Zonama Sekot was waiting in vain, trying to start an intelligent discussion with a bunch of planets who were not listening, because other planets don't listen.
But Zonama Sekot desperately needed somebody to talk to.
For Zonama Sekot was missing Jar Jar Binks. Absence was making the planet's heart grow fonder.
"I wonder what…he is doing right now…" Zonama sighed and had her living intelligence, Sekot, read a book to her.
"Oh, that's just what I wanted to ask you! Why am I losing my hair?"
That was the question that no one would be able to answer, even in the normal circumstances. Actually, everybody felt sorry, but no one knew what to say.
Michael was the one to melt the ice. "Zucchini! Lobster, zucchini, butter, butter!" He called Jacques to come to him.
Liz got it. "Jacques, he wants to apologise to you!"
"Apologise for what? And, who's that man?"
"Lobster!" said Michael with a shrug.
"Doesn't matter! Just say that you're sorry too. "
"All right, Mr. Lobster, I am sorry too. "
They shook each other's hand and sat down.
The sentient planet thought that this was the worst holobook in the entire Universe. Nothing could take her mind of Jar Jar and his sensual tongue. They had not kissed before they parted, and Zonama was regretting this muchly.
A couple of days had passed by, but it might have been millennia - Jar Jar was pretty sure that he had seen other galaxies moving away from his own, while he was contemplating what he had learned about manners and chivalry. There was, of course, another option: that rumours were spreading faster than the sublight speed of the hyperdrives and that, despite the hyperspace disturbance beyond the edge of the Galaxy, the other spiralesque dots of Universe's infinite beauty were now familiar with his plumber's butt and the tantalising fragrance of his feet.
At the same time, his desire to devour Zonama Sekot in a passionate act of love was not allowing him to think straight. He was a shadow of his former self and the said shadow had already been cast on the nearby planet of Bakura, causing each single piece of namana fruit to explode and the practitioners of Cosmic Balance to pray for the souls of their grand-grand-grand stepchildren.
Just as he poked the nearby sun with the tip of his finger in order to sterilise it after having accidentally pierced his tongue through Force, the Gungan noticed something approaching him.
Something menacing and furious. Something phantomagasmic and Sitholicious.
It was...
"DARTH MAUL!" Jar Jar interrupted the reluctant narrator because he was fed up with long descriptions with little to no purpose. His scream tore a wormhole between the Moddell and Bakura sectors, as the fallen Sith assassin hid himself behind the Kuna constellation, obviously ignorant of the fact that it was now shaped like Jar Jar's head. Or maybe he just didn't have an eye for details.
The two of them exchanged a bunch of angry looks, superlasering each other.
"YOUSA NO SPAKEN BERRY MUCH. DA ABILITY TO SPAKEN MAKEN ONESA INTELIGELLY, MESA SURE YOUSA KNOWEN DAT." Jar Jar offsided disparingly.
"Okay, I may as well speak, though I am supposed to be antisocial because that's what's cool! I am here to avenge a Human male by the name of Port-a-Potty!" Darth Maul kuildebocked fluctuatingly.
"YOUSA MEANEN HARRY POTTER? DA UNA WHO TRIEN TO KILLEN MESA WITH HIS KLINGHOFFER AND NOW BESA CANS?" Jar Jar c'sewed hosgrilgly. He had no time for this. He absolutely and totally had no time for this.
"Don't you correct me. EVER!" Darth Maul conceived starchyly. "Come out of that intergalactic space, I dare you to!"
"MAKEN MESA!" Jar Jar guanked very prudently.
Darth Maul moved the shy, blushing moon of Trindello out of its orbit, in order to demonstratively reveal his entire physique. By doing so, he caused a bunch of illegally-harvested timbre to hit the same random loser on Maya Kovel as it always would have.
Jar Jar stovamped glacierly in the bructuval sngience of his trwhnops.
For Darth Maul had no legs.
He had a pair of scantily-clad leg lamps!
"HOW WUDE, DARTH MAUL. YOUSA WEAREN PUMPS AND FISHNET SUCKLINGS. HEAR, IN MESA JARJARIC EMPIRE, BESA A STRICT, MODEST DRESSCODE. MESA NOT NEED HARRY POTTER'S KNICKERBOCKER TO BEAT YOU!"
