Woo, more parody fic from me! CHEER DAMN YOU.

Anyways. Wow, it's only been a few months and already, General Grievous Fan-clichés are rolling in! Don't you love it? You know you do. I sure do. Because it means I can write more parodies!

Disclaimer: I intend no harm to people who can take these ideas and make them into good stories. I'm making fun of those that do not. I may even make fun of my own fic ("Destroyed by Fate," go read it. Please? Plug. God I'm lame), yet I still expect to be flamed for this.

Also, Grievous isn't mine. Sadly, he belongs to a man named George Lucas, or maybe Warren Fu. Not entirely sure about that one.

And so, without further ado, I present to you:

Grievous Clichés Part l'un: Resurrection.

A medical droid beeped noisily. General Grievous lay unmoving on a cold, metal table. For you see, he was not dead—he was unconscious.

"His brain is still functioning," said one droid to another. "The protective shell has kept it and his spinal cord from being incinerated. He is able to be fixed."

The droids began working—molten wires and shorted circuits were replaced with new, improved parts. They replaced his missing hands with new ones. Artificial organs were placed where his organic ones had been. The ash was cleaned from around where his eyes used to be. After hours of laboring, their task had been complete—the General was back in working order.

"General Grievous," said one of his few remaining Magnaguards, who had been overseeing the reconstruction.

"What do you want?"

"Rise."

"Who are you to tell me to rise, you clunking heap of bolts?" the General snapped, standing up and opening his eyes. He didn't see anything. He blinked. Still nothing. He reached his fingers to where his eyes were—and felt nothing. He had no eyes!

"You FOOLS!" he thundered at the medical droids, even though they were behind him—he didn't know that. "You repaired the rest of my body and forgot to give me EYES! You useless pieces of scrap metal, if I could find where you were I'd rip your vocabulators out—"

He stormed around the room, shooting his hands out wherever he heard noise, trying to grab the annoying machines and destroy them. All Hell broke loose in the medical lab, droids scattered around in fear, trying to escape the ranting Grievous. He continued reaching around, trying to find something—anything—to kill. Something in front of him beeped. He lifted his arm and slammed it into the something, and suddenly, he was burning again.

You see, that something had been a circuit box. He felt his wires overload, and the electrical current ripped through the protective shell around his brain and fried it, too. Once again, he had died. And this time, it was permanent.

The End.

I PROMISE that the next one will be better.