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Author	Topic: Planet Hopping – now with the Greatest Ending ever written
1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 1/9/06 10:16pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (updated 12-8) Drink up me hearties, Yo HO! - Date Edited: 1/10/06 9:13pm (1 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	UPDATE And that's all you need to know. ------------------------------------------- Beam. Fiddle. Squeak. Shuffle. Pop. Yawn. Beam. Pop. Fiddle. Shuffle. Squeak – BERRRRRRRT! A whole slew of lights and warning bells went off. Then, a whole slew of back-up lights and warning bells went off. Because, for some silly reason, everything on Darin’s ship had a back up. Including the ejector seats. In fact, even this narrative description is a back up of a previous narrative description. Now doesn’t that just blow your minds. “We’re there.” Darin said boredly from the pilot’s seat. And less than a second later, they were. Phindar. Home to a giant chunk of isolationists, as well as a small but very influential minority of tourist traps. The distant sun, happily at their backs, lit up the planet like one of those spherical paper lamps from Kolazus XII, but blue-er and with less weapons-grade plutonium in the center. They were several clicks from the primary space lanes yet, and had a nice, unobstructed view. The surface looked like…well, there was really no way to know what the surface looked like. It was too overcast. Overcast, here, referring to the enormous gang of rampaging storms. “We’re not landing in that, are we?” Melinworth leaned forward to get a not-so-much closer look. “Luckily, we’ll be docking up near the north sixty. At the Darmus Port. So all we’ll have to contend with is the ice storm.” “…which is already subsiding.” Yodimus pointed out. Darin glared at the salesman and his blatant one-upsmanship, “How can you tell that, precisely, may I ask? If, you know, it’s not too much trouble?” “Check it:” he pointed their eyes back toward glowing Phindar, close to the equator. The orb itself had become large enough to fill the front window, “See that hurricane? It’s moving east on a speedy air stream. You can tell because it’s long and falling apart - an attribute of a fast current. The opposing hurricane was manifested in the south – see how it’s rotating in the opposite direction? It’s being pushed west by a far weaker air stream, keeping it strong. Hence its thickness and almost perfectly circular shape. But it’s smaller, so everything evens out. “Now, because they’re generating an equal amount of force in two opposite directions, from two opposite cardinal points, the end result is a massive high-altitude tunneling effect. Think two rollers, forcing objects along a conveyor. In the same way, the five storms up above the ‘canes are being drawn into this air stream ‘super current’, if you will, and are dissipating at an accelerated rate. SO, to answer your question Darin: I can tell becuz mah layeft knee were startin’ ta act up agin.” He slapped his knee with a ‘yee-howdeh’ for emphasis. Darin stared at him with dark eyes, and unconsciously increased their velocity. Yodimus let him boil. Finding nothing unintelligent to add, Melinworth went back to his one-person card game. “But…couldn’t…” sitting beside Yodimus, Rybinstall looked genuinely concerned, “What if the hurricanes started spinning the other way?” “Then we’d have more than ice storms to worry about. Because that would probably mean the fabric of physical reality is collapsing.” Was the salesman’s friendly response. Rybinstall went white, and shrank further into his seat. Up in front, Melinworth hissed a quiet, self-congratulatory “yesss!” meant to draw attention away from the fact that he’d just lost his game. Yodimus knew better than to call him on it. It was quieter that way. Shuffle. “So when did you become such a frelling genius?” Darin finally inquired. Yodimus shrugged, “I cheated off the smart kids in grade school.” “Typical response. Everything’s a stupid joke with you, isn’t it? So tell me: do you avoid talking about your past because you’re too arrogant to realize nobody gives a damn, or because you’re just ashamed of it?” “Ooo, multiple choice! Lemme see…will I respond in a serious manner to your condescending remarks? Tune in at eleven to find out.” In response, Darin snarled and gunned the afterburners, plowing them straight through the frantic early afternoon space lanes. They were on the ground in record time. That is, record time for a Phindaran landing which, prior to them, had stood at twenty-one minutes from hyper entrance to touchdown. This was a record that had replaced the thirty-plus year old time of forty-minutes-flat: a landing that had been made by a crashing ship. The newer old record was under ten years old, and held a special, fearful place in Phindaran history. It was held by Darth Vader. He broke it the time he personally oversaw the Imperial Occupation procedure be carried out. He’d been running late. Everyone on-planet, to this day, considered his record time unbreakable. Up until Darin and Co., that is. In about a week, when the docking reports are released, it will be found that their landing gear kissed ferocrete in just a beat under nineteen minutes. But they’ll never get a chance to congratulate anyone. In about a week, Darin and Co. will be halfway across the galaxy. But right at that moment, Darin and Co. were too busy flipping up collars and clasping up jackets and vests to care about some record. Outside, it was bright, sunny, and clear. And freezing. For all the good it was doing, the Phindaran sun may as well have been a decorative painting. The cold gave Darin a good excuse to remain socially frigid, and he led the way out of the bays at a stiff march. They walked straight for a short while, mostly admiring the stone architecture, with all its multifaceted…flatness. Yeah. Hoo boy, it sure was flat. And a sort of off-white gray. And flat again. Good lord it was flat. You’d think they’d at least drop in some lines here or there. Maybe switch mediums every so often. Like, more often than every two centuries. It wasn’t even as though they were going for smooth polish either. This was rough and forgettable. Like taking the sandy plains of all the most boring deserts in the universe, sucking out their color, and turning them into walls. And then there were those windows. Ugh! Could they be any more square and pointless? And look at the doors. I mean, come on, people! I don’t care how alien you are, you must be embarrassed with the existence of such drab entranceways. I'm sorry, but that’s just pathetic. …Um. And now back to the story. He finally came to a halt at an ancient crosswalk/street corner replication. They were in Darmus’s Historical district. A sign advertised the latest museum exhibition: the eighteen hundred year old full-scale model of a solid-fuel-burning vehicle. The oldest model of its kind in the galaxy. Yodimus stared at the sign, shaking his head. You know your culture is old when even the reproductions of ancient artifacts are ancient artifacts. “Okay, where are we meeting your boy?” Darin asked, adjusting his vest. Yodimus pointed at a stubby tavern across the vintage red ferocrete road, “There.” The sign said The Fossil Eater Bar and Grill. “Oh. Convenient. When?” he raised his crono. “Tomorrow.” Darin