Those Crazy Sith Lords.

The doors whisk open, unnecessarily fast, as Darth Vader strides into the Emperor’s Chamber. Slowly, he takes a knee.

“I bring grave news, My Master.”

The Emperor puts down his PSP in irritation.

“Yes, Lord Vader, what is it? Have you played luminous yet? That soundtrack’s bangin’!”

“Errr,” says Lord Vader, as he stands up and uses his Asthma inhaler. “The Rebels have destroyed the Death Star, you know, that big ball thing we call a ‘Battle Station’, despite the fact it appears to be capable of moving long distances?”

“Impossible.” Spits the Emperor. “The Rebels simply don’t have the fire power! That guy you choked in Act One said it was the ultimate power in the Universe!”

“Yeah, I know.” Replied Vader. “That was soooooo cool! ‘I find you lack of faith disturbing’ ‘choke’, ‘thud’. That’ll teach the sissy bitch to mouth of to a Dark Lord of the Sith. By the way, did you get that ‘Sith Happens’ T-Shirt I sent you?”

“Yeah, it was cool, I got it on right now.“ The Emperor pulls aside his robes to show his fetching new T-Shirt. “So did a Jedi do it? I hate Jedi! Didn’t we kill them off after I destroyed your family, made you evil and blamed the death of your missus on you?”

“No, it wasn’t a Jedi, something about a thermal exhaust port. Apparently, our ultra-powerful, ultimate weapon, that cost an amount of money that looks like Pi recited to all currently known decimal places, had a glaring weakness a 5 year old should have spotted. It was destroyed by a few grands worth of antique fighter, and a two hundred dollar missile.”

“Well, doesn’t that just suck ass?” Said the Emperor, wistfully. “I’d go so far as to say it sucks great big fat donkey dicks!”

“Well, I told you we shouldn’t have hired those consultants. Bean counters they were. Just think, a few thousand dollars worth of titanium mesh over the exhaust port would’ve stopped a missile cold. Whats a few grand next to the squijillion trillion kreduliliium dollars the damn thing cost? It’s amazing how no one spotted that. I only survived because for some reason, my tie fighter bounced off the trench wall, while all the others tended to explode even if the rebels only gave them a dirty look.”

“Like I said, Donkey Dicks…great big fat ones.”

“Anyway, Mr. Super-Powerful Sith, I thought you could see the future?”

“Errr, I can.”

“So, you can see the future, but didn’t see a moon sized battle station going ‘boom’, along with a few million storm troopers?”

“Errrrr.”

“Seems like your ‘all seeing eye’ has got glaucoma. I would have foreseen it, but I thought you had it covered!”

“Oi! Less of it. I can fire electricity from my hands you know, and that suit of yours looks mighty…conductive.”

“Ok, point taken. So what are we going to do?”

“Let’s just send a few star-destroyers, you know, the overly large ships with their shield generators placed conveniently on top, with the bridge right next to them, so an antique fighter can blow destroy one pretty easily…and bomb the shit out of their planet.”

“Umm, not possible.”

“What do you mean? Not possible? Look at me, I’m dressed in black and have a lots of unsightly wrinkles and weird eyes! I’m evil! I can do whatever I want!"

“Well, we’re fighting freedom-fighters….um, I mean evil terrorists. We can’t bomb a whole planet just to get them! It‘s like burning down the barn to get rid of a rat!”

“So?”

“Have you seen the opinion polls lately? Put it this way, we ain’t popular. I’ve been Jedi mind-tricking my ass off to keep it in check!”

“Look. See this evil black cape?”

“Yup.”

“See my weird eyes?”

“Yup.”

“See my cool black swivel chair, and my uber-creepy voice?

“Uh, huh.”

“You would say, then, that I’m pretty bloody evil?”

“Well…yeah, if you had a breathing problem like mine, and a big, shiny black nazi-esque helmet, you’d look almost as evil as me!”

“So why can’t I bomb a planet again? Aren't I the undisputed ruler of the galaxy? Don't I have legions of fanatically loyal Stormtroopers at my disposal 24.7? Anyway, didn’t we just blow up a planet of vegetarian pacifists somewhere in Act Two?”

“Well, there’s something I didn’t know whether to mention or not.”

“What’s that?”

“Ummm, they’re on Hoth, and thanks to that Pimp-stylin’ Lando Calrissian, they’ve got our entire supply of Tibanna gas there.”

“Uh, oh. You mean the stuff we use to fuel our ships and make our guns shoot better?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Well, it’s donkey dicks again.”

“Big Fat ones, my Master.”

The Emperor sits in meditation for a few moment, while Vader takes another hit off his ventolin.
“I’ve got it!” Says the Emperor.

“You have?”

“Here’s what we do. We blame Alderaan on the rebels. Get the spin-doctors in on it. We can blame them somehow. Then we claim that the Rebels are constructing weapons of mass destruction…”

“Can I interrupt for a mo?” Said Vader. “We’re sitting in a Super Star Destroyer, a ship that’s about 50 miles long, with enough guns to do some seriously bad shit. Can’t that be described as a weapon of mass destruction?”

“Yeah, but it’s only bad if the other people have got them. You should know that by now. Weapons in our hands are for the public good. Anyone else's, it’s bad. Plus, we’ve got out shield generators on top of the ship also. This thing’s as fragile as a toothpick.”

“We really should fire those consultants.”

“Nah, gotta have consultants if you wanna be evil.”

“I know, I know. Too bad they all suck large, obese equine phalluses.”

“Too bad. Anyway, we say they’ve got WMD’s, go in there, guns blazing, kick some ass…while at the same time, dropping humanitarian aid, and launching a whole ‘hearts and minds’ campaign. We gotta stop the terrorists, everyone hates terrorists.”

“You mean, we cut off their food supply, bomb the shit out of them…then give them food and shelters, and expect them to be grateful?”

“Exactly.”

“Brilliant, my master, truly diabolical.”

“See to it, Lord Vader. Nice cape, by the way.”

“Thank you, My Master…err, any chance of me borrowing your PSP?”

“Did you bring your copy of Dance Dance Revolution?”

“Of course, I take it everywhere.”

“Including the dance mat?”

“Of course.”

“Ok, I’ll do you a swap. Only for a week, mind.”

“Thank you, my Master.”