A line of very young, very stupid, and very buff men stood quite still in a room whose interior was completely gray. Each wore a blank expression on their faces, either because they were adept at concealing their happiness with obtaining jobs on the Death Star, or because their minds were as empty as their love lives. They were all staring at the small door, awaiting the entry of their new boss, Darth Vader.
Each of them stiffened as the door pulled back, revealing the dark figure of the Sith Lord who stepped in, rubbing his forehead… or, rather, the place where his forehead would be, had he not been wearing a helmet.
“Greetings, infidels,” said Vader. “You’ll have to excuse me. Last night, I attended a Hannah Montana concert and got drunk, trust me, it’s much better that way.”
A new employee snickered. Vader’s attention instantly shifted to the chuckling man.
“You!” Vader snapped. “Do you know who I am?!”
“Anakin Skywalker?”
“I find your abundance of knowledge disturbing—I mean, no! I am Lord Vader, I run the Death Star! You are my new employee!”
“Sorry, boss,” said the new employee.
“Where did you apply for the job?”
“Tarkin’s bed.”
“Very good—WHAT?!”
“Tarkin’s bed,” the man repeated.
“Are you telling me that you slept with Grand Moff Tarkin to obtain your job?” Vader inquired incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Dear Force, the man is gay! And all his talk about exterminating homosexuals… I shall have to inform the Emperor. What is your job description?”
“You want my contract?”
“What? No I do not want your contract! Just tell me what it is you do!”
“I am Tarkin’s personal assistant.”
“For the love of heterosexuality, how much are you being paid?”
“Ten credits a minute.”
“Holy ****, Tarkin has really had to up his prices… the last one only got one five dollars every two minutes….”
“What was that?”
“Nothing, nothing, I see you are suitable for the job… or, rather, Tarkin does. Actually, the idea of it all scares me, I’ll just keep out. Alright, I approve you all! On with your assignments.”
“But sir,” said a random new employee, “you haven’t questioned us.”
“I am altering my intentions, pray I do not alter them any further!” Vader warned, turning to leave.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that I can kill you with a single thought, pray I do not… damn it, I have no movie lines that fit this situation…. Let me put it this way: shut up or I will break my foot off in your skinny, white-boy ass. Then I will kill you!” And with that, Vader left, ready to get on with his day of evaluating new employees in the ‘field.’
First up, Vader had to evaluate a new interrogator for cell block 192939919349294929294929490908985928549028-5974893257498754875489237872875483275423987543289C . This was hard, since locating that particular cell block involved guessing where it was on account of the maps of the Death Star not displaying the full number. On Lord Vader’s one-thousandth-three-hundred-and-twenty-second try, he finally found it. He quickly entered the cell where the interrogation was supposed to take place.
The prisoner, a young man, was sitting on the cold, hard bench with a smug expression on his face, and the new employee was simply standing there looking bored.
“Hey, boss,” he said. “Ready for my evaluation?”
“Do not talk to me, pretend as though I am not here, and show me how creative you can be with torture and interrogation.”
“Right,” said the new employee. “Now, I understand you broke the law. Please, just admit to it, we’re here to help you?”
The prisoner responded with something so obscene that it cannot be written in order to preserve a teen rating on , however, it involved the rear end of the new employee’s anatomy, his mother, a kangaroo, the prisoner himself, and a very late night. The new interrogator simply nodded, and slipped back into the shadowy area of the cell. He emerged a few seconds later, his face livid.
“Now, listen to me you slimy son of a bitch! You’re gonna admit you broke the law or I swear to god I’ll shove my boot straight up your law-breaking ass! You’re facing life in prison, possibly the death sentence, admit what you’ve done, and I’ll go easy on your sentence.”
The prisoner merely looked amused.
“Hold on,” snapped the interrogator irritably. He slipped back into the shadows once more, emerging with a kind expression on his face.
“I’m here to help you, I really am. But the only way I can help you is if you help yourself. Now, just admit to what you did.”
Once more, the prisoner snapped a retort so vile that it cannot be written in order to preserve a teen rating. However, this retort involved a vacuum cleaner, and enormous amount of KY jelly, pictures of elderly men in the nude, and what the interrogator did in his free time.
Predictably, the interrogator slipped back into the shadows, and emerged looking pissed.
“Alright, you little bitch, I want to—“
“You know,” Vader interjected. “The good interrogator/bad interrogator ploy is supposed to be enacted by two people. It just makes you look like a complete asshole if you do it yourself.”
“Hmm,” the new employee hummed, thinking. “I’ll try a different approach.”
