Author Bonko24 (Works) is fine with any constructive edits you wish to make to this literary work.


Bonko Klemming and the Regular Clone Helmet (That is Utterly Mundane)Edit


In a world full of unspeakable evil, namely blue, is a man, I mean baby, named B2-K4, I mean Bonko Klemmings but before his name was Bonko Klemmings it was B2-K4, who is on a mission, but I really wouldn’t call it a mission, to do stuff. You heard me, stuff.

Enter the tale of Bonko Klemmings and the Holy Grail, I mean helmet. Yes, Bonko Klemmings and the Regular Clone Helmet (That is Utterly Mundane). A story jam-packed full action, intrigue and dare I say, WORDS! Ugh! Gah, the pain is ‘cough’ too much! There are words in it?! Something Star Wars related with WORDS in it?!! AAAAAAARRRRGGHHHRPFargtl! AAAAHHHHHH!!!... ‘Grunt’…(I think I'm okay now. That was a bit of a shocker) It’s a story for the ages set in the vast and retconed Star Wars universe where even crap like this could pass for canon, but it isn’t unfortunately. Follow Bonko Klemmings (figuratively speaking of course) as an infant, soldier, infant soldier, and bailiff where bunches of grapes lurk around every corner (figuratively speaking of course). Alas, I, the narrator, must go now, for I am dying since I spoke of the wORDSSS! AAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!! There isn’t much time left, escape while you have your sanity and what remains of mine…

The Birth of a HeroEdit

The year was 31.5 BBY. The cloning masters of Kamino had obtained the DNA of a certain Jango Fett, and were proceeding with the preliminary procedures associated with the production of a grand clone army for the Republic, under the direction of the Jedi Knight Sifo-Dyas. Before beginning the primary portion of the cloning, Kaminoan scientists experimented with Jango’s genes producing 12 clones to perfect a soldier who would be group oriented, intelligent and obedient. Naturally, defective clones were produced in the process, 6 total, with flaws ranging from mental retardation to loose stools, really loose stools. I mean stools so loose, well you’d rather not know. All 6 of these clones, the prototypes of an army worthy of song, were disposed of. Or so it is believed….

“What news of the prototypes, Taun We?” asked Kaminoan Prime Minister Lama Su.

“They’re good as dead sir. Jarmy Fe reports the infants will not last another week. She is ready to deliver them from this world at your order. Fortunately, the remaining six will continue their training, and the Gene Team will fix flaws noted in them in our future clones. Primary production of the army can begin as soon as this detailed analysis is complete.” declared Project Coordinator of the Clone Army, Tuan We.

“Very well, spare me your life story. Tell Nurse Fe I will be visiting the lab in one hour to inspect the defective units. Make sure no action is taken until then. Today will be a solemn day for the Kaminoan people, let them die with dignity.” murmured the depressed Lama Su.

In the depths of the Gene Team laboratory, a certain clone, B2-K4, lonely in his azure nutrient cylinder, floated freely. His life had been boring with the constant floating and smacking his head against the inch thick plasteel that separated him from the world. Little activity surrounded him as well, only the infrequent steps of creatures foreign to him, the soft beeps of clone development machinery, and the irritating bubbling of his tank’s aerator. He was utterly sick of it. Every second the baby wasted in his giant tank of Kool-Aid was more than he could bear. The only exciting moments of his life had been when he heard, not seen, for his eyes had not developed at the time, a wild bear-like creature rampage through the lab after escaping its cage in a very remote room of Topica City. Therefore, for the first time in his short 9-month life, with nothing better to do, he opened his eyes.

Disgust welled up in the clone’s gut as he took in the scene lade before him. "Ugh! This place sure tastes better than it looks!" B2-K4 thought. Immediately in front of him, and surrounding him for that matter, was the nutrient bath that he had felt and tasted before, but had not seen. It was blue; an evil B2-K4 could have never comprehended unaided by his eyes. Once his revulsion passed the clone looked beyond the fluid, and the plasteel he had felt before, perceiving the smooth white flooring, ceiling and tables that scattered about. The chairs were particularly interesting, hanging from the ceiling like spoons ready to scoop up and kidnap any fool foolish enough to rest their bottom upon it. Turning about completely B2-K4 saw that his tank was hugging the south wall with chairs and tables littered with equipment to the east and a sliding door beyond it on the east wall. Two more tanks stationed to his immediate left, with one more by the west wall. Across the room, northward, resided another door with cabinets to the immediate right and left and a computer in the northwest corner. Finally, a femur belonging to a now deceased Kaminoan scientist lay on the floor near the east door. No doubt, this was the femur the bear-like creature forgot to eat on his rampage.

