Saturday, September 17, 2005

The hamster gone died










Survivors, I regret to inform you that the energy source for your cooling droid has…well…expired. It has ceased to be. It’s gone to meet its maker. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. It’s a stiff. It’s pushing up daisies. It’s rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. It is…an ex-hamster.

Which of course means the droid no longer functions and you are forced to return to the balmy 110 degree in-the-shade temperatures.

Enjoy the rest of your stay.

Han: Do you smell that?

* Inside the cave... *
Han is playing games on the XXL-Box.
Typho enters the "room".


Typho: Han, check the AC, will you? It seems to be kind of hot in here.
Han: Roger.

Typho leaves, Han keeps playing. Qui-Gon comes in.

Qui-Gon: Man, are you still playing the same game from last night? When did you get up this morning?
Han: (not taking eyes off screen) It's morning already?

Yoda enters the room, looking distressed.

Yoda: Still sitting on the couch are you? Turn into a potato you will.
Han: Couch? You mean, this pile of rocks?
Qui-Gon: Do you guys smell something?
Yoda: Hmph. Spoiled you are. A pile of rocks, you are lucky to have. When younger I was, such luxury we could not afford.
Han: Why, because when you were young the galaxies were still forming and rocks hadn't been invented yet?
Qui-Gon: Seriously, guys, something smells funky in here. sniff Something else besides Han, I mean.
Han: Could be the million year old monkey we have here.
Yoda: Hmph! Monkey! Look this good when my age you reach, you will not! My age you will not reach! (throws cane at Han)
Han: Hey! (drops controller and looks at Yoda)
Yoda: Tomorrow you may not reach!
Qui-Gon: You guys! Why are we snapping at each other?

Typho comes back into the room.

Typho: Will someone check the AC? It's getting really hot in here.
Qui-Gon: I think the heat is driving these two crazy, man.
Typho: Pop the top, I want to look inside.

Qui-Gon opens the AC unit.

Qui-Gon: Agh! (covers nose and mouth with his sleeve)
Typho: This...could be a problem.

Yoda looks into the unit, and then looks at Han.

Yoda: Feed Herb, did you? Check his water? Your turn, it was.
Han: My turn? I just fed him a few days ago!
Qui-Gon: Whoah, Han. This was your week to take care of Herb.
Yoda: Explain this to you, I did.
Han: I...it's not my fault! It's not my fault! I can't understand what the lit- (Yoda growls) what Master Yoda says! "Backwards, he talks. Sense, he makes, um, not."
Qui-Gon: We'll worry about blame later. Right now we need to do something about the heat.
Typho: It's not a problem. Anakin can...

...Anakin was voted off...

Yoda: Screwed, we are.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Tribal Council #8

J.J.: Welcome back to tribal council, survivors.

As you know, Count Dooku here won the last challenge and as such, wins immunity from today’s vote.

Dooku rises and takes a bow, tipping his top hat to the other contestants.

Dooku: Thank you. Thank you, He addresses a silent crowd. I can honestly say I couldn’t have done it without you, or at least without the loan of some of your parts. Thank you.

J.J.: Right, well…it would be this time that I would tally up the votes. Except for two people have decided not to vote and as you know under the new rules, a non-vote is as good as a vote off.

So I will now randomly pick between the two the next person to be voted off…







…..and it is…..









Anakin











I’m sorry, Anakin. Would you please bring up your torch.

Anakin…the tribe has spoken.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Dooku: The way of the Sith

On J.J.'s signal, the 7 remaining Survivors sprint to the sandcrawler and start sifting.
Dooku, determined to show the world at large that 'old' men can handle windsurfing just as well as sprightly young 'doggs', launches into his chosen pile of junk

Dooku: ...a dewback harness...could be useful...Jawa magazines...ewww...not so useful...a finger puppet -

J.J: That's mine! *snatches finger puppet away* Bobo, how did you get over here...?

Dooku (aside): ...strange old chap...

