Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Who is Anakin's father?

The geek corner of the galaxy is reporting [SPOILER ALERT] that the next edition of Star Wars will reveal Anakin Skywalker's father.

Big deal. If you've been paying attention you've known the answer since Episode I.

It's Jabba the Hutt.

Consider the evidence: What Jabba wants Jabba gets. And Jabba (Episode VI) has a taste for pretty girls, that can only be compared to RenReb's unspoken (but endlessly blogged) attraction to Russell Crowe.

Here's how it probably went down [Note: I wrote my own, but a Google search revealed something even better):

“Ju-tu moolia churm!” Jabba bellowed one morning upon waking up in a pool of his own vomit “Goosh neena plurb known-yah!”

Translations by Google: “God I’m hungover!” “What the hell happened last night?”

A jittery protocol droid ambled forth. “Oh mighty carriage-endowed Jabba! Last night you accidentally ate… oh dear… your dancing metal bikini slave girl!”

“Bantha-podo!” Jabba blurted, smacking the droid with a flabby hand “Jippo dun tanna mass torga DU tuppa doie-yah!”

Translations by Google: “Horse-crap!” “I fully intended to eat that saucy wench – AND her metal bikini!”

The droid picked himself off the floor “A trillion apologies oh cellulose one. Might I suggest you find a new slave girl to drag around?”

“Jaaaaaa…. Meen toya!” Jabba pondered “Goosh yuppa je joppa!”

Translations by Google: “Ahhhhh! Good idea!” “I shall hit the bars!”

The Cantina was one of the most happening bars on the planet - everybody went there on a Friday night to have a good time (and buy power convertors) Some nights they’d have live bands, other times they’d fire up the old karaoke machine, but young Shmi Skywalker didn’t much care either way - if there was a gaggle of horny moisture farm-boys around she’d be happy.

Mulling over her third blue milk-colored drink Shmi felt the presence of someone slide up behind her. Maybe it’s the hunk I made eyes with earlier, she wondered, unconsciously sniffing her armpits. Armpits OK she turned and saw:


“Muh cha dunno de banka?” he blurbed out, a stream of phlegm tricking down his chin and onto Shmi’s miniskirt.

Jabba’s droid waddled up. “Excuse me. The mighty artery-clogged one asks if he may buy you a drink.”

“Ask him what kind of car he drives” Shmi snapped. The droid relayed the question to Jabba, who immediately laughed.

“Har har har ho! Chon dunno konk je nobba bonko – chon bonko muh hassa duh chon!”

“Jabba states that he doesn’t have to drive a car – his private chauffeur drives for him!”

Shmi, always a sucker for money, was impressed. “Rich, huh?”

“Gujeppa…. Chuin buine com passa duh gubba-jeeb.” Jabba whispered into her ear, careful to only get a little drool on her blouse “Chum passa du tuppa doie-yah yuppa je onna”

The droid looked somewhat flushed, then said “Jabba asks if you would accompany him back to his palace-“

“Palace?” Shmi jolted out.

“Yes, his palace,” the droid continued “He’s got a... metal bikini he’d like you to try on.”

“Lemme get my purse” Shmi cooed softly. She was sold – sure he was disgusting, but he was RICH and disgusting.

After a couple of weeks she grew tired of being drug around by a chain (the appeal wears off) but enjoyed the otherwise lavish lifestyle enough to stick around. Then one night after a nasty domestic dispute Jabba tried to eat her and it pretty much ended right there. Enraged by her not-wanting-to-be-digested insolence Jabba sold her to Watto for a pittance, dooming her to a life of slave-dom. Little did Shmi know that because of her time with Jabba she now carried inside her the seed of a man who would become… [SPOILER ALERT] Darth Vader!