looked at him, “You’re kidding.” “Hey, sorry! I can’t help that we caught up to you so fast! That was out of my control. I wanted to meet you a day later than we did. It wasn’t my fault we ended up in a riding drill race.” Melinworth shoved in, “Yeah! It was our fault!” he gestured to himself and Rybinstall, “And don’t you forget it.” “Believe me. As hard as I will try, I won’t.” Darin shook his head, “This is idiotic. What are we going to do for a day? Where are we going to sleep!? I sure as hell am NOT sleeping in my ship, and I am absolutely not letting anyone else sleep there. ESPECIALLY you. Yodimus.” He glared sharply at the salesman, straight into his immoral soul. “Yeah. We still need to have a talk about how you know that name.” Darin grabbed him by the shoulders, “Where! Are! We staying!?” “Well…” “Not good enough! What’s wrong with you? How can you know advanced meteorology and not have the sense to give me a schedule? I mean, I don’t need a kriffin’ itinerary here, but a vague overview would have been nice. You know…before we jumped.” “Well…” “And don’t give me this crap where Mel and Ryb made you do something. That’s Bantha. You knew where we were going, and when we needed to be there. Not them. You want to play these stupid petty games? Then fine! But you’ll be playing them alone.” “Now hold on just a second, Mister Intimidation. First of all, yes. I am the only one who knows certain things. And it's going to stay that way as long as I’m stuck partnering with people I don’t trust. I told you that my remark about you being a good pilot wasn’t a compliment, and I meant that. It was an observation, and nothing more. I only compliment people I like and trust. Second, no. I don’t think these two could ever, ever be responsible for anything. That’s not their job here. Their job is specific to my cause, they’re serving that cause nicely, and they will be paid handsomely for it. Your job is also specific to my cause. So far, you seem to be performing well. A little more irritating than I’d hoped, but well nonetheless. And if you continue to do your job, you will also be paid handsomely. But the second you start getting uppity with me, and begin thinking I’m either not competent or don’t know what I’m doing, you’re voted off. That’s it. End of kriffin’ story. And, frankly, I really won’t care whether you’re happy with that decision or not when-or-if it comes.” “Oh, oh, Okay. I see. ‘Mr. Intimidation.’ You want to see me intimidating? You haven’t even begun to see me intimidating, pal, you know that? “That’s because you haven’t begun to be intimidating.” “Oh well okay, then let me just kneel here and bow before you, oh wise master, since you know so kriffing much.” “Well as a matter of fact I do, dumb face.” “Ha! What do you know that isn’t pulled straight out of your behind? Why don’t you just give us all another one of your weather reports, you smart…face.” “Darin, I forget: was it Boss Grendoga, or Lord Flogrog who you were able to capture because he choked on a quada raisin while laughing at you? I have such trouble telling Gammoreans apart.” Darin’s face blanched, “How the HELL do you know that!?” “Because I’m what you said – a wise kriffin’ master, right? And now, what? Are we suddenly playing a questions game, that you feel like answering me that way? Or do you just feel like mirroring me by asking how I know stuff I shouldn’t? Because, ah, heh, I seem to recall asking you the same exact krffin’ thing just a minute ago about my name.” “Well…well, if it was a questions game, then you would have lost just now. So ha.” Then Melinworth spoke up, “Actually, you would have lost, because he said three questions before making a statement. You needed to make four to beat him, because nobody called ‘No rollovers’ when you guys started.” “Yeah but…what? Why? That makes no sense!” Yodimus shook his head, “Well it doesn’t matter, because we weren’t playing a questions game. We were arguing, because this dumb face here thought he’d try to frighten me. But that didn’t work, of course, because he’s as frightening as his uncle is sane.” Darin became extremely tense, “Ex…Excuse me?” Yodimus was about to respond, but then, without warning, Melinworth jumped in between, “Oh, no. That can’t be the case because we don’t do arguing here, we-“ CRACK Melinworth flopped to the ground. Yodimus stood there shocked, looking at Darin. Darin stood frozen, posed in an exemplary right hook follow-up worthy of the “Hogrono’s Holos on Fighting Like a Champion Shockboxer – Vol. 3 – hooks: how to hang your opponent out to dry”* The arc his fist was on would have connected perfectly with Yodimus’s nose had Melinworth not been there, which was dimly terrifying to the salesman as he realized it. Yodimus looked down, “Wow. Darin. You uh, you got him pretty good.” Darin looked down, “Mel, you okay pal? Ah jeez,” he knelt over the spacer, “Hey, you okay? Oh man, I’m really sorry.” “ow.” Yodimus knelt over him as well, “Hey, Mel, ol’ buddy: think you’re fit to walk?” “ow.” Rybinstall was now leaning over him, “Mel? Here,” he held up two bony digits, “How many fingers am I holding up?” Melinworth squinted and scrunched, puzzled and pondered, did some quick calculations, carried the one, “…more…than you actually have, it seems.” Rybinstall sat on that for a second, then, “Ah! But I remember you saying how nothing ever ‘seems’. It either is or is not, and that’s that. So: by saying ‘it seems,’ you really mean that it doesn’t seem, but that it isn’t. "… "Oh, but then you’re saying it ‘doesn’t isn’t’ which is a double negative. So you really mean that it IS! Ha! I got it!” Yodimus blinked. He blinked again, “You got what?” “I have more fingers than I have!” He replied triumphantly. “Oh. Okay. Just checking.” The salesman turned away before the urge to shoot himself in the head grew too strong. Darin was helping Mel up to his wobbly feet. It looked like he’d be fine. Nothing a good sloshing wouldn’t fix. And if there was one thing that Phindar offered, it was overpriced drinks. And people willing to buy them for really entertaining spacers. So that’s where Ryb and his dizzy companion trekked off. And there was Yodimus and Darin, seeing them off. Yodimus just stood there, shaking his head and thinking. Darin still felt like strangling him, but the motivation to act had passed. At the moment, he actually felt more like a good sandwich than killing, if you really cut to the chase and asked. “Well that was fun, huh? Come on, there’s a place I have in mind that I think will work very well for an overnight stay.” And without one word more, Yodimus charged on ahead. **** * "Hogrono’s Holos on Fighting Like a Champion Shockboxer – Vol. 3 – hooks: how to hang your opponent out to dry" Deluxe Edition includes abridged versions of Vols. 1 and 2. Flimsyback: 28.5 Cred. Phindarudite Holos Year End Sale: Buy Vol. 3 deluxe edition and get Vol. 5 – one-swing K.O.s: drop ‘em like they’re hot, Vol. 6 – Techniques for no-armed races: hate to butt in, but…, & Vol. 10 – The #1 best move: shave and an uppercut, two bits! for FREE!! out of stock until after storm season -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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oqidaun Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 1/11/06 11:18am Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (updated 1-10) New layaway offer inside!!