And with that, he removed from his pocket a sinister looking device that could only be used for one purpose…. He began to move it toward the man’s crotch, before asking him once more,
“Admit it! Admit you impersonated Darth Vader, or you’ll never have—“
“What?!” snapped Darth Vader, standing up that instant, and completely forgetting about his task. “This man tried to impersonate me?”
“Yes,” said the new employee.
“Excuse me for a moment,” said Vader. He seized the prisoner by the throat and shook him very, very, very, very hard, while screaming into his face. “WHY DID YOU TRY TO IMPERSONATE ME?!”
“For—“ choked the prisoner.
“For what?!” Vader demanded.
“Sir, shouldn’t I be doing this?” inquired the new employee.
“No, go screw a vacuum cleaner!” snapped Vader. “Now, why did you try to impersonate me?!”
“For—“ the man was cut off again, his face was turning blue.
“Sir,” said the new employee, “perhaps you should let him go.”
Vader immediately dropped the prisoner and turned to his former interrogator.
“Are you attempting to tell me how to do my job?!” Vader cried.
“No, not at all, sir—“
“Good, ‘cause you don’t see me telling you what brand of lubricant to use with your vacuum cleaner so you can have your sick pleasures! I am your employer! I can kill you with a thought; I can take away all your health benefits! I’m pretty sure I finance your sex life too, because you aren’t very attractive, and that’s probably why you use the vacuum anyway! So you had better not be telling me how to do my job!”
“But, sir, I—“
“That does it, you are now my personal assistant, you’ve been demoted. I am now lowering your salary to seven credits per hour. This demotion also strips you of any and all benefits, plus, I’m going to destroy your family, all your former employers, and your record so you cannot get a job anywhere else. How does that sound?”
“Good…” sighed Vader’s new assistant, giving up.
“Very well, shut up, and let me interrogate this man.”
Vader turned to the prisoner. “Why did you attempt to impersonate me?!”
“For the publicity and all the metal chicks!”
“The metal…. Are you referring to droids with feminine plating and female voices?”
“The very same.”
“This man should immediately be transported to a psychiatric ward! You—“ Vader pointed to his assistant. “What is your name?”
“Francisco,” said the man.
“Very well, Francisco… that rolls of the tongue…. Francisco, take this man to the psychiatric ward on floor 4447. I shall be going to the cafeteria for lunch. Meet me there.”
Vader stood in the lunch line, awaiting his turn; he noticed a new employee was manning the station that gave out protein bars, the only thing he could eat.
“What’ll it be?” grunted the new employee.
“I’d like an evil goose ass flavored protein bar, and a glass of water, please.”
“You’ll have to wait.”
“What?!”
“You’ll have to wait, sir.”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
“No, not really.”
“I am Darth Vader.”
“Who?”
Vader smacked slapped his helmet impatiently. “I am Darth Vader. D-A-R-T-H—space—V-A…der. Darth Vader. I run the Death Star, I am your employer.”
“Death Star?”
“Yes, this is the Death Star, this is cafeteria number 123421.”
“I thought these were the Death Balls.”
“What?! Death Balls, this is only one station, there are not two! This is the Death Star, singular, not plural your imbecile! I run this star!”
“This is a star?”
“No, it is a space station!”
“I thought it was a ball.”
“I don’t even want to know what you mean by referring to it like that. Yes, it is a spherical shape, but I assure you it is a fully operational battle station! You are an employee on it, and I am your boss.”
“Yeah… so, you’re my boss?”
“Yes, I’m Darth Vader!”
“Well, you’ll need a plate.”
“What? I do not need a plate, I require a tray! I could kill you with a single thought you know, now give me a tray, or die.”
“No, I’m afraid you’ll need a plate for that.”
“What? I do not need a plate to kill you, I can kill you with a bowl of Jell-O. Now give me my damn protein bars on a damn tray!”
“Excuse me,” interjected yet another new employee, cutting Vader.
“No, no, no, no, no, no I was here first, do you know who I am?” snapped Vader.
The other new employee looked at him appraisingly. “Nope, can’t say I do.”
“For the love of Padmé! I am Darth Vader, I am your employer!”
“You’re who?”
“Your employer!”
“You’re Tarkin?”
“What?! How many man-whores does Tarkin have? No, I am Darth Vader, I am your employer.”
“Sorry, sir, I’ll be in your quarters straight after lunch.”
“What?! No, I’m Darth Vader, I am not—oh, **** it, alright, I’m Tarkin. Move out of my way!”
“Right away, sir,” said the other new employee, moving straight out of the way.
Vader now stood face to face with the new employee operating the protein bar station.
“You! Give me a protein bar on a tray.”
“No, sorry, you’ll have to use a plate.”
“I do not need a plate! I will shove a plate up your ass and then use it to spoon feed you your own intestines unless you hand be a tray with a goose ass flavored protein bar on it right now, or death by Jell-O it shall be!”
