Dark Lord of the Sith

Putting the "Death" in "Death Star"

Waking up to the operatic thrum of a massive, happy boner. Feeling more rugged than usual. Morning thoughts are delightfully tit-shaped. Gonna be a beautiful day. Time to don my helmet and body armor, grab my lightsaber, and terrorize some kids. When you’re all trapped on a moon-shaped space station, every day is Bring Your Kid to Work Day, so there are always plenty of rug rats needing Instruction By Amputation.

TIE-fighter-shaped pancakes in the refectory again. The cook has no imagination. Had breakfast after catching Tarkin in the men’s room, fondling himself for the sixtieth time. I’d report him to Master, but I suspect Master already knows and doesn’t care. A vague future-intuition tells me, though, that Tarkin’s going to be dead soon, so none of this will matter.

Leia Organa remains a puzzle. We’ve got her in detention. Surprisingly resilient under interrogation, and while she’s cute, there’s something repellent about the idea of being attracted to her. Can’t put my finger on it. I’m missing something, here.

Well, that was interesting. We picked up a freighter that had been scouting the remains of the Alderaan system. A small party of rebels hidden in the freighter commandeered some stormtrooper uniforms, broke Leia out, and got her aboard before blasting off. I could see the future-line of this series of events, though, so I had a tracker installed inside the ship and gave orders to allow the freighter to escape with minimal struggle.

The biggest surprise, though, was that my old teacher was with the party. He was looking pretty rough, almost as if he’d spent years in a wilderness—tousled and needing a shower. We didn’t have much to say to each other. What can you say to the asshole who cut off all your major limbs and left you with robotic prostheses? Whacking off with metallic arms is like running my dick through a vegetable spiralizer, and I blame him for that. Anyway, we fought; I killed him. Thought I heard ghostly echoes of his voice when his body disappeared (there’s a new trick), but that could’ve been old memories. Whatever. The old fucker is gone now.

A rebel attack is heading our way. That’s the natural consequence of letting that group get away with Leia. Gotta go prepare, but first: dinner. I hear it’s a special one tonight; the cook finally decided to get adventurous: rancor testicles braised in Sarlacc pus. Interesting flavor pairing. Maybe there’s hope for this cook, but my future-sense tells me he’s going to be dead soon, too. Ah, well. I’ll find a new cook, and a new hope.

Dedicated to Cheeseburger Brown.