Dooku begins assembling the base of his board from the dewback harness, droid plating, and a strange unidentifiable object that looks a little like a teapot. However - he has no mast, and no sail.

Dooku: Well...this is a spot of bother, old boy. But young Skywalker looks like he has a nice fueling line pipe there...

Dooku edges to Anakin's pile, and calls:

Dooku: Look, it's Padme!

Anakin (turning): What? Where? Is my hair okay? ............. You're pulling my leg, dogg.

Anakin turns back, to see his pile minus one fuel pipe.

Anakin: Dang it. I've gotta stop falling for that...

Dooku, meanwhile, is sizing up the fuel pipe...

Dooku: Well...I don't need all of this...perhaps I can make use of it in another way...

He proceeds to cut the pipe into 3 sections - and weakens 2 of them with carefully placed cuts.

Dooku: Han, Typho, old chaps, I believe I owe you one from the swoop race...so as repayment...

He holds out the two pipes - which are eagerly accepted by the two non-Jedi.

Dooku: ...fools...well, I must be going, old boy, I have a race to win.

Dooku returns to his board, and contemplates his lack of a sail. Slowly, he removes his expensive travelling cloak, and attaches it to the mast.

Dooku: Spot of genius, eh what?

Pushing his surfer to the dunes, he rests it on the lip of a dune, then with a deep breath, plunges down the sandy slope.

He struggles along into 3rd place, and approaches the finish behind Han and Typho, until...
Typho and Han's masts give way simultaneously, slowing them, as Dooku surges past over the finish line.

Dooku: Sorry, chaps: but all's fair in love, war, and Survivor challenges.

Monday, September 12, 2005

Qui-Gon : Howzit Brah?

Man, it's been a long time since I heenalu, dude.
Back when I was Dook's little Padawan, I was a mad surfer. Strue Bob. They'd know I was on a mission as there was always a board strapped to the top of our ship. Dooks was my Gandelf, as he was experienced in the ways of the waves, man. He dialed me into everything I knew. I was radolescent. I was a champion. No one could touch me. Then I surfed Kamino. Man, there ain't nothing like a planet that is all wave. Problem was, there was no beach. And big honking draigons. So, like, we were supposed to be investigating something about cloning or something, and I was out catching waves. Didn't see it coming, and *BAM* took a draigon tail to the back of my dome. Well, my bond with Dooks kicked off, or something, and the next thing I know, I'm back on Coruscant with a wicked nasty concussion. I was Cactus Juiced, couldn't surf anymore. It wasn't just the injury, though, or the fact that the Council went nuts, it was Dooku. He was like way miffed, sure, but he thought I was going to go belly up, man. He said that he was way worried about me, so I stopped. Cold Turkey. Haven't caught a wave in like... Okay, I'm not going to say how long because, thought I'm dead, I'm a little self conscious about my age.
So, right, now this challenge comes along, and at first I was pensive. And then I was like, 'pensive'? Since when do I use words like pensive? Yeah, so I was thinking 'Do I do this thing, or, like, what, man?'. It had been so long since I got on a board. I was losin' my religion, man. Then I looked over at Dooks. He gave me this silent nod, which I took as an okay, though he could have been nodding off. He is old, you know.
Right, JJ, like, started us off and everyone leapt into action, snagging whatever trash would work for them. I have this ability, since, you know, dead, that I can, like, look without looking. That's what I did, man. I was finding some stuff that could be useful later. KFC licensed cups with novelty character lids, licensed paper plates and cups, wind-up toys, shirts with ridiculous logos, velcro shoes, inflatable Pepsi cans, life-sized standees, masks, action figures, more action figures, LEGO figures, little tiny action figures, serial numbered master replicas, pillow cases, Burger King toys, Burger King cups, limited edition rare Burger King toys, models, pewter figures, plushies, collectible miniature game miniatures, CCGs, TCGs, widescreen cards, regular cards, vernacular cards, stickers, vintage magazines, current magazines, vinyl costumes, cloth costumes, furred costumes, puppets, XBox games, PSX games, PS2 games, board games, Atari 2600 games, games for every Nintendo system (excluding the Virtual Boy, because Tahl always said 'if you count that, you are geeking too hard'), resin busts, resin banks, holiday ornaments, neck ties, and novelty toilet paper. Nothing of any use or worth in the real world, obviously.
I had to settle with a tin holovid tray for my board. I copped the broken handle to a Vibro-Ax (not to be confused with the men's body wash, 'It's how dirty Jedi Boys get clean,'). Connected those two together wicked fast, but I was, like, missing the sail. See, you can't surf sand. Sand gets everywhere and it doesn't make for some gnarly waves, man. So you need a sail for the push, that is unless you use the Force, which I have before, but nada on this go around. I wasn't about to use that pillowcase as, though it was officially licensed, it displayed shoddy workmanship and inferior quality. I went with the best piece of cloth in the history of weaving. Nothing has brought me more comfort, other than, like, the Force, but I have to say that, man. Without it, I'm not, like, me. My wonderful luxury item, my poncho. I attached that bad boy on with these crap watches, again, officially licensed.
I set out. Dude. Seriously. Man. Wow. Yo.
Nothing like riding the sand dunes. The power of the wind pushing your ethereal body on a make shift wind board. You know the feeling... Okay, no, I don't think any of you do. Even close really... So, uh...
Right, well, I'm just plowing along, singing some Beach Boys, and I got passed. And again. One more time. Dooks was leading! But, I was enjoying myself, man. I wasn't about to do something stupid or something to get me kicked off just to pass him. There wasn't a lot I could do, anyway. Hey, no worries, man!
Dooks used to surf with me. When I wiped out that one time, I wouldn't do it anymore. But, Dooku stopped, too, because of me. He was so scared that he almost lost his Padawan that he gave it all up. He deserved this one stellar ride.
Good on ya' for your win, Dooks, brah. You were hella gnar!