Darth Maul frowned. All that slut-shaming was triggering his anxiety.
"You are such a kriffslider, Jar Jar and you know that. Do you even know what it takes for a Zabrak male to be emancipated? Do you know how hard I had to work for these leg lamps? Do you know what I mean? Also, these are stilettos, not pumps, you useless cretin!"
Darth Maul sat on the Sistermoon, the third moon of Endor, seductively crossed his leg lamps and lit them up, making a bunch of Ewoks bow to him from the second moon; until they spotted the sheer horror of shamelessly suggestive Sith tattoos in a very wrong place.
Jar Jar was not impressed.
"YOUSA THINKEN DAT MESA NO HAVEN DA SAME? PFFFT."
With that words, the admirable Gungan terrorist flashed.
The tip of his tongue, previously sporting a tonguelightchainsaw.
Now clad in a leg lamp covered in a thick woolly stocking and a plastoid slipper.
"MESA MODEST! MESA HAVEN VALUES!"
The two were ready for the big standoff.
Jar Jar looked at the numerous suns.
"MESA GONNA MAKEN HIM AN OFFER HESA CAN'T REFUSE." he proclaimed pipettely.
"What?" Darth Maul almost dropped his red saberstaff. "Are you talking to me?
"NO. MESA PRACTICEN MESA LINES FOR DA NEXT INSTALLO OF 'YOUSA DA BOMBAD'. DUH."
"Oh, please, I have been to Naboo and…and…oh, dear Force, I said Naboo!"
Jar Jar watched Darth Maul panic. The word "Naboo" must have meant something to him.
"Nööööööööööööööööööööööööööööööööööööööö." He cried.
"YOUSA NOW CHANELEN DARK WAITER, HE NO LIKEN DIS! HE FORCE-CHOKE YOU!"
Jar Jar had no mercy for one more emo in his life. He removed the underwear that was drying itself using the Monsua Nebula's radiation in order to get rid of all the bacteria from his long earstalks and used the super-flexible hanging rope and durasteel pegs to channel the dark side of the Force, in a way that amateur Darth Maul had never been capable of. He picked his newly-created lightrope and used it as a lasso to cut through the logs of Trindello that Maul was sending in his direction. With each single hit of the rope emitting Force lightning, the logs were turned into dominos and flying towards Maul.
"What on Dathomir is this swamphead doing?"
The numbers on perfectly-carved pieces of wood were getting smaller and smaller, until Maul ended with a blank domino stuck inbetween the front pair of his horns. He had read this in a story before, that had to be either death or rebirth, but he considered the author of the said story too stupid to believe. Now he was close to regretting it, for Jar Jar was writing his sin and his tragedy.
"MESA GOT YOU, DORK LARD! YOUSA NOW BESA BERRY BERRY DEAD! ANY LAST SPAKES?"
Darth Maul had no last words, but he had a desire for one last meal. Too bad that he could not reach to his home planet for it. Too bad that the domino clearly said that he was now a blank space.
And then, the emo Zabrak Nightbrother was dead. He was dead like a sarlacc outside of the armed bounty hunter tourist season, like a dianooga below a network of public toilets on Gand. All that remained behind was a pair of leg lamps.
Jar Jar was pleased. After Harry Potter, he got rid of a notorious Sith assasin. For there could only be one. And that was him.
However, he was in a bad mood. He had not seen his beloved Zordon Sectet was, for a while. He was not able to locate the Emperor Polyethylene either. And he was not happy for he lacked the ability to remember names correctly.
On top of it, he had a cavity on his unwisdom tooth. He quickly repaired it by inserting the dwarf planet of Megiddo in it, for it had lots of heavy metal, to the point some residents of nearby systems were calling it by exotic names such as "Metallica" or "Iron Maiden".
And then he used Darth Maul's stilettos to remove the extra planetary matter from his gums.
He could have used his own, but he felt that the tongueleglamp was yet to shine, in one final clash.
Or more final and semi-final clashes, depending on the format of the tournament.
Accuracy was never his strong suit.