Alright Jabba, I've got you this time. I want 50 thousand in unmarked Imperial Credits delivered to this address or Max Rebo is as good as dead.
I'm not fucking around here, Jabba. I know how much you love Max. He's been playing in your palace with old Sy Snoodles since the reign of your father, Zorba the Hutt. No-one in this galaxy can play the Kowakian synthesizer the way he can, and I know you are a man of refined taste.
Don't worry, Max isn't hurt... yet. I can't guarantee anything. I've got him tied up in a tub full of Bacta fluid to keep him hydrated, but he's one sweaty bastard. If I knew fat boy here had the metabolism of a womprat, I might have kidnapped Bib Fortuna instead to save on rations. Keeping Max's fat blue ass alive is a costing me a little more than I bargained for, so I wouldn't think twice about dumping him out on some dune hundreds of kilometers out of Mos Eisley.
Also, don't try and find me. I'm keeping Rebo in a spot so random it would take a bounty hunter months to find me. And I'm giving you three nights. Three nights or one of your guards will find a big blue dried raisin on your doorstep.