"He had that smirk, the one he'd give you when he'd done something you couldn't."―Gavin Darklighter
Daddy died six hours later. But he did so knowing that his eldest son, Yours Truly, had been one of the top 30 or 40 rebel starfighters who
Anyway, my quest toward the grail of becoming a credited rebel fighter on IMDB started when I was on the business end of a Category 5 tugjob from Leia Organa the night of the Aldera West Sadie Hawkins Mixer. She was a somewhat aloof "Diplomat Brat," with a curvy figure and morals to match. I was a brash young flight trainee on the prowl for galactic rear. It was a match made in Doaba Guerfel.
Fast forward two years. Le-Le's been kidnapped by that angry, domed, fallen angel, and guess who gets the call to lead the mission to restore her womanly honor/blow up some crazy shit? Biggs Darklighter, that's who. The one who made the Kessel Run in less than 11 parsecs.
Oh, wait. It wasn't me, was it? And who, you ask, got the call? How about some whiny little farmboy from Tatooine who was all into his twin sis' junk. Creepy if you ask me. Rumor has it the Jedis are all castrated at birth anyway. Pretty tough to make the kind of sweaty, Wampa-love that my girl so craved if you're a space eunuch. What? No, in fact my name is not Captain Obvious.
So, anyway, prissy and his midget droid took the lead at Yavin, leaving stud fly-boys like Wedge Antilles and me to clean up his mess and let him swoop in to steal the money shot.
And the majestic victory ceremony? "Ohh, ohh, Luke, you're sooooo brave. Mmmmm Han Solo, look how hot you are. Wow, Chewbacca, you get angry and give the most intimidating pant-hoots. How very charming. Here's a great big medal and sexy wink from everyone's fave Princess." I wasn't even honored in memoriam. Tacky shit, homie.
Biggs Darklighter should have kissed the girl. Biggs Darklighter should have been the Jedi Messiah of the Galaxy. Biggs Darklighter should have procreated with Leia. What beautiful space babies I'd have sired. But fate is a cruel Sarlacc.
Leia Solo? Really? Sounds like a Hweg Shul prostitute.
And two words about Han: Size Queen.
By the way, Luke, be sure to give your old man my best. Tell him how much I enjoyed the Fire Sweater of Death he bought me that special night. Things have been just dandy ever since.