Shall we put some Star Wars sketches up, to mark this new film thing (I've not seen it. Probably will one day)? Here's one that I wrote, based on a start from my of the guys in my group.
General Dodonna: An analysis of the plans provided by Princess Leia has demonstrated a weakness in the battle station. The target area is only two meters wide. It's a small thermal exhaust port, right below the main port. A precise hit will start a chain reaction which should destroy the station.
Wedge Antilles (Red 2): That's impossible! Even for a computer.
Luke: It's not impossible. I used to bullseye womp rats in my T-16 back home, they're not much bigger than two meters.
Wedge: Really, Luke?
Luke: Damn straight!
Wedge: But that's hideous.
[Murmurs from the floor]
General: I agree with Red 2, why would you do that?
Luke: You know. Fun.
[Disapproval from auditorium]
Wedge: Fun? I thought you'd at least say "pest control"
Luke: Oh, yeah, right, and pest control. Those womp rats play havoc on a moisture farm. Always eating the...moisture.
Wedge: They've got to live, haven't they?
Luke: Not when I'm around, Wedge! I see a womp rat and [Laser noise] Piuw piuw.
[Boos from floor]
Luke: Oh, come on!
General: You, sir, are worse than Vader.
Luke: Well, it's clear you've never lived on a working planet. You bleeding heart trendy lefties, you know nothing about the common man's struggle.
Wedge: I'm not a trendy lefty.
Luke: Your name's Red Wedge!
General: Regardless of that, you are still annihilating beautiful, noble creatures for sport.
Luke: Beautiful creatures? It's a 2 metre rat! Have you ever seen what a 2 metre rat can do to a baby's face? And that's before we even get to the womp.
Wedge: What womp?
Luke: They're covered in womp! That's why they're called womp rats. Because of all the womp.
General: Oh, yes, womp can be unpleasant.
Luke: It bloody stinks, mate. You can't get the smell of womp out your clothes for parsecs.
Wedge: Parsecs are a measurement of distance, idiot.
Luke: I don't know, do I? I'm a farmer. A farmer who is, incidentally, very good at shooting stuff from a moving vehicle, which seems to be exactly what this mission requires, so if I were you I'd let me get on with destroying the Death Star, and you lot can sit here worrying about whether there are any endangered space barnacles on the hull, right?
Wedge: And you promise you don't get a sick, psychopathic kick from killing animals?
Luke: Of course not.
General: Then it's settled, Luke rides with us. Saddle up, gentlemen: let's take down the empire!
[Cheers from the floor]
Luke: Oh, just one last query, sir. Will we be using narrow gauge missiles on the mission?
General: Yes, good question. We'll use light ammunition energy pulses of around 20 centimetres diameter in our cannons.
Luke: Right. Erm, in that case, would anyone mind awfully if I used cats?
[Uproar from the floor]
*******
This was written for a Skit Comp, inpsired by another sketch on here.
[SCROLLING CREDITS: Star Wars Episode 3.5. A tiny bit more than a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...]
[Fade to glossy space age room, from which OBI WAN is about to leave with a suitcase. DONGLE DIN and CROJO JENDI, two young Jedi recruits, enter and spot him. He starts guiltily]
CROJO: Obi Wan! Good to see you. Off somewhere?
OBI: Oh, hi there...erm, Crojo, isn't it?
CROJO: That's right, Crojo Jendi. We met at the regional conference on Paltrane 9, remember? You got food poisoning off the space shrimp? This is my friend, Dongle Din. He's a big fan.
DONGLE: Rather! Oh, oh, do that trick for me, Sir.
OBI: Ah, I don't really have time, Dongle, I was just nipping out, you see.
DONGLE: Oh, go on, do it. Do the one where you make us forget what we wanted.
OBI: [Half hearted, waving hands in front of his face] This isn't the trick you're looking for.
DONGLE: [Beat] Master! Please, do that trick for me.
CROJO: He totally did it, Dongle.
DONGLE: Really? Oh, do it again, I didn't notice.
OBI: No, you wouldn't, because...look, I was just in the middle of something, so if you don't mind...
DONGLE: Oh, right. Secret ops, I hear you. So, what's the big plan for the Jedis now?
OBI: For the Jedis? I'm not sure, but I'm going to hide.
CROJO: What do you mean?
OBI: You know. Hide. Conceal. Remove myself physically from perception.
DONGLE: I get it! Lie low, regroup and come back all guns blazing? Except, you know, light sabres not guns, because they're miles better.
OBI: No, I was just thinking of hiding for a decade or so. Best make it two. Perhaps in a cave. Yes, a cave, that'll do.
CROJO: Oh. Right. Not sure I quite follow, but I daresay the Jedi council have thought it out, and all will become apparent. Perhaps Master Yoda can explain the strategy to me.
OBI: No. No, you see, he's going to hide too.
DONGLE: In the cave?
OBI: No not in the cave! I don't want him giving me away, messing up my cave. He can find his own cave. Or better yet, not a cave at all. A swamp, or something.
CROJO: So that's it? The whole Jedi council is just going to hide away like little babies?
OBI: Yep, pretty much.
DONGLE: Well, you do that then, you cowards! It doesn't matter, some more Jedis from the organisation will form a new council and start behaving like proper Force wielders!
OBI: No they won't. The Emperor will kill them, and everyone else will forget.
CROJO: What, about the Jedis?
OBI: Yes.
DONGLE: They'll forget about Jedis? That vast cross between a religion, a moral audit, and an administrative hub, with 400 generations of history and an extremely complex galaxy-spanning infrastructure?
OBI: I know it sounds funny when you say it like that, but in, ooh, I'd say about 20 years, tops, everyone will have forgotten about the Jedis. Everyone. Even robots who knew us and who can't actually forget things, strictly speaking, will forget everything. I'll probably remember most of it, but I'll be in my cave, of course.
CROJO: I'll remember!
OBI: No, you won't, Crojo, because you'll be dead. All the Jedis will be dead. The Emperor will kill you all.
DONGLE: All of us super-advanced thought-communing mega-warriors?
OBI: Yes.
DONGLE: All of the mega-warriors with 400 generations of history and an extremely complex
OBI: [Joining in] Galaxy spanning infrastructure. Yes. Again, it sounds odd, but you've not taken into account the awesome power of Darth Vader.
DONGLE: Darth what?
CROJO: [Laughing] He means Anakin. Oh, master, your comical ruse nearly had us there. Anakin won't hurt us. He's all bashed up. He has to wear this special mong suit just to even breathe, you duffed him up so bad.
DONGLE: Oh yeah, what a fight! On a lava pit, up a hill, down a sort of metal...thing, it was amazing!
CROJO: That fight - let me tell you, Obi - that fight went on for so long and was so exciting, I actually got quite bored of it.
DONGLE: Me too! I had a little nap, for a bit. But still, at the end of it, you'd struck him down. When you struck him down he became less powerful than I could possibly imagine.
OBI: All the same, he'll kill you. Bye.
DONGLE: What, and you're just off, are you? That's that, is it? You'll just turn your back on millennia of history and let us perish?
OBI: Pretty much.
CROJO: Well, go then! We'll stay here. We'll live up to the Jedi code, and right wrongs, and make peace, and walk slowly in corridors, and wear big flowing flammable robes that don't really sit well with the concept of handheld laser sword combat, the lot!
DONGLE: Yeah, and we'll find your cave, and bring you back, and we'll make you fight on the side of right and good and honesty even if it means certain death! What do you think of that, then?
OBI: [Sighs, draws his light sabre, and kills them both] Boring conversation anyway.