	Yodimus, you are a brilliant fellow. But, I'm sure you already know that. In fact, even this narrative description is a back up of a previous narrative description. Now doesn’t that just blow your minds. Fortunately, my mind was blown before I started. You do such a wonder job with the descriptions of the weather on Phindar! For all the good it was doing, the Phindaran sun may as well have been a decorative painting. I always wondered what the rules were... Then Melinworth spoke up, “Actually, you would have lost, because he said three questions before making a statement. You needed to make four to beat him, because nobody called ‘No rollovers’ when you guys started.” “Yeah but…what? Why? That makes no sense!” Yodimus shook his head, “Well it doesn’t matter, because we weren’t playing a questions game. The Darin and Yodimus banter is dangerously funny. Better make sure you have an alibi or something lined up just in case. Excellent update!!! -----signature----- . . . . I'm so bad, I banned myself.
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amidalachick Registered: Aug '03	Date Posted: 1/11/06 12:14pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (updated 1-10) New layaway offer inside!! - Date Edited: 1/11/06 12:15pm (1 edits total) Edited By: amidalachick
	Wow! That was a very mind-blowing update! I loved the fighting between Yodimus and Darin, and Yodimus' meteorology speech. Rybinstall sat on that for a second, then, “Ah! But I remember you saying how nothing ever ‘seems’. It either is or is not, and that’s that. So: by saying ‘it seems,’ you really mean that it doesn’t seem, but that it isn’t. "… "Oh, but then you’re saying it ‘doesn’t isn’t’ which is a double negative. So you really mean that it IS! Ha! I got it!” Yodimus blinked. He blinked again, “You got what?” “I have more fingers than I have!” He replied triumphantly. “Oh. Okay. Just checking.” And this exchange was just plain awesome. I'm looking forward to whatever's next! -----signature----- "So I can open my own can of pudding, can I? Shows what you know, Marge!"
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 1/14/06 8:17pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (updated 1-10) New layaway offer inside!! - Date Edited: 1/14/06 8:18pm (1 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	Oqi: I plan on being in the Bahamas, surrounded by lots of people with good memories and plenty of 'persuasion cash' when I post the next chapter Ami: I take every chance I can to make the Duo sound as annoying as possible. Hey, if I don't utilise them to their full potential, they won't be worth the purchase. [angry dad voice] I invented 'em, and I'm gonna use 'em damn it![/angry dad voice] I got five bucks says I post an update before-or-on 1/17. Any takers? I like a good challange. crossing fingers that no one takes the bet -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 1/20/06 6:17pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-10-6) New layaway offer inside!!
	Ha! Suckas! UPDATE My mother on New Baked Lays Potato Chips: "They're like Pringles but not like Pringles, and they're not worth the taste. ... Why do we keep eating them?" ----- “This is it?” “Ta da.” “What is it? A parking garage?” Yodimus patted him on the back, “Warehouse.” “How is this a place to stay…exactly?” “Well, it can be whatever we wants it to be,” Yodimus made for the door, “I own it.” “Why, may I ask, do you own a warehouse?” “I get double its cost in property taxes by letting people store stuff here.” They walked in. Darin surveyed the area, “I see carnival stuff, parade balloons, crates of heleezium, inflatable toys, florescent tubing…and a turbolazer.” “I’m a nondiscriminating businessman.” Yodimus replied proudly, “Comm the Duo so they know where we’re staying.” “Well hold on, first….” Darin said, cocking his eyebrow at a disturbing Bothan clown statue. Engraved at the base were the words ‘for the kids’, “First you have to tell me why there’s an enormous turbolazer rusting in the corner.” “Meh. Why do ships fly? Why do podracers race? Why do riding drills explode? It’s the nature of the beast. You get interested parties from a traveling circus here, a national park there; a children’s charity here, a military storage contract there…you know.” “No.” “Well, that’s beside the point. In three months my bank account increases tenfold, whether this warehouse is holding donated clothes for poor Wookie kids being oppressed on Delmeria III, or live warheads full of nerve gas. The point is, I don’t give a damn. Quit worrying about it and live for the moment. And at this moment, we’re here, there’s a loft up this way, and I have enough cots for all of us and then some. Even a fresher, though I haven’t been in here for...” he did a quick calculation, “wow, for almost two years. So don’t expect much. We’re taking the steps, there’s no turbolift. They’re this way. I would have preferred one for appearances, but I couldn’t find a reliable installation crew on a planet like this. Which is too bad because they really need work. Phindaran wood just plain sucks. Oh, and that fifth step needs-“ “AIEEE!” “-replaced.” Yodimus leaned over the gaping hole, “Hey, look on the bright side: you’ll be extra careful on the twelfth step. That needs replaced too.” Darin stood up, his head poking through the space made by the rotted wood, jaw set in anger, “I’m finding a hotel.” “Oh no you’re not. We need to conserve cash! I have a little under zero credits to my name right now. How bout you?” Darin’s jaw was still locked and tight. It took him a while to work his way out from under ‘pissed’ so that he could respond. He spent that time sliding up and back onto the stairwell, “Around eighteen hundred and some.” “And now, not including the bounties you haven’t been paid for yet?” A new ‘pissed’ rock fell on Darin, but he struggled through it, “About…about fifty.” He all but hissed. “Hm. Better than nothing. We’ll see what the Duo has once they get here. But I doubt it’ll be enough for even one room at a hotel, so make yourself comfortable…and stop