“But, all the plates are wet.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I did not realize—wait a minute! I demand that you dry—never mind, just give me a protein bar on a damned tray.”
“They’re in the oven, you’ll have to wait.”
“I do not have to wait! I’m Darth Vader, I do not wait, I kill people who wait! Give me my goose ass protein bar!”
“I thought you were Tarkin,” said the new employee who had previously cut Vader.
“Uh… well, I am using an alias, I am Tarkin, but I am pretending to be—screw you! Just go away!”
“Okay then,” said the employee, leaving immediately.
Vader turned back to the man who was refusing to give him protein bars. “Now—“
“Wait, I recognize you! You’re Chad Vader!”
“What? Chad Vader?! Who the hell is Chad Vader?”
“Oh my Force, can I have your autograph?”
“No, I am not this Chad Vader! Who the hell is Chad Vader?!”
“On youtube! You’re Chad Vader from youtube!”
“No, I am Darth—“
“Can I have your autograph? Pleeeeeeeaaaaaaaaase?”
“No, I’ve already told you that I am—screw it, alright, I’m Chad Vader, where’s my goose ass protein bar?!”
“Please, sign my chef’s hat!”
The new employee pulled off his hat, produced a sharpie out of nowhere, and then handed them eagerly to Vader.
“Make it out to Mibutt.”
“Can you spell that?”
“Yes, it’s M-I-B-U-T-T.”
“Last name?” Vader asked in exasperation.
“Essaggy.”
“Spelled?”
“E-S-S-A-G-G-Y.”
“Mibutt… Es…saggy…. You are an unfortunate soul.”
“I know,” sighed the man, retrieving his hat.
“Now, where is my protein bar on a tray?”
“Here you go,” said Mibutt Essaggy.
Vader took the protein bar eagerly and left to eat it. Mibutt Essaggy died later that day because the flavor of the protein bar was, in fact, donkey snout, not goose ass. Francisco returned shortly after that, and Vader instead demoted him to taking up Mibutt Essaggy’s post.
Next up, Vader had to evaluate the communications operators. Since there were several thousand humans aboard the Death Star, and calls constantly being routed to them, there had to be a large group of operators transferring those calls. Lord Vader stealthily approached the newest operator from behind as he sat in his cubical, making calls—wait, making calls?!
“Yes, dis ees Cartar, your daughter, she kicked my dog,” said the new employee into the microphone before him.
He was prank calling people?!
Unfortunately, for the new employee, and for us all, the response from his victim was so loud and so vile, that it was heard by everyone in the room. However, it cannot be written in detail. Though it did involve the website , as well as a video, the operator’s unusual sex-life, and how fat his “momma” was.
The new employee immediately hung up, dialed a different number, and tried a more classic approach.
“I love your wife.”
The victim’s response: “I am gay.”
“F!” cried the new employee (this has been censored to preserve a teen rating, which the author feels is similar to a PG-13 rating, in, which, they allow the F-word only once, and it’s already been used).
The newest operator hung up again, hanging his head in defeat.
“Having fun?” Lord Vader asked causing the man to jump out of his skin (not literally, of course).
“Lord Tarkin!” cried the man, spinning on the chair, hands instinctively flying to cover his groin area.
“That is corr—wait, LORD TARKIN?! FORCE DAMN YOU PEOPLE! I AM DARTH VADER!”
“You’re who?”
“Darth Vader, you know, apprentice to the Emperor, former Jedi Anakin Skywalker, I was married to Padmé Amidala?”
“I’m sorry, I….”
“Voted the number one sexiest Jedi in the galaxy before I lost my lower extremities to a lava pit, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I still….”
“I am Darth Vader! I am your employer! I am here to evaluate you!”
“Shouldn’t we go into a closet for that, or something?”
“For the love of Padmé’s sexy body! I am Darth Vader, not Tarkin, I am heterosexual and find male sex slaves tasteless! You are under my employ!”
“Uh… how exactly does that work?”
At this point, Vader began to ask the Force for patience.
“Are you attempting to question how I am going to use you for sexual pleasure?”
“Yeah… that’s one way to put it.”
“I’m not! Oh my Force, I am Darth Vader, you know, Lord Vader? I kill people with the Force, Jell-O, and trays….”
“Vader… Vader…. Wait, you look exactly like Chad Vader.”
“Censored you censored censored censored mother’s censored censored censored censored llama’s ass. Censored me! I am Darth Vader.”
“That your nickname?”
“Screw it! Alright, I am Chad Vader, now—“
“Ooooh, can you sing?”
“What?”