This is all quite disturbing, yet oddly satisfying.” Thought B2-K4 “and I can’t help feel that I’ve seen this all before when I was being entertained by the pictures in my mind. Flash learning, yes that’s what it’s called. And if not it’s an appropriate name because learning the truths of this galaxy is about as enjoyable as being the victim of a public flasher, of which I learned about via flash learning. By this point anyway, I estimate I have learned the equivalent of the 8th year curriculum of a civilian child, in complete military application of course. Like what weapon is most effective against a public flasher. I don't think I'd be truly ready for this kind of info even if I was in my eighth year of studying. Well it sure beats public schools anyway.

B2-K4 was growing by the hour, and with his genes being experimental, his life course would be unpredictable. Would he serve as a commander in the clone army, or die in a week, or become incredibly intelligent, or maybe escape the bung hole that was Kamino and become a rugged and charming warlord with nothing better to do than steal a finely knit sweater, and the owners dignity with it? Perhaps, Perhaps. Only time would tell. However, time was not on this little clone’s side. For a mistaken Kaminoan nurse had given B2-K4, along with five other clones, a week to live based on her judgment of a broken healthometer, which read for B2-K4: “Minor heart explosions in patient may occur if your first name starts with ‘Jarm’”. Unfortunately, the nurse’s name was Jarmy Fe and so she had decided to mercifully end the young clones’ lives today and save the time. Jarmy’s reading for five of the other clones were equally tragic. Therefore, with these vital truths hidden from the mind of this clone and five of his brothers, B2-K4 wisely decided it was time to escape, time for adventure, time to get a nice pair of pants and a snug fitting helmet.

But how, considering he was only as developed as an average 1 year old (these prototype clones were kept in tanks longer to observe physical development),and the fact that an inch of plasteel separated him from his destination?

Hmm, I wonder what that thing is brushing past my foot,” Thought B2-K4. “Gaa” He shrieked as he turned his attention toward the nutrient tank’s floor where there lay a mechanical menace shaped like a cylinder but with a pointy stick protruding out of one end, and a handle out of the side. B2-K4, now in a mix of blinding rage (that he had not noticed this object before) and fear (of the machine) attacked the device with the intent to kill, the way that a child assaults an insect.

Gripping the monstrosity in a chokehold, B2-K4 fumbled upon a button, which he accidentally pressed, causing a shriek of pain to erupt from the device, as well as a furious spin from its small, pointy arm. Feeling a rush of victory, the baby slammed the mechanical menace into the plasteel wall, surprisingly, causing the wall to rip open. The milky blue solution spilled out as the opening grew. As B2-K2 continued to move the metal object around the wall, the hole in the plasteel continued to grow, causing much rejoicing on the clone’s part.

In retrospect the clone looked fondly back on this incident with the self-powered drill, mainly because the machine was so incredibly shiny, but also because it was so stupidly convenient (the best kind) that the solution to his problem was just right there, like the way bumbling authors just give their characters utterly unrealistic solutions to their problems, scratch-free, usually. (Why was there a self-powered drill lying on the floor of the clone’s tank you ask? Well I can’t tell you.)

Satisfied in his rampage of doominess, B2-K4 then released the power drill, watching it float hopelessly down, as he wallowed in the triumph one can only feel after conquering a common tool in battle. “Hmm would you look at that.” thought B2-K4 “The beast’s unhinged jaw tore a wonderfully large, and equally round hole in the plasteel. Now I, a 9 month old baby, can make my escape from this blue, stinky and blue (did I mention I detest blue) home to live life free in this new world that I’m sure will be quite exciting and not blue in the least bit. But how do I get out? I’m guessing these stubby sticks protruding from my torso should allow me to travel."

“Raindrops keep falling on my head. Just like the clone whose helmet’s too big for his head. (Wait that’s not right, you can’t rhyme head with head.) Raindrops keep falling on my head. Just like the Kaminoan who’s too long for his bed. Nothing seems to fit. Those raindrops keep falling on my head they keep falling. Apparently because I’m free! I’d much prefer slavery. ” Sung the Kaminoan nurse Jarmy Fe as she blissfully strode down an utterly plain hallway.

