GASP as frustrated middle-aged women in latex costumes are ogled by overweight jedi knights (look, I'm a fat bassad myself, but I do myself the dignity of refraining from Jedi-ragging up in public.) SWOON at the prices demanded for home-vaccuum-formed hoth battle playsets and Palitoy Action Force mail-away Krakens complete with nets (I still want one of those red-tie-fighter-esque Roboskulls though!) SCREAM as the third twi'ilek from the right in the Coruscant cantina secne in Ep II signs figures of him/herself for a portion of your rent money. (Never recovered from the first guy who played Mas Amedda - not rehired for later prequels by Lucas unmysteriously - he sat at a desk with figures of himself, idly chatting to passers by, doodling something on a napkin - how he was going to kill his agent probably - and charging a fair penny for his moniker.) I'm sorry if you are one, but if I go and find anyone even hovering near a Terry Pratchett book, or dressed as one of the characters, I am going to harpoon them through the back, drag them to Blair Drummond Safari Park, have their bleeding death throes enhanced by randy gorillas, then frisbee their flailing corpse into the lion enclosure. . . then stuff the remains up an elephant. Anyone going, or been? If that's the case, is it worth it?