breaking my stairs.” He smiled, but Darin refused to return it. He just stood up straight, pushed past the salesman, pointedly skipped the twelfth step, and unfolded a cot. “What are you doing?” “Going to bed. It’s past seventeen hundred hours on this side of the planet. I’d like to get some rest before we face this guy. Otherwise it’s going to be high noon and feel like midnight to me. I came to Durcust running on a different time, and I’m still running on it. Gotta account for space lag, y’know?” and if I keep listening to you talk much longer, I won’t be able to control this urge to stab you in the face. “Whatever. You’re call. See you in the morning, you wiener.” Yodimus folded his arms and shook his head in disappointment as he watched the experienced mercenary, ace pilot, gun-for-hire, toughman lay down for what amounted to a beauty rest. As far as Yodimus was concerned, it may as well have been an hour past noon, “I guess I’ll comm the Duo then.” “No need.” Darin said, before rolling over. Down below, the doors – dwarfed by the enormity of the storage area – clanked against their frames. Yodimus looked over the rail to get a look. Standing halfway to the middle of the hall, hands in his pockets, surveying the space, was Melinworth. Goofy hat, goatee, and all. Well, all, minus Rybinstall. Yodimus gave an inquisitive look toward Darin, but the merc was already flopped on his stomach and snoring loudly. Darin must have noticed the Duo following them somehow. The salesman now gained a new appreciation for the merc’s acuteness. Before we go on, let’s digress for a second. Please direct your attention back up to Darin’s comment about the current time. This reading of ‘seventeen hundred’ can only be put into context when you understand that he is referring to Coordinated Galactic Time. All timestamps are set to this timescale, and every chrono sold in the Universe has, at the very least, a secondary function that shows this time (except on Endor, when General Han Solo begrudgingly accepted a crude time-keeping wrist device in exchange for a shiny button. The only documented evidence of a chrono sold in the modern era without CGT on it. You heard it here first, folks). But here’s where it gets odd. CGT is measured by the number of hours it takes for the planet Coruscant to complete a single rotation. Or, supposedly it is. This number is Twenty-four. But if you go to Coruscant, and time a rotation with a chrono, it ends up being off. This is because the planet Coruscant actually takes a little over Twenty-five hours to rotate once. The best explanation anyone can seem to come up with is that CGT, which is a very, very old timescale, was calibrated when Coruscant was far less massive, and the days were shorter. This sounds fine on the surface. Anyway, a significant quantity of Republic City’s mass was indeed imported. And that quantity was anything but negligible. But the trouble is, when a planet becomes more massive, it speeds up, as any self-respecting astrophysicist would tell you. So this really is no explanation at all. Furthermore, no other theories are available. What it amounts to is that Coordinated Galactic Time, used by the entire known and occupied universe, required by law to be included in any commercial or capital endeavor with only one recorded exception in all of recent history, known from heart by every sentient race…was invented by an idiot. Or at least a real jerk. An interesting note: Corellia has a very similar rotation speed. It completes a full rotation in twenty-three hours and fifty-six minutes. Interesting. Yodimus was leaning on the rail, staring at the new arrival. “Take off your hat.” Was the only thing Yodimus felt like saying. He yelled it over the side. There was no reason to go down the steps for someone like Melinworth. Or greet him, for that matter. Mel was too busy staring at the masses of vaguely ordered junk to actually register what he said. But it caused him to notice the salesman, “Hey. Dibs on the giant barrel.” “Too late, compadre. Only hosts are allowed to sleep in the turbolazer.” “Fascist.” “All the coolest people are. So tell me: where’s the wife?” “Hm?” “What’s-his-name. Ryb.” “OH. Yeah, it turns out that bars around here close after seventeen thirty. Which is completely uncalled for, but…such are the rules, as they say. And there’s no sense yelling at an empty building for longer than ten minutes. I, for one, didn’t go a second over nine. So, instead, I just shook it off by bumming some Whyren’s from a beggar for a couple creds. And then we followed you guys here. I just assumed Ryb was behind me. Isn’t that right Ryb?” he turned his head to acknowledge his fellow spacer, only to find empty space. He proceeded to revolve further about, continuing to see empty space for the next seven hundred and twenty degrees. At that point, Yodimus coughed, and brought him back to the moment. “Hey Mel. I’m trying for a consolidation here. What do the two of you have in the way of cash?” “Give me a moment to think. Yes. Yes. No. Yes. Okay: I have two credits, plus one hundred credits, plus eighty credits, minus fifty-four credits, plus ten credits, minus a couple loose credits; the two of us share four hundred credits, minus two hundred credits, minus one hundred-fifty credits, minus a half a cred, plus eighteen credits…give or take about ninety credits, plus or minus twenty-five creds resting on that Grav Ball game. I don’t know for sure what Ryb has, but I think it’s something like-“ “Please stop. Never mind. We’ll worry about it later.” Yodimus rubbed his head. Melinworth poked at a larger-than-life Darth Vader statue frozen in a friendly wave. It was chipped and cracked and had a hastily done early version of the Rebel Alliance symbol sprayed on its chest, betraying its age. As an odd aesthetic choice, likely in a vain hope to make the dark lord more people-friendly, the statue had nothing over the eye holes, which showed the wrinkled and smiling eyes probably owned by the artist’s grandfather, “I bet Ryb is still yelling at the building. I told him