The Furthest Planet from the Bright Center of the Universe -or- Down and Out on Tatooine

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This world is a dive. Seems to attract a lot of desperate people these days. An entire planet full of desert, I can't imagine why anyone would want to live here. Me, well... I hitched a ride with some smuggler, but the fragger left me here, and now I've got to steal to get a ride out. Somebody once told me about this gangster on Tatooine who's so rich and fat he eats beautiful women. It's a damn shame, I say, but I had to go see for myself if the stories were true. So now I've got my hand wrapped around a beautiful chunk of gold and I'm not letting go. The palace is quiet and the suns are on the horizon, so I'm slipping out before one of these freaks is ready for another hit of whatever it is that keeps them floating all night. Two sleeping guards up ahead, a door to raise, and then the day belongs to me, and I'll be gone from this dusty rock. If anything were ever so easy... The guards awaken and cross their halberds across my path. I don't speak their language, but it seems they're on to my little thievery. They're not very secretive about it. They bare pointed teeth and menacing tusks and start yelling at me. There's got to be another way out. I turn around, and I'm staring down the barrel of a rifle.

His voice comes from inside a helmet, through some sort of comlink into an electric, distorted whisper. "If you live another day, I'll be very impressed."

"Fett, you're a reasonable businessman. I'll give you this artifact to give back to Jabba, plus all the chips I have on me if you let me walk out that door." He stares at me for a long time, considering.

Finally he says, "I doubt you have enough credits to even buy me lunch, or you wouldn't be stealing from Jabba." He turns and walks back toward the throne room of the notorious gangster. I have no choice but to follow. Those huge pigs are breathing down my neck, and I've got nowhere left to run. The hallway seems longer in this direction; maybe I'm just clinging to the final moments of my life. The smell of the corpulent hutt slaps me in the face like a TIE fighter, and the sight of him sickens me. This guy needs to go for a slither around the palace once in a while. The huge red orbs in his head open up and bear down on me, crushing me with their glare. He laughs, a dreadful sound that rumbles through my spine and raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I think I'd rather take my chances trying to kiss Vader than talking to Jabba for even a moment. My adrenaline begins to pump. Fortunately, I don't speak the language of this beefcake.

He booms forth with, "Chokola, bongrula, hammata, mazzarati," or something, I can't understand a lick of it. I've got no hope for the future. I just smile and think about the circumstances that brought me here.

"Your plumpness," I say in a final moment of insanity. "Your arms are so short you can't even scratch the top of your head. I wonder why someone doesn't just sneak up behind you and choke you to death with a large chain."

He pounds a button on the arm of his slab-throne. I never had the aspiration to become a professional thief, I just kind of fell into it. When I was a kid I wanted to be a Jedi knight. Oh well. Maybe in my next life.