“Hey Jarmy! Free bagels in the lobby!” shouted Jarmy’s cousin and co-worker, Shui Fe.

“What’s a bagel?” replied Jarmy as she slowed her pace to a stop.

“Uh, I don’t know really.” Shui Fe said. “It’s like one of those foods our authors give us when they’re too lazy to invent a new food that would fit properly in our universe. You know like coffee, hamburgers, beer, wine, steak, stew, pastries, milk, cheese, butter, pizza, pop, tea, cake, beans, nuts, cookies-”

“Alright I get the picture… We really have all those things?”Said Jarmy Fe.

“Sure either those exact foods or variants of them like nerfburgers instead of hamburgers. But the laziness isn’t limited to food, it permeates our galaxy like a little fat kid’s fingers in a jar of synthetic sugar syrup, and yes sugar is canon too. For example, have you ever wondered why Humans are the dominant species of the galaxy, outnumbering any other individual species 10 to 1? Hmm? Or have you thought ‘Why was the clone template we chose Human’? Or why are so many of the species, individuals, worlds and events of our galaxy just so stupid? With the galaxy’s worlds why do planets like Hoth (ice), Endor (forest), Tatooine (desert) and Coruscant (city) have such a lack in their variety of ecosystems and why would our entire planet be covered in water, how original is that, a whole stinking planet covered in water? A better question is ‘How did we build a city on this planet?’, no one ever told me that, or if we’re supposed to be native to this bung hole ‘Why do we have two legs if we have no land to walk on here?’. I’ll tell you why, it’s because our creator(s) were too stinking lazy to think before they scribbled over the once good sci-fi that was Star Wars. Its times like this that I wish I was a Star Trek character. ‘Sigh’” explained Shui Fe.

“I like pie!” shouted a passerby.

“Hmmm. Well I for one refuse to believe that I’m a fictitious character from an idiot’s imagination, so that pretty much throws your whole argument out the window. And for your sakes, don’t talk to anyone else about this. You’d be surgically persuaded from your opinion if Lama Su heard of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m needed in the gene lab to help oversee the execution of the six ill clone prototypes, and no, I do not want a bagel. Good day to you.” said Jarmy Fe and she swiftly trotted off.

Little time had passed before Jarmy once again began humming to herself as she continued her stroll towards the gene lab: a small four-room complex, three of which contained all twelve prototypes, four to a room. In approximately 15 minutes, a 09:38 to be exact, the Prime Minister and herself would arrive to watch the execution. The procedure would begin by raising cloning tank temperatures to 3000 degrees C leaving the clones to become a thick meaty stew fit for a Hutt (they’ll eat anything so that’s not saying much). Indeed Prime Minister Lama Su intended to sell the liquefied clone vats to a top-notch Coruscant restaurant for the upwards of 5000 credits. Delicacies like these were usually not consumed by Humans, usually….

"I'm thinking "Ouch" should be a word for expressing this sensation I'm experiencing." thought B2-K4 when he awoke after a brief period of unconsciousness. "What the blue just happened anyway?! After pounding a hole in the wall out of my nemesis, was it not appropriate to celebrate with the escaping of my prison. Maybe I should of went with my gut and soiled all over the tank, even though I would have been swimming in it. Now the top of that round protrusion above my neck is throbbing, these four stubs coming out of my torso aren't making me move and now that my orifices aren't submerged I don't know how to use them. In retrospect they really should have taught me biology because it's hard to give a name to all these bulges and stubs I have."

Deciding to take action B2-K4 started by regurgitating anything wet and blue that was still in his system. Then opening that hole in his face, the big one, and pulling air in he thought "I want to see how this tastes". With sudden joy he repeated the process, perhaps 50 times more until bored he stopped and lay there. Unfortunately for him, he'd just discovered a vital body function, so B2-K4 was persuaded by his 'lungs' (a name he'd given the organs he imagined in his chest that were filled with air) to start 'breathing' (his coined term for pulling in air via his big face hole) once again. "See, now look what ya did. You've gotten yourself addicted to this vile 'breathing'! What next, you gonna start gambling!?" B2-K4 thought angrily to himself.

"Alright, what next." B2-K4 thought. "I'm clean from the goo but my 'pancreas' (the name he made for the round protrusion above the neck) still throbs and I feel a bit less witty than I was before this incident. I see no solution to that... Oh well. I still need to move so let's begin."