it was hopeless. I know, I, for one, never yell at buildings.” “-for longer than nine minutes, apparently.” “Well someone had to!” Yodimus moved over to a receiver and twisted a couple things. Eventually, the local planetary news channel focused in. Nothing important. Exports trade. Bills being passed. Questions about tourist rights. Information on the new temporary emigration registry program that had just gotten set up. It sounded like it was some kind of joint program being done with a nearby system, but they didn’t name anyone. Melinworth began finding his way toward the steps, “By the way,” yelled Yodimus, “The fifth step is, heh, missing.” The door burst open. Beneath the entrance, Rybinstall looked pale and sweaty, “I have good news and I have bad news.” Yodimus looked up, “No. You have bad news and worse news.” “Which do you want first?” “Work in reverse, just in case the latest breaking news is in the process of catching up to you carrying a large weapon.” “Okay, here’s the bad news: An angry armed man is in the process of catching up to me.” “I hate it when I’m right.” “The good news is, I got Melinworth’s creds back!” Melinworth stopped short of hopping over the fifth step, “You went back to the beggar!?” “You said the stuff was poodoo, so –“ Yodimus broke in, “For the record: all Whyren’s Reserve tastes like the most interesting elements of toilet water. It’s a fact of life. Now go on. And shut the door while you’re at it.” “- so I went back to the vendor you bought it from, and I demanded your money back. But he refused, which I thought was terrible customer service – you should have seen it Yod – so I told him I’d write a nasty letter to his manager. And then I turned to leave, but my boot got caught on something-or-other, and I started to sway backwards. So to stop myself, I swayed forward. But I lost my balance and spilled the Whyren’s all over the guy. So I started wiping it off with my trusty rag, but the man kept pushing me away! And yelling at me! It was crazy! So I pinned his hands, and kept at it.” “Ah yes. What any sane life form would do. Of course. Please shut the door.” “And as I wiped, he tugged a hand free and put it inside his coat. I, of course, thought he was going for a stim stick.” “Of course. Close the door.” “So I offered him a light. It was just this,” he showed them a trigger lighter that worked more like a miniature blowtorch, “but he went nuts! And started flailing all over! I just couldn’t understand this guy, y’know? Try to do nice things for people! Jeez! So, he’s flailing, and it catches me totally off balance, and I drop the lighter. I don’t know what his coat was made of, but it went up reeeeal quick. Can’t understand it. So he slung it off and hopped all over it. He was even angrier after that. Don’t know why. His coat was put out. So, he gingerly lifts a smoking blaster out of the hopped-on coat, and then he aims it at me! Can you believe that!?” “Rybinstall, that’s great. But the door. Shut it. Mel: do most of his stories sound like this?” “All of them.” He confirmed, ascending the stairwell. “Wonderful. Okay, Ryb, I want you to shut the kriffin’ door, then take cover. Lots and lots of cover. Mel, hurry it up here quick. Darin, put a cork in the snoring. Yod…wait, I’m Yod. Never mind.” Rybinstall shut the door. The door slammed open. “Whare is he!” demanded the man in the doorway. Rybinstall was obscured by a row of boxes. He was deciding whether he should hide behind the creepy Bothan clown statue, or the disturbingly happy Darth Vader statue. “The damn trespasser went out the back!” drawled Yodimus, in his best Phindaran accent. He was pointing in the opposite direction from where Rybinstall was. The angry armed man followed earnestly and without question. It was going well. Crash! Yodimus glanced over the stairwell, “Ah, Mel. You found the twelfth step then.” The angry man locked newly suspicious eyes with the salesman, who realized instantly that he’d just broken accent, “Shavit.” “I’ma gonna say this only one more time, you slime sack. So listen up: Whare is the man who burned my coat!?” Yodimus had two options available to his expansive brain at this moment. He could conjure up a terribly complicated, subtle, but deviously clever lie to get the man to walk away quietly. Or… “He’s behind that row of boxes, staring at a Darth Vader statue.” He said loudly. “Thank ya.” “No prob.” -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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oqidaun Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 1/21/06 2:39pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) Yoda/Jabba, Fett/Chewie, Jaina/Palaptine (or none of the above)
	Better than Baked Lays? That promise left me skeptical, because you have to admit that Baked Lays are pretty damn awesome being baked and yet still snackish--regardless of yo'mama's opinion. Interestingly, my mummie doesn't like Baked Lays either, but she also took a book to Las Vegas in case she got bored. And she thinks the government's got her line tapped... It sure as hell was!! I'll never look at Baked Lays the same way again. I guess I'm going to have to switch to Pringles. Universal justification for owning a warehouse. Gotta love Yodimus. “I get double its cost in property taxes by letting people store stuff here.” Well, that’s beside the point. In three months my bank account increases tenfold, whether this warehouse is holding donated clothes for poor Wookie kids being oppressed on Delmeria III, or live warheads full of nerve gas. The point is, I don’t give a damn. Quit worrying about it and live for the moment. The friendly grandpapa eyes Darth Vader statue! Ha! I love Mel and Ryb. Love them! Yodimus had two options available to his expansive brain at this moment. He could conjure up a terribly complicated, subtle, but deviously clever lie to get the man to walk away quietly. Or… “He’s behind that row of boxes, staring at a Darth Vader statue.” He said loudly. “Thank ya.” “No prob.” Excellent ending! -----signature----- . . . . I'm so bad, I banned myself.
