I didn’t think there was anything in the galaxy that I liked less than this planet. It’s desolate, dry, hot, and the sand infests everything you own. The location alone has been enough to make me crazy. That was until the other day when I ran into my first Toydarian and what a vile creature he was. Jabba’s Gammorean guards have more charisma than that little flying parasite. His sickly sweet odor and habit of hacking up phlegm every minute or so were enough to make me want to wretch. I had no idea that simply being near such a being could evoke such a response in me. You may be asking what could have been that bad. I’ll tell you.
There I was, walking through the streets of Mos Espa enjoying a chilled Lokian Wheat Tea when I saw that flapping cockroach coming towards me hacking like a 40 year death stick smoker; spitting some of the nastiest lung butter I have seen onto the sand. If I didn’t know better I would have said the sand actually fled the slimy concoction. I moved my hand toward a concealed blaster I picked up at one of the local shops. He looked far too unsavory for my taste and I wasn’t about to take any chances. It’s a shame he never gave me an excuse.
“Aren’t you a little young for a clone trooper?” he asked me as he approached. The comment was certainly forgivable. I am, after all, the spitting image of my father.
I relaxed the grip on my blaster. He clearly wasn’t there to do me harm. At least not conventionally that is. His body odor on the other hand was wreaking havoc on my olfactory senses. I tried to hide the repulsion from my expression.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked him.
“No, but I’ve heard a few things about you.” He said with disdain. “People tell me you’re looking to sell a ship.”
He hacked again and spit right on my shoe. It took all of my self-control to stop from ripping his stumpy wings out of his back and jamming them up his gelatinous snout. He started off badly, and was getting worse.
“Do you make a habit out of spitting on people?” I asked while pointing at my foot. “That’s a bit rude don’t you think?”
“You should have moved your foot. You’ve got shoddy reflexes for a clone trooper.” He spat again at which point I used The Force to deflect it back into his face.
He wiped his face with his sleeve. “Poodoo! That desert wind!” He shouted!
I chuckled. “That’s what you get.” Then I turned to walk away when I felt his stubby three-fingered hand pawing my shoulder.
…
OH NO! Storm Troopers! That little scumbag must’ve ratted me out. I have to go. To Be Continued…
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