” growled the less-and-less-optimistic former Jedi, whose superior intellect and quasi-mystical intuitive powers provided him most promptly with an adequate answer, which made him sigh disconsolately and kick a small robot whirring by him: ‘They’ve all done as they deemed fit,’ he realised, ‘each one of them, which means that no two cogs fit together... Frigging democracy!’ The young General turned towards his not-too-cheery boss, who lifted his black-gloved right hand with the intention of dispatching that high-ranking officer: He would make an ok scapegoat and viable punching bag, given the embarrassing circumstances. Sensing what was going to happen, the young General peed himself and fainted. His boss looked at him, murmured a curse in the dark tongue of the Ewok-baiters, and hid inside the lavatory to cry.
Picture: Darth Vader Signs Autograph. Photographer unknown, c.1980. DPLA - 3111e32701497015d29d651ffe2d3c20, Columbus Metropolitan Library (id. CMLNOLT0059.tif), Ohio Digital Library. Public domain (via Wikimedia Commons); no claim to US Government work.