Dart Vader


Hmmmm. Nice try, shortie. Not very intimidating at all, I’d say. But I suppose that’s understandable when your stature measures a mere 6.6” (quite the come-down from the reported 6’-6” height of that other great villain of the Dark Side we all know and hate so well — and that didn’t even include the helmet, I hear!). Ever consider intergalactic lifts, my very vertically challenged Vader?

And, oh, that voice! Instead of a seriously deep rasp and suck of a scuba siphon giving way to the hearty sonorous basso rumble of a Mr. James Earl Jones, sounds like you can only manage to squeak out a weenie little whine — sort of like some 3-year-old’s afternoon birthday celebration pink teddy bear balloon leaking helium — followed by a voice that might do a Mr. Jesse Donald Knotts proud.

Heh, heh. May the farce be with you! “Luke, I am your feathers!”

Okay, okay, hold on! Don’t go getting your black silk Sith toga in a twist! We all realize you are a Dark Lord in your own right. (Though a quite little Dark Lord, at that.) But you’ve gotta expect a bit of razzing when you show up this late at a raucous alien cantina on the outskirts of Mos Eisley without your Tatooine minder. And exactly who was it that helped you up onto the bar?

Besides, man, nobody plays darts out here anymore, anyway. Ever since you and your buddies figured out how to hit triple 20s every single round telekinetically — from over 40 feet away, around the corner, and down the hallway to the head — it kinda took the sport out of the game, y’know. Tends to skew the odds quite a bit.

But props on the helmet, dude. That super-lacquered black with the mirrored sheen seems to just suck light right into it, like some mini-black hole of evil or something. I’ll give you points for style, that’s for sure. I’m sure you can still give all the little girlies and fanboys at the cinema quite a shiver when you want to — at least as long as you’re sitting on someone else’s shoulders!

Now, wait just a second! I didn’t mean anything by it. What’s a bit of joshing between bar mates? Just two guys sharing drinks and shooting the breeze is all. Speaking of shooting, what do you think you’re going to do with that blaster? You know they’re not allowed in here. Don’t want to get tossed out on that shiny little helmet of yours, do you?

OOOWWWW! Hey, I was drinking with that arm! Do you know how hard it is to steer a star cruiser left-handed? Besides, that was a pretty full top-shelf drink I had there! And if my entire shoulder hadn’t been instantaneously cauterized, I’d be in one helluva heap of pain right now. Maybe I’ll just pick that arm right back up and start beating you over the shiny dome with it. How would you like that, Tiny?

Erg-gg-gh! . . . stop . . . choking . . . me . . . from . . . ten . . .feet . . . away . . . you . . . little . . . weasel . . .

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bac2basics profile image

bac2basics 4 years ago from Spain

Have to say Rick...your mind does work in mysterious ways..How on earth did you dream this one up ?

rickzimmerman profile image

rickzimmerman 4 years ago from Northeast Ohio Author

Must've been nearby pub dartboard, too much Guinness, Star Wars rerun on bar TV, and just the wrong (right) combination of jalapenos, salted peanuts and vodka, I guess.

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