Starbucker: Where's that sandstorm?

JJ: annnnnd go!

the young FotNJOw rushes intot he transport

FLUKE: "Shoo!! This place stinks!" *shudder*

He quickly begins digging through the debris, and finds - a tarp....

FLUKE: "Ahhh, sweet... a tad dry-rotted, but it should do."

...diggin further, he finds several fishing poles...

FLUKE: "These may hold the tarp open to catch some wind to get me going...now something suitable for surfing on..."

He stumbles across...

FLUKE: "COOL! a busted cello! - This backplate may do it.

Fluke dashes out and begins securing his tarp to the fishing poles he's tied together to form a sail skeleton.

FLUKE: "Hey, I though I had more poles than this?" He scratches his head in wonder

Moments pass until he's seated on his cello backplate, sail together and up, awaiting a gust of wind...

...he waits - looking around to see some evidence of wind in the distance...

...he waits - wondering if he maybe should just jump up and run...

...then he sees it... a rustling of sand in the distance... coming his way... he braces himself annnnnddd *Whoosh* Off he goes! Clean off of his cello backplate!


FLUKE: "Whaaa! ACCK!!! PTOOEY!"

as he gets dragged through the sand face-first, holding onto the reins of his tarp parasail for all it's worth. His shirt fills with sand... his boots fill with sand... his pants fill with sand... his hair fills with sand... his mouth fills with sand.

Finally, after what seems an eternity... the tarp rips wide open... and Fluke comes to a halt...battered and dazed...


FLUKE: "uuuuugh."

Then, something startles and passes him. *whoosh*

...he remembers where he is and that there is an objective to fulfill - still firmly grasping his fishing poles and luging massive amounts of sand - he begins to run. Luckily, sand falls from everywhere on him, lightning his load.

He runs...

...and runs...

...and runs...

...and runs...

...eventually, he crosses the finish line just before he collapses.

It will be a while before he's even cognizant enough to know if he wasn't dead last. Heck, it'll be months before he passes all the sand he swallowed - but at least, for now, he's finished and can rest... even if only briefly...