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 1/21/06 4:15pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) Yoda/Jabba, Fett/Chewie, Jaina/Palaptine (or none of the above)
	I am actually of like opinion with me mum on the subject of the Baked Chip. But to be fair, she also considers "Rush Hour" and "The Mummy Returns" to be her favorite films...but she hates violent movies. Mothers can indeed be very strange. She hasn't gotten to the 'the phones are tapped!' stage, but I'm willing to hold my breath for it. In any case, you've found it excellent enough to change your choice brand of non-fried potato product. This makes me happy, because I made Yodimus much more rotten in this chapter than previous ones (not that he became more rotten, there were just more opportunities). And I'd hate to find out now that you people actually assumed the man had a heart. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 1/22/06 7:56pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) S/H, O/O, T/M, E/N, O/W
	So, I looked in the Beyond The Saga Awards thread the other day, because I was bored and didn't realize the awards had started. Or even that the before and saga awards had started for that matter, because I never pay attention to anything. And as I was looking through the list, seeing if I was familiar with any of the listed stories, I saw this one. Nominated. For the humor category. Twice. And to make matters even awesomer, it's been Nom'd for Best Underrated, which means it automatically qualifies for that one. So, I'd like to say THANK YOU, to whomever it was (yeah, like that's a mystery) who Nom'd me. You people are cool. Very cool. And to reiterate my earlier point: -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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amidalachick Registered: Aug '03	Date Posted: 1/29/06 2:52pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) S/H, O/O, T/M, E/N, O/W - Date Edited: 1/29/06 2:55pm (1 edits total) Edited By: amidalachick
	I've never tried Baked Lays chips. But I liked this update. What it amounts to is that Coordinated Galactic Time, used by the entire known and occupied universe, required by law to be included in any commercial or capital endeavor with only one recorded exception in all of recent history, known from heart by every sentient race…was invented by an idiot. Interesting. “Give me a moment to think. Yes. Yes. No. Yes. Okay: I have two credits, plus one hundred credits, plus eighty credits, minus fifty-four credits, plus ten credits, minus a couple loose credits; the two of us share four hundred credits, minus two hundred credits, minus one hundred-fifty credits, minus a half a cred, plus eighteen credits…give or take about ninety credits, plus or minus twenty-five creds resting on that Grav Ball game. I don’t know for sure what Ryb has, but I think it’s something like-“ Aaah! So many numbers! The Duo's great. I loved Yodimus' line about bad news and worse news. And I think I'd be more scared of both the Bothan clown statue and the happy Vader statue then the angry armed man. Clowns are scary. Great update, as always! And that's it for today's edition of my nonsensical ramblings. -----signature----- "So I can open my own can of pudding, can I? Shows what you know, Marge!"
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correllian_ale Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jun '05	Date Posted: 1/31/06 1:49pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) S/H, O/O, T/M, E/N, O/W
	Now that the initial excitement of the Winter Festival of Please Read my Fic is on the downward swing, and I've finally come to the realization that I won't be updating any of my own pieces today; a little voice in my head screamed...don't forget Yodimus, he needs attention too! So I'm trying to get back on track here, so I'm on par to catch up by May 2008...a review of your 11/8 posting: ** The Demented Correllian, during the last leg of his ‘Bothans Suck at Spying’ tour, was attacked by a riotous mob on Bothawui and lost his eye. Much of Yodimus’s own advice on the avoidance of riots comes directly from the DC himself. Since then, The Correllian has hired new, less stupid Tour Organizers. Dude! I was at that show! There was this really cool Bothan fem passing her hooka...wait no...That was the Rolling Stones/Guns n' Roses tour of 1989, and the girl just hadn't bothered to wax her upper-lip...Is Wierd Al..er..I mean Demented Corellian going to do a "I Did it All for the Wookiee"? on the next release? A cold plate of half-eaten food was mashed into a corner along with its friends: Dirty Towel and Scrap Metal. Those were a trio one always found hanging out together somewhere on the ship. Messy frat boys... Nothing got past those glossy globes of garish groping glare… Gggggosh.... I loved this post and the general anarchy aboard the frieghter, and mutiny...mmmm, sound good, I'll have some of that! I'm catching up Yod, I swear I'll get there eventually. P.S. congrads on all the noms for this bit of genius!! -----signature----- Consider this my "throw back" jersey... I govern my life around my own personal code of ethics, and I suggest that you do the same.
