Dear Padmé:Life is so, so, so very trying ever since you deserted me. No matter how hard I try, and you know I try very hard - nothing seems to go right. You wanted a united galaxy, Padmé, and that's what I've sworn to give you, but I keep being thwarted at every turn. Rebels! Scum! They seek to disestablish and overturn the order that my Master and I have imposed. They call it a "totalitarian dictatorship". I call them unenlightened fools who deserve nothing less than a slow, painful death under the probes of a fully-equipped torture droid. I can barely take a rest, Padmé. There is always one thing or another - like today. Why is it that every time I turn my back for ONE MINUTE, something HAPPENS on this Battle Station!
I spend a few hours meditating in my meditation capsule and we run out of toilet paper.
I spend a day trying to sort out the toilet paper shortage, and then suddenly there's a diahorrea outbreak.
I tackle the outbreak and institute proceedings to determine which of our staff simply lack the mettle for serving the Empire, and the next thing I know, people start layering the floors AND WALLS with excrement, there is *shit* in the vents, pots of weed appear out of NO WHERE (how the frack did they even get imported into this station, evidently there is a security breach which the ADIMRAL will be held personally responsible for - this is what happens when you promote one of these upstart females, why can't I have a dependable MALE ADMIRAL) and then the bloody pipes start breaking left right and centre -
But of course, you know that it's just a turn of speech, don't you, Padmé? I have nothing against you. Or most women. In fact, I haven't had anything against any woman since that time in your ship, during the bloody wars that kept us apart for too, too, long - and you know I never did like the holomags, Padmé, nothing beats the real thing, and you were so warm, and alive and Captain Panaka wasn't looking and do you know why? Because I fiddled with his head, that's why! But I digress -
The Force. The Force is making fun of me. AGAIN.
And you always said I should take care of my health, Padmé. So I did. I had a vacation. A sort of working vacation. I went to Hoth. Did some skiing. Fell off the last jump which pissed me off because I shouldn't have fallen off, and I WOULD NOT have fallen off, I am an expert with the skis and even IF I WERE NOT (which I AM), I *could not* have fallen off, because the Force is Strong Within Me, and I would have Force-flipped myself into a better landing position, or avoided that frozen-over block of kriffing ICE covered with kriffing SNOW entirely; were it not for a bloody urgent call from Tech Support, or someone, it escapes me now, but the POINT is: THE POINT IS - someone called me, and told me there was Brown Liquid coming out from my chambers.
MY chambers.
BROWN liquid.
It's like a kriffing freak show, this Battle Station. Like I can't afford to so much as karking *blink* or else next thing maybe someone WILL smuggle Ewoks aboard because they bloody think they're PETS, or that they're ALLOWED TO HAVE PETS ON BOARD THE SHIP and well they would be WRONG - there are NO PETS on the Death Star, we are committed soldiers, we are Agents of Doom And Destruction, and we will be RUTHLESS in our efficiency.
...please don't let this upset you, Padmé. You know I am only doing all this for you. You're all that has kept me going these lonely years.
Sometimes I think I am losing my mind.