“Chad Vader sung his own version of some song called Chocolate Rain on youtube. Can you sing anything else?”
“Um… like what?”
“You know the band AC/DC?”
“Oh, sure, I know them… uh… back in black!”
“Yup, those guys, ever heard the song You Shook Me All Night Long?”
“Yes….”
“Well, I’d love it if you would sing it, just for me.”
“Are you gay?”
“Yes.”
“Then the answer is no. I am here to evaluate you! Now, operate!”
“Oh, fine,” said the new employee, turning back to operate. Seconds later and incoming call arrived for his station, Vader instructed him to put it on speaker.
“Hello, Death Star Comms Operating Center, or DSCOC for short. This is Leslie speaking.”
Vader snickered, Leslie.
“Yeah, hi, you sell pizza?”
“No, ma’am, we do not—“
“I’m a guy you censoredtard!”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir, no, we do not sell pizza.”
“How about crack?”
“What?!”
“Crack, you know, coke….”
“Uh….”
“This is Lord Vader speaking,” Vader interjected. “We do not sell crack here, because, what is it the kids say? ‘Crack is whack’, and you yourself are whacked if you smoke it.”
“You’re who?”
“For the love of the Force! Why the hell does nobody know who I am?! I’m Darth Vader, you know, Lord Vader, Darth Lord Vader, Lord Darth Vader, Darth Sexiful-Bon-Vader-Jovi, you know, deep throat, smartass, motherf—****, those are my bad nicknames, ignore those. I am Darth Vader, understand?”
“No…. You sound like a pot smoking hippie.”
“No, I am Darth Vader, I run the Death Star and—alright, I am a pot smoking hippie, screw you all! I’ll have multiple-personality disorder by the time I’m done with this day!”
“Well, you’re behind the times, hippie. Whacked can mean something completely different.”
“I’m going to whack you if you do not hang up immediately!”
“Whoa, dude! Whoa! That ain’t right!”
“Your mom isn’t right,” interjected the operator hopefully.
“Pathetic,” sighed the caller. “You guys can suck—“ the following in censored to once again preserve a teen rating. However, it did involve Vader, and the operator each taking turn sucking objects which any male would find highly undesirable to suck. Then the man hung up, and Vader killed Leslie.
XxX
It was nearing the end of the day. Lord Vader was pissed off, two stormtroopers had recognized him as Tarkin in a corridor and had hastily begun to throw off their clothing. Vader used a combination of the Force, and a welding torch to ensure they would never be able to undress again. Then, he started off toward Tarkin’s office. Tarkin was the only man he could take this up with, he was sick of all these mistaken identities.
Vader reached the office door and knocked twice. He could hear somebody scuffling behind the door, and someone tell someone else to get off that someone. There was a muffled bang, a few groans of pain, a hasty rustling of cloth, and then the door open, revealing Tarkin. His shirt was on backwards and his hair was ruffled.
“Ah, Lord Vader, would you like to step in?”
“Yes, I need to speak with you.”
“Very well, make yourself at home.”
Vader entered the office, which was quite plain, except for a desk, and a very large closet door. The Sith Lord took a seat before the desk, and Tarkin fell into the one behind, folding his hands.
“Well, what is it you need to say?”
“First of all, why is your shirt on backwards?” Vader asked suspiciously.
“Um… yes, well… I was drunk this morning.”
“Why didn’t you turn it around? You’re obviously not drunk now.”
“Shut up.”
“Fine, I probably don’t even want to know. Anyway, a bunch of people keep mistaking me as you, and they indicate that they are immediately going to have sex with you after they are finished with what they are doing at the time, frankly, Tarkin, it’s pissing me the censored off!”
“I’m sorry, Lord Vader, we’ll just have to announce you are Darth Vader.”
“Yeah, and not Chad Vader or any other bull****!”
“Very well, Lord Vader, I’ll take care of it immediately. Now, if I could please ask you to leave…. I’ll announce it right away. I have other things to do.”
“Alright,” said Vader.
With that he turned and left. About halfway down the hall, Tarkin’s voice came on to the loudspeaker.
“Attention, attention everyone, the man in the black suit who many of you have mistaken for me, Tarkin, is in fact Lord Vader. His name is—“ a burst of static interrupted at that exact moment, “—Chad Vader, but Darth Vader. Thank you.”
At that moment, everyone in the hall ran to Vader, begging for his autograph.
“DAMN YOU TARKIN!” Vader bellowed.
“You’re Tarkin?” a stormtrooper asked.
“No! I am Darth Vader!”
“I thought you were Chad Vader.”
“No, I am—alright, I’m Chad Vader! Get the hell out of my way! I’m going to murder Tarkin!”
or B.U.M.P
Linear Mode