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 2/6/06 8:06pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) S/H, O/O, T/M, E/N, O/W - Date Edited: 2/6/06 8:10pm (1 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	Ami: And I appreciate each nonsensical day you post a ramble. "And I think I'd be more scared of both the Bothan clown statue and the happy Vader statue then the angry armed man." Hey, it's for th' kids, y'know? I wouldn't've added them, if I had doubted their creepiness for a second. Ale: Welcome to the second edition! Don't fret about catching up quickly. At this rate, I'll only have two new posts by '08 anyways. [/slacker] And no, I don't think the DC will be appearing on stage until he releases his next album, which isn't due for another year or so, GFFA-time. Although he does have tons of side projects, so who knows. "...going to do a "I Did it All for the Wookiee"? on the next release?" Now that's up in the air. He's still in talks with Fred Durst (who obviously exists in both our's and their universe at once, as we all know) over rights issues. I can't say for sure, but here's a-hoping! Now, obviously I started out with the Demented Corellian being a direct spoof of Weird Al, but I think he's actually started to break away from that mold into much more extreme territory. I don't know where this territory is, but he's going that way. It's definitely bloodier and more mean-spirited, whatever it is. Also: You're welcome for the congratses! Now if I could just get around to updating instead of putzing around, I'll feel like I've earned it. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 2/9/06 11:20am Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED 1-20-6) like a cold bowl of noodles on a warm winter's day - Date Edited: 2/11/06 3:39pm (1 edits total) Edited By: 1Yodimus_Prime
	"Okay, next question: George Bush - a great president? ...Or the greatest president?" - Stephen Colbert UPDATE ---------- As a very angry man wildly chased a hapless spacer out of a warehouse and into the cold and eerily windless – soon to be storm-wracked – evening, another very angry man stood perfectly still. High above Phindar and its tropospheric calamity, a collection of very nonPhindaran warships stood in a rigid line. Front and center within this impressive blockade orbited the slightly less impressive Unlucky One. Currently, it was undergoing repairs. Though, this is a pointless statement, because the Unlucky One was always undergoing repairs. This ship was kept together so tenuously, the ship’s computer had a permanent program it ran to account for the percentage of debris lost in Hyperspace on a given jump. It was usually between 10% and 30% (translates to a good quarter of the outer hull and other cosmetic damage), which was already about fifty times what the norm should be, but the readout usually showed between 210% and 130% instead, because the computer’s display randomly added a ‘1’ or a ‘2’ in front of any number it showed. And sometimes it hopped the decimal point over two or three places to the right, just for kicks. Nobody knew why, and no engineer wanted to touch the thing. In fact, most Durcustian engineer circles had their own Unlucky One boogieman myth, used to scare new guys. They were all different, but every one had its own version of the number adding problem. Current theories on how to solve it involve either animal sacrifices and campfire dances, or galactic annihilation. Emphasis on the latter. On board this collection of parts so embarrassing, their component molecules faced ridicule, stood Lieutenant Bronsburd Sein, acting Captain. As it was stated, he was perfectly still. This was how he absorbed data. And right now, that data was a continuously updating real-time list of every single ship leaving the planet, down to class-B merchant vessels. It was moving really fast. Earlier, his absorbsion had been at work with the docking records. Unfortunately, that proved to be a dead end, because Phindar was notorious for their slow updates. They won’t be finding out who landed on Phindar four hours ago ‘till next week. And that wouldn’t do. For all Lt. Bronsburd knew, his targets could be on the other side of the galaxy by next week. Hence the focus on outbound ships. All he needed to do was spot three men baring the given description. He had it memorized. There was no way he could miss. Well, disregarding the fact that he couldn’t see a damn word the terminal showed him, that is. Now, strictly speaking, the job of scanning ships should have been delegated. In fact, Bronsburd knew this well. He didn’t even like doing this and wasn’t enjoying it in the least. But, the thing was, he liked delegating even less. Without taking his eyes off the datascreen, he leaned over and commed the nearby Bad Hair Day, asking, per orders, for a status report. Every hour, on the half-hour, each man-in-charge was to comm the ship to their left for a report on progress. They were to then send this information to the ship on their right, who was to then give this intelligence to the man-in-charge two ships to their left. I’ll give you a chance to think about that for a second. ...Yeah. This inherent flaw was apparently over the heads of the desk men. It went without saying that nobody ever followed the order past the first sentence. Captain Ammendu - the woman who was supposed to be flying his light frigate-slash-floating scrapyard, thus relieving him of annoying things like responsibility – answered his request saying, “Negatory, Lou.” She called all lieutenants ‘Lou’. She found it absolutely hilarious. In the back of his mind, Lt. Sein actually found himself grateful he wouldn’t be spending more time with her. But she didn’t stop there, “How’s the One, good buddy? Keeping the engines tight?” “The engines are fine.” He replied curtly. There was snickering in the background, “You…you might want to recheck that.” She disengaged before likely bursting out into full laughter. Bronsburd’s original assumption was that ‘out-there people’ had the best sense of humor. Now he was beginning to think that they actually had the worst. Sub Lieutenant Grary Larsin rushed in. “Sir! I ran here as fast as I could, sir!” he snapped a salute, “The innership communication system is broken, sir.” “Is that what you came to tell me?” “No, sir. The alarm systems are broken, sir.” “You came to let me know the alarm systems are-“ “Uh…no, sir. I ran here because the com system is broken to tell you in person that the alarm system won’t be going off even though it should right now, because we have a problem. Sir.” Bronsburd’s face fell. He sighed heavily before going on, “Let me guess: an engine is floating away.” “The duct tape came right off it, sir. Nobody knows how it happened.” Bronsburd looked back at the terminal. Everything on it was written in orange, atop a red background. When a diode switched off, it left an afterglow. So when anything moved by very fast, there was a massive blur. Honestly, no living creature could read that terminal. He looked beyond the useless device. Ahead of him was the bridge. The key viewports were mostly covered with ‘X’ed out metal plates because the transperisteel underneath was cracked and warped beyond even Hutt safety standards. All that was left was a window the size of his head. The primary navigational equipment was sitting on top of live wires. Nobody used it without risking death by electrocution, so only the ship’s single droid could actually play pilot. The ship’s single droid, currently idling in the left corner, was a Gonk. Yeah, a Gonk. Furthermore, some of the other crewmembers claimed it, impossibly, muttered profanities under its electronic breath on a constant basis. A man walked by, then paused to look down at a written message. The light above him flickered off just in time. A wall panel popped out of place and fell on the floor, which proceeded to collapse. Throughout his examinations, a buzzing sound bothered his hearing. It grew and grew with the waning