CHAPTER 1: Enter the Luke (or) Mark Hammil Swears revenge on the main plot.

***

A death-white wasteland stretched from horizon to horizon, broken only by the discarded Jawa tunics, high pitched helium-esque giggling, and a Giant Lightbulb(tm) in the far distance.

The tremendous heat of the two huge twin suns settled on a lone figure, Luke Skywalker, who didn't have his hair spiked straight up, wasn't wearing a bright red trenchcoat, didn't know what a doughnut was, and mostly likely had both of his arms intact. However, in an ideal world, His shaggy hair and baggy tunic would give him the air of a simple but lovable lad with a prize-winning smile. *cue teeth glint*

Unfortunately, the man they cast to play our dashing hero turned out to be....

*dramatic chord*

Mark Hammil.

*more dramaticisim*

Hammil: Shaddup.

So we promptly recasted Luke Skywalker, our loveable, tousseled blond haired athletic and pointy object some sort of secret relation to the main villan...

Hark---tis CLOUD STRIFE!! From Final Fantasy VII fame...

Yes...Cloud Skywalker....A name too oddly matching to be true, pointy chinned and sword experienced. He will do nicely!!

Hammil: What about me??

Jess: What about you??

Hammil: But this is the part I made famous!!

Jess: *yawn* Do we even CARE??

A switch was pulled and Mark Hammil was dumped down a pit labeled 'Do not open until the the Jedi Hath Returned...'.

Hammil: I WILL RUIN THEE!!! THY BLOOD WILL BOIL!! YOUR CHISEL-HEADED REPLACEMENT WILL PERISH!! YOUR---ieeeeee!!!!

Jess chose that moment to dump a bucket of leaches down the hatch and close it magically with a flick of her wrist.

Jess: That should keep him for a while.

Back to the story.

A light wind whipped at him as he adjusted several valves on a large battered moisture vaporator which sticked out of the desert floor much like an oil pipe with valves. He was aided by a beatup tread-robot with six claw arms, five golden rings, two pairs of carrot shoes, sayajin armor and distempter.

The little robot appeared to be barely holding back from running the almost adorible and most likely slightly dim hero through with a large sharpened stick. A bright sparkle in the morning sky caught "Luke's" eye and he instinctively grabbed a pair of electrobinoculars from his standerized batman promotional utility belt. This action also saved his life as the bot decided to use that moment to make his move, and promptly got the stick stuck in the vapor valve.

Alarms and klaxons blared and screamed. A small fire erupted on one of the bot's shoulder pads, causing it to swear loudly in three different languages that humans hadn't even discovered yet and spontaniously combust with no dignaty what so ever.

Luke stood transfixed for a few moments studying the heavens, totally ignoring the not so mass-distruction occouring behind him, then dashed toward his dented, crudely repaired Landspeeder.

He motioned distractedly for the tiny robot to follow him.

Silence...

A tumble weed blew by.

Luke cautiously turned his head, only to see a pile of smoking ash where the Robot once stood. He cocked his head to the side dumbly and made a show of scratching his head in confusion.

"It seems my robot hath spontaniously combustedith!!"

It seemed being 'loveable' was all Luke had going for him at the moment.

MEANWHILE BACK ON THE 'Custodian of the Stolen Plans that can save her people and restore freedom to the galaxy...'

The awesome, seven-foot-tall Dark Lord of the Sith made his way into the blinding light of the main passageway.

WHeeze.

It was Darth Vader, right hand of the Emperor (The left hand being someone named 'Bluesummers'). His face was obscured by his oddly shaped helmut and grotesque breath mask, which stood out next to the fascist white armored suits of the Imperial Cannon Fodder.

WHeeze.

Everyone instinctively backed away from the imposing warrior and a deathly quiet swept through the Rebel troops. Easy seeing most of them were dead.

WHeeze.

Conviently located Aztec warriors and Slaves knelt in fear and shivered and snivled and bowed and praised.

WHeeze.

The Remaining Rebel troops broke and ran like headless chickens. This pleased the Vader immensely.

"WHeeze-ith." The Vader Wheezed in contentment.

Down the hallway, away from the open praising and rampant Athsma, A woman's hand put a card into an opening in Artoo's dome.

Artoo made lecherous like beeping.

Threepio stood in a hallway, somewhere in the ship, somewhat bewildered. Artoo was nowhere in sight, and the @#&*%&* droid owed him ten credits!!

The pitiful screams of the doomed Rebel soldiers were ignored in the distance.

A familiar clanking sound drew Threepio's attention and he spotted little Artoo at the end of the hallway in a smoke(smelling strangely of weed)-filled alcove.

A beautiful young girl stood in front of Artoo. Surreal and out of place, dreamlike and half hidden in the smoke, she finished adjusting something on Artoo's computer face, swatting the droid on the rear to prompt it to go back to his 'friend'.

Quick as a snake, she pulled out a tiny capsule, pushed a button, threw it at the ground and ran away coughing amidst strange smelling pink smoke.

"Where the @#$( have you been??" Threepio whined, switching CDs disconcertingly.

"Bopith." Artoo giggled

"Heh." Threepio answered the language only he and few others seemed to understand.

Battling was heard in the distance, as well as sniveling and groveling and wheezing.

The semi-intellegent ashtray sighed and grabbed hold of one of threepio's belt loops, dragging him uncerimoniously down the hallway.

"@#$%!!!!!!"

*****

Darth stands amidst broken and twisted, mangled, and contortioned bodies. One begins to wonder how many of the bodies got into those positions...where their pants went...and why is Vader wheezing so hard.

The author begins to wonder where YOUR mind is.

He (tha vader) grabbed a wounded Rebel Officer (resplendant in fuzzy chibi-Zelgadis boxers) by the neck as an Imperial Officer rushed up to the Dark Lord.

"The documents desired by thou hath been removed from the centeral computerith!!" The officer snivled.

Vader 'WHeezed' in irritation and squeezed his pantzed captive's neck. "Where art the Death Star plans??!!??" (wheeze wheeze) He lifted the Rebel off of his feet. "Where hath ye put them!!??"

The rebel chuckled. "Hark!! Tis a diplomatic mission!! Thy Death Star Plans could partake in activities up thy ass m'lord!!!"

"If this tis a diplomatic ship, where is thy ambassidorith??" (wheeze wheeze) Vader, in irritation proceded to snap the man's neck.

"Up thy ass again I cry!!" Cried the corpse in the black clad Lord's hand. "Up thy mighty ass!! bwahaha....hahahah....HAHAHA....KAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKAKurk."

And he promptly died.

WHeeze.