[SITH WAR]: There's a *war*?!
Policrat'
***
Lord Tilson blinked, and studied the man in Jedi robes who was hovering
cross-legged just beyond the end of his bed.
He scowled.
"Hi," the Jedi said, with a cheery wave. "I'm Mon-Typ Ython, Jedi Master."
"Pol's latest NPC?" Tilson asked, grimacing.
"Coming from you?" the Jedi asked, looking just ever so slightly miffed.
"Yeah," Tilson spat. "My posts are funny."
"Dat's as far as you get, villain!" a new voice interrupted, and small,
black-cloaked figure with a beak leapt into the stateroom, his double-bladed
lightsaber spinning.
Mon-Typ Ython turned, looked at Daff Maul, and then gave Tilson a pitying
sideways glance.
"None shall pass?" he asked, and smiled.
***
Summary: Nothing much happened in this one, either. It's a toss-up whether
it should be followed by a prose-filk on the Duck Sketch or the Black Knight
sketch... or just ignored altogether...
Muuurgh
"Policrat'" <policr...@GUMBYSHELMEThotmail.com> wrote in message
news:BBA89696.F19%policr...@GUMBYSHELMEThotmail.com...
Don't ignore it! I must say that this "war" has got the momentum of tree
sap.
-Muuurgh
Steve...@rightbehindyou.com
> "Come on, somebody. Throw a punch. Work with me, here." - Steve Tilson
>
> ***
>
> Lord Tilson blinked, and studied the man in Jedi robes who was hovering
> cross-legged just beyond the end of his bed.
>
> He scowled.
>
> "Hi," the Jedi said, with a cheery wave. "I'm Mon-Typ Ython, Jedi
> Master."
>
> "Pol's latest NPC?" Tilson asked, grimacing.
>
> "Coming from you?" the Jedi asked, looking just ever so slightly miffed.
>
> "Yeah," Tilson spat. "My posts are funny."
>
> "Dat's as far as you get, villain!" a new voice interrupted, and small,
> black-cloaked figure with a beak leapt into the stateroom, his
> double-bladed lightsaber spinning.
>
> Mon-Typ Ython turned, looked at Daff Maul, and then gave Tilson a pitying
> sideways glance.
>
> "None shall pass?" he asked, and smiled.
"None shall pass what?" Tilson demanded.
"Well, you know," Mon-Typ Ython said. "None shall pass."
"None shall pass what? History? Finals? The bar? Gas?"
"None shall pass. Your little colleague in Goth gear and a Siamese
lightsaber."
"You may think your Zen koans will leave us confused and vulnerable, but we
are far too dense to fall for that," Tilson said. "Kill him, Maul."
"Withph pleasure."
Daff Maul waded forward, double saber spinning. "En garde! Ho! Ha! Hee!
Parry! Dodge! Thrust! Turn! Par -- "
Mon-Typ Ython's lightsaber snapped to life with an outpouring of animated
flowers. It flashed. Daff Maul's arm fell to the deck.
Tilson shook his head sadly and buried his face in his hands.
"All right, I'll be going then," Mon-Typ Ython said. "Shockingly nice
meeting you both."
"Buggin' out, huh?" Daff Maul said. "Figgers."
"Your arm's off," Mon-Typ Ython said.
"I've had worse, buster."
"You're a liar."
"No," Tilson said. "He really has. Repeatedly. Like this."
Tilson snapped his lightsaber on and cut Maul in half.
"HEY! What's the big idea?"
"Simmer down, you're just a cartoon. You'll be right as rain in no time."
"You're both loonies," Mon-Typ Ython said. "I'll just let myself out."
"No, you won't," Tilson said. "Guards!"
Immediately, a pair of white-armored Stormtroopers were in the room. They
grabbed Ython's arms in vise-like grips.
"Take him to the, er, the project," Tilson said.
"Yes, sir," said the stormtrooper on the left. "Oh, sir, just to let you
know: Jade's back."
"Of course Jade's back," Tilson said. "It's all part of the plan. Now
take him to Room 101 and be done with it."
The stormtroopers left, dragging a non-plussed Ython along with them.
"The project?" Maul asked, pulling himself together.
"It's for his own good," Tilson said.
"His, whose?"
Tilson did not answer.
*****
It really wasn't a bad walk, once you got past the stormtroopers holding
your arms in a deathgrip. Ython admired the corridors of the *Surly Punk
2*, the polished floors, the gleaming military hardware, the clumsily
colored drawings tacked to the bulkheads with refrigerator magnets shaped
like pigs and cows.
The troopers took Ython to the end of a long, dimly-lit corridor. The door
at the end of the corridor was numbered 101. Above the door was a sign:
CHAMBER OF TORTURE, HORROR, DESPAIR, AND INSENSATE CARNAGE.
These words had been marked through with spray paint, and new words sprayed
above them:
RE-EDUCATION CENTER FOR TILSON'S ENEMIES.
These words had also been marked through with spray paint, and yet more
words sprayed above them:
POL'S NPC EUTHANASIA PROJECT.
And these words too had been marked through with spray paint, and above
them now read:
HAPPY FUN LAND.
The door opened, and the troopers shoved Ython through.
SUMMARY:
I didn't want to go too much into a Python sketch, because I still hold out
hope that Sal's Project will someday appear here. It is a forlorn and
foolish hope, perhaps, but it flickers bravely in the darkest recesses of
my mind.
No summary for the rest. It's too short for that.
Steve Tilson
--
"How many more, Harry?" said Dumbledore, eyes puddling with tears. "How
many more have to be buried before your thirst for vengeance is satisfied?"
- www.pointlesswasteoftime.com
Lefty Skywalker
> POL'S NPC EUTHANASIA PROJECT.
I nominate this the Soup du Jour.
--
Daniel O. Miller
"The most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious. It is the
fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true
science. Whosoever does not know it and can no longer marvel, is as good
as dead, and his eyes are dimmed." - Albert Einstein
WWYD?
(hotmail addy is a red herring; I'm at em see aych ess aye)