of his patience, of his composure, of his calm. He was visibly shaking. The buzzing was a scream upon his eardrums. Sub Lt. Larsin made a joke. Enough was enough. ”I kriffin’ fiddlekriffin’ nubular-torquing* braindrilling Kriffing GIVE UP!” he exploded, going momentarily airborne, his face glowing several shades of red deeper than the average Devaronian. He landed, and breathed savagely for a few moments. There was an awkward silence as the entire ship’s crew stared blankly at him with a hint of fright. He let it play out a couple moments longer than it should have. In the dead quiet, an almost inaudible electronic voice could be just barely heard calling everyone there a “total brain-dead kriffer.” He smoothed his front and re-squared his shoulders. He cleared his throat, and proceeded with calm, “I’m going planetside. It’s a risky gamble, because we don’t know where they are, and it’s in direct violation of standard procedure, and substandard procedure…and abnormal procedure. And it’s strictly illegal under Durcustian military law. I will unquestionably be court-martialed, even if I catch them all and tie them in a pretty bow. But kriff it. I’m going anyway.” And with that he walked out of the room. The now-dumbfounded silence was suddenly snapped open by a loud, slow clap. It was Sub Lt. Larsin. Then, two ensigns joined in. A cook added to it, applauding vigorously, and eventually everyone was in on it, whooping and cheering and everything. There was even a quick song thrown in. As the cheering died down, a younger man spoke up, suddenly confused, “Uh, where’s the captain?” They looked around. At some point, they had just assumed that Lt. Sein would walk back in and didn’t give it any further thought. Now, they were all looking around at his pointed absence and scratching their heads. Grary felt especially embarrassed. Lt. Bronsburd Sein was halfway to the surface by that point. Eventually they stopped their stupid clapping and followed his lead. Where their targets were was actually not totally up to chance. Common sense told them that they must be in the less blustery northern hemisphere, and also that they probably chose a big city to better melt into the crowd. So it was really more of a cred toss between two places. Bronsburd’s landed barcodes up. Incidentally, Grary also flipped a cred moments after powering up their last remaining shuttle, now filled with a contingent of their crew. His attempts landed on their side all three times. The cook (whose presence in the landing party could not be justified…had anyone bothered to question it) took note of this phenomenon, and gave Grary some advice: “Next time sir,” he said sagely, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, “don’t use the cube-shaped ones. Friggin’ dummy.” Grary took it to heart and went back to following his boss. ----- *A nubular-torque is…actually, don’t ask. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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amidalachick Registered: Aug '03	Date Posted: 2/11/06 9:38pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED Feb. 9th) like a cold bowl of noodles on a warm winter's day
	Bronsburd's back! squeals And you mentioned duct tape! OMG, I this update!!!11! Bronsburd’s face fell. He sighed heavily before going on, “Let me guess: an engine is floating away.” I love how he's so calm about everything... ”I kriffin’ fiddlekriffin’ nubular-torquing* braindrilling Kriffing GIVE UP!” he exploded, going momentarily airborne, his face glowing several shades of red deeper than the average Devaronian. He landed, and breathed savagely for a few moments. There was an awkward silence as the entire ship’s crew stared blankly at him with a hint of fright. He let it play out a couple moments longer than it should have. ...until now. Hilarious as always, Yodimus! -----signature----- "So I can open my own can of pudding, can I? Shows what you know, Marge!"
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oqidaun Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Jul '05	Date Posted: 2/12/06 9:55pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED Feb. 9th) like a cold bowl of noodles on a warm winter's day
	First off, Congrats to you for your nominations in Best Humor, Best Male OC and Best Ensemble Cast!!! Best underrated, too, but the fact this story of all stories remains "underrated" always gets my (there wasn't a picture of a goat readily available, although I've been known to post goat pictures in my livejournal). Secondly, Ack? The W reference! That's like opening a broadway play by coming in and wiping a booger on a random audience member. I was shocked, astounded and ew'd. Boogers aside, this was a great update!!! It had all of the necessary elements for a well balanced Planet Hopping snack (not a supersized full meal deal as Yodimus was no where to be seen and no attempts were made to sell anything to anybody at inflated bargain once-in-a-lifetime prices)--duct tape, swearing, mind boggling bureaucratic loopyness and a gonk droid. I love gonk droids. Gonk, gonk, gonkity, gonk... Brilliant stuff! "The duct tape came right off it, sir. Nobody knows how it happened.” Should have used bailing wire. Sage advice: Incidentally, Grary also flipped a cred moments after powering up their last remaining shuttle, now filled with a contingent of their crew. His attempts landed on their side all three times. The cook (whose presence in the landing party could not be justified…had anyone bothered to question it) took note of this phenomenon, and gave Grary some advice: “Next time sir,” he said sagely, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, “don’t use the cube-shaped ones. Friggin’ dummy.” Grary took it to heart and went back to following his boss. -----signature----- . . . . I'm so bad, I banned myself.
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 2/15/06 8:32pm Subject: RE: Planet Hopping (UPDATED Feb. 9th) like a cold bowl of noodles on a warm winter's day
	Ami: Love the ones in your excalmations. Eleven's a good number Thanks for reading, and double thanks for laughing. Bronsburd's the best, ain't he? The galaxy needs more morally definable straight-men like him. (cuz they make great joke butts) Oqi: Thanks for the congrats! And yeah, that gets my chicken too. (I think? Y'know, goats are underrated too any more. Where's the goat love anymore? What, just because they eat our sleaves we have to shun them from society?? Freakin terrible man) And oqi, if I ever, in some weird messed up turn of events, ever have the chance to open a broadway show, I don't think I could come up with a better way to open it than to rub a booger on an audience member. I love Colbert. His Colbert Report on comedy central is often funnier than the Daily Show. At least to me, I love satire. And gonks. But that goes without saying. As for full, supersized meal deals, stay tuned for the next update ladies and...ladies. Well, there might be a gentleman lurking...(Corellian Ale, when are you gonna catch up so I'm not outnumbered here!?) Anyway expect lots of hot Yodimus action this Friday. Yeah, that's right! I gave a date! And guess what? Since the chapter is gasp! already written, there's no way I'll miss the deadline outside of me getting hit by a bus or struck by lightning or burned alive or stabbed in the face or shot during a mugging or mangled in a car wreck or lost at sea or carried off by giant birds or stomped by a runaway elephant or captured by robots or electricuted by faulty wiring or shredded by an airplane engine or possessed by angry spirits or taken hostage by bank robbers or separated from the Matrix or burned alive by the will of the Sphinx gate or drowned in a flash flood or smited by God or devoured by rabid chinchillas. So...keep your fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I'm gonna go find the largest piece of oak I can, and knock on it. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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