Jabba's mouth is disgusting,Luke thought. The way the slime bubbles out onto the floor when he talks . . . ugh.
These thoughts were not helping his concentration. The debate team was doing what they did best – debating, and Jabba the Hutt was giving a killer argument about a "school issue". They were going to ban milk from the cafeteria! Blue milk! Why? All it does is get you really, really hyper and makes you have to pee about twenty times a day. Luke sighed. Explode just one vending machine, and you're marked for life. He tuned in just in time to hear the last of Jabba's arguments, which was "Blarg mooch guato poopa bla sarucho", which, roughly translated, means "It makes everybody go crazy".
"Up next, Luke Skywalker," Mace Windu intoned. There was a smattering of applause, as Luke stepped up to the podium. Then Princess Leia let out a whistle, and Luke's carefully memorized counter-argument suddenly flew out of his head. Great, the perfect time to get distracted. Well, he would just have to wing it.
Trying not to look at the princess (or Han, who was currently crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out), he cleared his throat and began. When he got to the part about how it was way cheaper than the Red Root Beer Jabba liked to sell at lunchtime, Jabba, of course had an objection.
"Objection noted. Proceed, Mister Hutt."
"But wait, I wasn't fi –"
"Quiet please."
Jabba began jabbering while Luke silently fumed. That slime ball always gets his way, he thought. Well, he picked the wrong guy to start up with. Jabba's going down. Look out below!
"Objection!" he yelled.
Master Windu turned. If he had spectacles, he would have adjusted them. "Young Skywalker, please wait until Jabba has fini –"
"I must be allowed to speak."
Han couldn't help letting out a whoop. I'm rubbing off on him,he thought.
Master Windu stared. "You have presented your argument already."
"You'll find I'm full of surprises." Luke decided to take advantage of the now-quiet room. He gave his hand a small wave. "You will concede to allowing blue milk in the cafeteria, and stop selling that awful Red Root Beer. Oh, and there's this concept called 'soap' that you may never have heard of . . ."
Some of the crowd began to feel woozy under the Jedi mind trick. Some had their eyes crossed, blank looks on their faces, with their mouths slightly agape. Jabba, however, began a slow chuckle. He may look like he came from the clearance rack at Blaart's Best Tack & Ooze Joint, but he was smart.
"Your mind tricks don't work on me, shrimp – wait, why am I hitting myself?"
Okay, so they worked a little. But not enough . . .
C-3PO noticed something. "Um, Master Luke, you're standing on –"
"Shh! Let me handle this! As I was saying . . ."
"But Mater Luke, there's a –"
"—I said quiet! When you open your mouth, things screw up!" suddenly, the floor beneath Luke's feet buckled.
Uh-oh.
"—trapdoor." Finished C-3PO.
Luke plummeted down . . . into the pit where Jabba's pet rancor, Mr. Mutilator, was waiting eagerly. It salivated with glee, jaws gnashing and claws slashing.
"Crap-nuggets," Luke muttered to himself. "From now on: always listen to C-3PO! Also: how as I gonna get out of this one?" This was worse than last week's vending machine fiasco. But you know what? With a little help from the Force, he could take this thing. He looked up. The trapdoor was shut tight. Master Windu might have been strong enough to crack it open, but teaching for so long had left him frazzled and, to be honest, a little absent-minded. He tended to forget his lightsaber only to find it later, in his hand. Luke wished he had his own lightsaber, but all students had to keep theirs in the office during class. A nice big bone would have to do.
Just in time, for Mr. Mutilator lunged at him. He stepped aside, dodging its gore-encrusted claws. After a few swings, Luke managed to get a grip on the rancor's spiny back and swing up, clubbing it repeatedly over the head with the bone. He couldn't resist yelling "Die! Die! Die!" a few times. But it became apparent that the club had no effect on Mr. Mutilator's thick skull. Luke dropped off its back to the floor, panting. This was harder than gym class with Principal Yoda. Suddenly he remembered the pencil in his pocket. That could do the trick. He took it out and drew a deep breath (no pun intended), closed his eyes, and . . . walked smack into a wall. Okay,he thought, so closing my eyes doesn't always work. This time, he focused, took careful aim, and threw . . . and it hit Mr. Mutilator, straight between the eyes, driving deep into the skull. The perfect shot. The rancor keeled over and died.
"Woohoo! Yeah! Take that, ya great mutant boogar!"
Mater Windu, meanwhile, heard the scuffling underfoot, heard the rancor's growls, and felt the room shake when the beast had dropped dead. He saw Jabba cackling. He sighed, thinking maybe it was high time he thought about retiring.