Seeing the cabinets on the north wall he decided to aim for those if he ever could get his limbs moving, as he now lay square on his back. However, after wriggling for 3 minutes the lad tasted something that would be a familiar flavor in his life. That was the taste of failure and bitter disappointment. It left something to be desired to say the least so, changing tactics, B2-K4 screamed for a good 30 seconds. "Ooooh, that's invigorating!!" he thought. Now thoroughly riled up, the infant twisted wildly in hopes of reaching the cabinets.

To his pleasant surprise, he did a barrel roll and then commanded himself to repeat this fine process. As the seconds and rolls passed he finally reached the cabinets, which hugged the floor to his benefit. "Now good sir, I'm going to have to ask you to open that cabinet. Don't make any sudden motions or this very shiny weapon will leave a large hole in your chest. But don't worry it won't be spraying blood and everything because this cauterizes the wounds it creates. You won't bleed to death, I know that's a big fear among you hicks but you'll be safe. Except of course for the large hole in your chest. So go ahead and open the cabinet." B2-K4 thought to himself as he recalled his flash lesson on dealing with civilians. He figured the imaginary threat of large clean wounds would be a good incentive to get up and open that door to whatever it was that was behind it.

Heaving with all his might, B2-K4 flung himself off the floor and into the cabinet. Unfortunately, that did little but spoon-feed his ravenous pancreas-ache and chip a bit off his self esteem. “’’Perhaps the squishy thing in the pancreas they always talked in flash lesson will be of assistance to me… I believe they called it a brain.’’” He thought. Using his brain for once B2-K4 decided to prop himself against the side of the cabinet and pull on the round hole rather than puncture it with brute force.

To his grandiose pleasure, and dismay of the extra-dimensional creatures betting against his success, B2-K4’s absurd plan worked! Exclamation point! Within the cabinet of mysterious, mystifying, bed-wetting ambiguity, light spewed forth like a child after ingesting candy covered in questionable raw sewage. The baby was in eye glazing awe and after the standard issue cabinet bulb dimmed, he saw glinting in the artificial light a pasty white helmet, fit for a clone. Literally, fit for a clone, as it was the chosen helmet template for the first generation of the future clone army.

B2-K4, with sudden certainty, stood on his own two feet and raised his arms to feel the plastic-esk coating, guaranteed to stop something called a “Hiroshima”, whatever that is. It felt smoother than his own bottom and the cold black visor struck him as cool. With subtle gentleness he raised it ever so quickly and plotted it right on his pancreas.

A sudden completeness overcame him as B2-K4 adjusted the very oversized helmet as all he saw was blackness. “’’I am finally free from the blue menace, once and for all’’” he thought. Bliss was settling over him as he felt the first sense of night and he felt happy for the first time. That is, of course, until a blaring blue X filled his vision and an artificial female voice blared in his ears: “Please rotate helmet by 180 degree in order to access HUD display.”

“Blaaargrgehflurgen!!!” B2-K4 screamed as this message of doom pierced him to the core. He immediately obeyed, spinning his helmet to its natural position and the feminine entity was apparently appeased as the unspeakable color vanished. Instead he saw the utterly boring cabinet and the equally uninteresting smooth floor, though he had to admit he could just about eat off of it, yet B2-K4 was a filthy baby so that was not saying much. “’’Wow, discovering the prize of one’s existence sure is tiring.’’” He thought as he fell backward, what with the added weight of the helmet on his shoulders.

Distantly in the background of his muddled thoughts, B2-K4 noted his HUD displayed the current time and it was 09:38.

Iota SquadEdit

“What’s yer name booty?” asked Sarge.

Bonko was feeling nervous as he stood erect in the cramped headquarters of his new Jedi commander Sarge. Next to him stood his 3 new squadmates who had not yet been introduced to. They all stood with minimal head space in front Sarge, a middle-aged Jedi with a southern galactic accent... And a distinct odor. Most clones considered it a vile dishonor to be assigned with Sarge, but Bonko relished in his supremacy over his childhood nemesis: the janitor. And Fred said I'd never be a commando, well ho-fliddly-doo! I am!, thought Bonko. So He now replied to his commander stating his designation.

“B2-K4” Bonko said “but some people call me Null-8, you can call me RC-0739 if-”

“Shaaht up! Gimme yer real name booty! I aint gonna go spewin numbers in the heat of combat.” Sarge ordered.

