San Joaquin, CA Bugs

Well, one of my lovlies, (Darth Scooter denies all knowledge and Master Exeter is just confused) has brought in either a cricket or a katydid and chased it under the computer tower. It might well be another type of insect as the chirping is not what I am used to hearing from a cricket but it is pleasant, once I figured out that it was not my harddrive creating some new noise and about to blow up.

Meanwhile the boards are quiet again. Shing...ing...ing...ing...ing.

And Josh, how is your back? Do I have to take Helmet for an extended trip?

Golda

 

--- Update ---

Back is doing much better, have some pain, but most has past

 

hurrah!

take good care of yourself while you heal... we can't have a jacked-up sergeant-at-arms.

and DON'T do that again!

 

Seriously, what IS up with the boards? This one is quiet, the other one I frequent is quiet...is everybody basically ok...?

- Kai

 

Working on costumes, so havent dwelled here much lately =D.... Vader, Mara Jade, Lightsabers, and more keep me quiet =D

 

Dog Days of August? Too busy weekends? Alien invasion?

In my case, unruly clients shouting at invisible people.

 

Is that better or worse than having them yelling at VISIBLE people?

 

Yes, it is quiet... too quiet. This will take some looking into.

It was not dark, and it was not even the least bit stormy? but it was night. Well, call it evening; half-past five at the latest.

[Rattle of springs and gears]

After discovering that my watch was no longer working my investigation was under way.

Questions poured from my mind like the cold, dark rain falling from the moderately darkened sky. Why was it so quiet? Where was everyone? What had happened to my watch? Did this unearthly silence have unsavory consequences? And why was this dark rain pouring down from above so dark and oily?

I stepped out from under the Sandcrawler, shaking the grease from a dozen leaky droids out of my hair; what they were doing in the middle of the Jundland Wastes I?ll never know.

My first clue lead me to the Skywalker moisture farm, it was a note that said: Meet me at the Skywalker moisture farm.

When I arrived at the farm I found a small, hooded figure waiting for me. She didn?t speak, but her lightsaber told me I should look somewhere else.

When I got to Mos Eisley I stopped at the infirmary to have the burns patched, the hair will just have to grow back on its own?.

 

...and the plot thickens...

 

Someone wanted me off that lousy desert planet, and I wasn?t in a state to argue. I figured the best way to leave, without having to answer a lot of inconvenient questions, was the Mos Eisley spaceport. Wander into any bar there and you?re certain to find some financially stretched pilot looking for a cheap fare. So why did I have to run into that crazy old man?

He dressed like some kinda wizard, went on and on about ?Going to Alderaan,? ?Using the Force.? And he kept calling me ?Luke.? I told him to get lost, but he wasn?t having any of it. So I told him there was a Luke out at the old Skywalker moisture farm, just to get him out of my hair. Maybe give that little saber-wielding fiend something to play with.

Finding transport off that rock was easy after that. I figured who ever wanted to keep me off this case had connections, big connections. That meant politics, and if you want big political connections the only place to go is Coruscant. So I did.

I knew I had to work my way up the political ladder, so my first bit of climbing lead me to the Vaders. A nice couple, but Darth would only talk about his new helmet. And with this guy?s breathing problem hearing him chinwag about his shiny hat was an unpleasant proposition. It was all his wife could do to keep him calm. In the end I left with little more the odd impression that a guy dressed in black should not have pink curtains. But I also had a name.

Progress at last.

 

<turns page to chapter 3>

 

The name I had been given was that of none other than the Supreme Chancellor himself. Well, it was his press secretary; still and all not too shabby.

After spending the day wading through various assistants, underlings, and adjutants I finally reached the Supreme Chancellor?s own hallowed Voice Mail, and a brief recording. Due to his restructuring of the Senate into a grand, all-encompassing Galactic Empire the Chancellor would be indefinitely indisposed.

Another dead end. Feeling I?d been lead on a wild bantha chase I was about to hang up when one particular voice option caught my ear. There was another who could help me.

One hair-raising ride in a mad droid taxi later I stood at the door of the Vice-Chancellor?s quarters. I gave the bell a few pulls, to no avail. Never one for subtlety I tried pounding on the doors.

This at least had some effect. In the space of mere seconds the doors had parted a few inches; a few mumbled words regarding being ?Press-Ganged? and several very unappealing suggestions in regards to various personal activities were expressed; and the doors slammed shut again.

I was about to try the pounding method again when someone beat me to it, literally.

And the lights went out?.

 

very funny... like i'd treat you like some sort of jehovah's witness

do go on.

 

>very funny... like i'd treat you like some sort of jehovah's witness<

It sounded convincing to me. Complaining about being "press-ganged." Yes, that is how I remember you.

And the Vaders were perfect. I could picture it so clearly..."this is my Helmet. I love my Helmet...I was press-ganged...My Helmet..." Yes works for me.

 

The cricket or whatever is still here and I have put a price on its head. I usually release any insects that I find in the house as I don't like to kill them, but this one is dead; as soon as I find him. He started at 3:30 this morning and is really loud. REALLY LOUD. I have enough trouble with my clients that have BBQ's with invisable people, or think they are either about to give birth or the baby is being delivered by FedEx. I don't need SuperCricket waking me up.

 

<chirp chirp>

 

Supercricket is no more. He came out of his secret hiding place and was attacked by both Darth Scooter and Master Exeter. Suprisingly it was Master Exeter that saw to his demise.

 

When I came to my head was pounding like a very big, very angry thing trapped in a very small space. I couldn?t see, but that may have been due to the blindfold over my eyes. I was strapped to a cold metal table tilted at a steep angle, machines were buzzing in the darkness. I heard motion behind me. And then a soft voice was whispering in my ear.

It said my investigations were unwelcome and unnecessary, and perhaps even a tad unhealthy. I was then treated to a very elaborate and colorful description of what would be done to me if I didn?t give up my, to my mind, increasingly fruitless quest.

Needless to say I agreed wholeheartedly. There are some things that don?t bear consideration, and I also knew I could go the rest of my life happily and contentedly never finding out what else that Skippy person my captor mentioned had in store for any who dared to cross her.

As quick as you can say ?bludgeoned by a blunt instrument? I was unconscious again.

Time passed.

I had odd visions of thousands of little plastic people, trapped in little clear plastic prisons. All hung from hooks on a wall.

At some point another robed figure, dressed similarly to the old man, but much more stylishly, in a ready-for-action kind of way, passed through my vision. She was staring at something in her hands and muttering, ?My precious??

Look I don?t invent ?em, I just report ?em?

When consciousness finally began to return, painfully I might add, I could tell I had been moved. I was lying in a soft, mossy heap; strange animal cries echoing in the misty air. I risked opening one eye, lush greenery surrounded me. No one seemed ready to hit me again so I opened the other eye. I was sitting in what appeared to be a heavy, vine-strung swamp; a murky bog bubbled happily a few feet away. At least there was no one around to club me.

That was when the little green creature appeared. He cracked me on the shin with his gnarled walking stick and began to ramble on about warriors and training and peacefulness and that ?Force? thing again.

After the last few days I figured I could do worse than accept his offer, if only he didn?t speak backwards all the time.

My cousin Chewie was right? I should never have gone into the P.I. business?.


the end

 

BRILLIANT! i laughed, i cried.

 

Bravo....encore....encore...Now what comes next? when is the new chapter? your fans are dying to know?