“I understand sir. I am Klemmings. Bonko Klemmings.” said Bonko nonchalantly.

“Yeah… Well, I’m gonna call ya Scorchy.” said Sarge flatly.

“What?!” Bonko stammered.

“But sir,” interjected another clone “the name Scorch has already taken by a member of the Delta Squad.”

“Heh, heh. Put eme in ees place, frowin fancy multi-syallable names at me.” murmured Sarge in a tone that disturbed his troops. "So what's yer name midget?" He asked the clone standing next to BK.

"It's Booster and I find that offensive! If you want respect from me you'd better at least refer to me as a stubby humanoid. I'd prefer if you'd just treat me normally, like everyone else!" Booster replied.

"If you want me to treat you like everyone else you'll have a blaster bolt in yer multi-syllable head. Anyway onto Mr. Macho Macho Man. What's yer name, fathead!"

"Jeffy, Sir." replied Jeffy.

"Alright Sir Jeffy. I like you: short, sweet, and to the point ya fathead." Sarge commented.

"Thank you sir." said Jeffy.

"Alright finally we have cap'n fidgety, what's yer name and what's jammed in yer craw." commanded Sarge.

"I'm RC-0444, but you can call me Fouro or Super Craw or Duck A La oRange, or Super Craw, or Fouro!!! I have a very pointy stick jammed in my backside to prevent me from entering a state of hyperactive bliss."

"Well good health to you Spazzy. My name is Dupree but you may never call me that or your left foot will be gnawed off by wild gundarks. Dismissed!"

The Battle of GeonosisEdit

“You ever wonder what things will be like, in like, a billion years? I can see humans traveling to a galaxy far far away to escape the hustle and bustle and live life as peaceful hunter-gatherers on some planet, say Earth, yeah that’s a pretty good name. Anyway, eventually they’ll forget where they came from and start to progress towards the ultimate goal of space travel which they once used as a commodity, but had forgotten. Ah well, a clone can dream can’t he?” Bonko peacefully said.

“Stop babbling ya idiot! Can’t you see we’re about to die?!”Yelled Sarge.

Indeed, death seemed nearby for the Jedi “Sarge” and his elite squad of Republic Commandos. As the mighty Seargent Dupree and his oddball squad was backed onto a cliff by a small group of stupid growling Genosians. Sarge then pulled the old gradeschool zinger and yelled. "Your fly's down!" And the genosians, obviosly not wearing pants, were then befuddled and were cut down by a wave of laser fire. Sarge bent down to examine the genosians afterward. "Huh, geese they relly didn't ha' their fly's down. Mus' be mah helly-met."

“Some battle, eh guys?” Squad leader Jeffy asked as the squad entered their private quarters.

He was readily responded with a thunderous cheer and applause from his squad. Fouro, particularly enthusiastic, leapt onto the holo-projection table, dancing, hollering and shaking his booty into the projected image of a Geonosian. Soon Bonko and Booster’s cheers subsided, but not for Fouro, who continued his spastic celebration on the table.

“Alright c’mon.” chided Jeffy after what seemed a solid minute of shenanigans.

However, Fouro was not satisfied. After all, he had just survived the single greatest battle in recent history and for several days now, he had been on the battlefield or under the strict watchful eyes of Sarge, or both. Who was Jeffy to ruin his fun? Fouro promptly sent a swift shake of the booty in Jeffy’s direction. “This is how you can tell we’re 10 years old” thought Bonko.

“Enough Fouro!” shouted Jeffy, although his attempts were futile.

Finally, sick of the nonsense that was once entertaining, Jeffy swung his DC-16 blaster rifle at Fouro’s ankle, tripping him in one swift chop and after what seemed to Jeffy a satisfying thump, all was quiet. All was quiet excluding Fouro’s irritating moaning that is.

“So, anyway, how many rusties do ya think ya nailed today?” Booster asked, attempting to make conversation. “I know I got 26, give or take.”

“Eh, I don’t know.” Jeffy responded nonchalantly “I lost track around 40. How about you Bonko?”

“I got 2. Yeah, just two… Oh, but I also took out a tank and a B-1 carrier after you assigned me to guard that rock.” Bonko replied.

Not a jaw in the room was left upright after a claim like that, nor a pair of pants uncrapped. Thankfully clone body armor did not count as pants. Taking out tanks was a Jedi’s job and a single B-1 transport held 50 droids. Sadly this moment was ruined by a 'yo mama' from Sarge, who resided in the next room.

Stranded on DantooineEdit

Feeling exposed without the warm embrace of his helmet, Bonko frantically scurried back and forth searching for anything even remotely resembling a helmet. Dirt, leaves, rocks and rodents were all equally appealing choices at that time and the chance to the rest atop Bonko’s somewhat misshapen head was free to all. Alas, after sampling each accessory he still felt naked.

Defeated Bonko decided to lie down when suddenly he heard a rustling coming from the bushes. "Great Mandalore! If someone sees me looking like this I’ll be scarred for life, emotionally that is. A person seeing my face can’t really scar me physically, can it? Or can it scar them? Gaah, if only I had paid attention during the transferable disease course in the biology flash lessons. Alright, calm down Bonko. My squadmates took off their helmets with no adverse effect. Maybe I’ve grown too reliant on my helmet and it’s HUD or maybe it gives me security. Nah. I’ll just hide behind this here rock until the scary bush goes away." Thought Bonko. Quickly hiding behind the sizable rock he had chosen, a pebble, which he held over his face, Bonko watched as the rustling in the bushes turned out to be a plastic bag blowing through.

The Legacy of K-39Edit

Not many folks in the galaxy were familiar with droid executions. But, according to the ruling of Juggernaut War Droid vs. Tadithu Hermol some 4000 years ago, all murderous acts performed by a fully sapient droid, and thus by choice would result in decommission. Although if murder was indeed a programmed function of the droid its creator would receive punishment and the droid would undergo program conversion or drafting into the Republic Military. These cases were no longer commonplace in the Republic however, because legally droids must contain programming inhibiting free will, forcing them to be servants to their squishy masters.

“Mr.39, how do you plead?” requested Judge Hriu.

“Guilty your Squishiness.” replied K-39

“Tell it to the Judge!”

“You are the judge Sir.”

“Oh, yes of course. Well then, do you have a last request?”

“Yes, I do. I wish to speak with my beloved droid-wife V-28.”

“Very well. Bailiff! Bring out the holotransmitter.”

“Yes Sir” replied Bonko.

As Bonko dragged out the severly outdated holotransmitter he noticed that one of the jurists, no doubt the rodian toddler, had thrown a rock at his backside. ‘Hmm I’ll have to shoot the brat’s bloody head for that’ he noted.

“My only regret is that I never met Oprah Winfrey. I’ll see you on the other side.”K-39 said to V-28 through holophone.

“Other side of what?” asked Bonko after communications had closed.

“I don’t know. Is that not what people say? Who knows, I could be restored by a junk dealer someday, live on to perform in Coruscant’s show tunes. I’ve always wanted to wear a tux you know.” grumbled K-39.

“Uh yeah… Well, I just asked cause that usually refers to, ya know, heaven er something. I didn’t know if you were religious.” fumbled Bonko.

“Yeah well, I knew what you thought but your wrong. Robotology is for emotion chip meatbags.”

“Hmm… Well I hope you've had a nice life."

"It was filled with pain and misery." It resonded plainly.

"Yes, of course. So if we’re all done here I’d like to execute you now!” Bonko said cheerfully.

“Proceed.” K-39 replied grimly.

As the oddly religious robot was lead away for execution, a shouting person was lead forward. "Get offa me you smelly wingy beasty!" It was Sarge! Bonko was filled with joy and dread all at the same time. Sarge, almost as is the author(s) deigned to make Bonko miserable suddenly looked at him. "Eh! Booty! Howzit goin' Booty?" The courtroom laughed at Bonko at the odd nickname. "Booty?" The judge echoed. Bonko sighed. "Sarge this isn't the time for small talk. What're you doing here anyway?" Sarge chuckled. "Well I was arreasted for attacking our own army. I was 'to caught up in the battle' they said. No such thinga-ma-jig says me!" And as the two talked endlessly the whole courtroom started to snore. "Hmm, who knew droids and aliens could snore." Sarge agreed. "Yeah, and whah does it seem like some external farce (yes, farce) is constantly handin' us out little tiddy-bittys of helpins." Then, almost as if the world was agreeing with Sarge his lightsaber rolled to his feet. "Hey it's my ultra dangerous flashy light! Whoo!" Bonko glared at the weapon, it was blue, and Bonko nearly went into a rage. Then eventually, the two left the room, severing Sarges bonds with the lightsaber.

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