AcmeShorts

Darth Vader thoughtfully worked over his magenta plasticine. He had been in somewhat of a rut with work lately, and this kind of tactile catharsis seemed to both focus and relax him. The thing of it was, his boss was a micromanaging cunt-bag. That skinny faggoty-ass faggot, Moff Tarkin. “I hate that little leper”, Vader said aloud. He could say anything he wanted in his chamber. In his chamber, it was just him, his plasticine and his black, Bose radio, which at the moment, he had tuned-in to Rush Limbaugh. You could say what you wanted to about Limbaugh, but the man had ideas. Ideas, Vader thought. I could use some of them myself. Moff was a real bureaucratic fuck-ass. He was always vetoing Vader’s plans, one-upping him in front of the Emperor, and taking snide jabs at The Force. Vader had already considered a multitude of career-ruining traps to ensnare “Muff” as he wrote of him in his memoirs, but the little bitch cleaned up after himself. Still, Tarkin had to take a fall… maybe even… a real one… off one of the bridges. Yeah. Yeah. Vader's unhelmeted brain sprinted into the idea with relish. No More Tarkin. No more humiliation. No more problem. Vader’s electronic thumbs worked the plasticine furiously, his respirator rate increasing. No two fucking ways about it, Tarkin has to be snuffed. Problem is, the Emperor will smell a dirty sock in it. He has a good nose about shit like that. Idea: Have Fett take him out. Good. This is good. Fett hates Tarkin too, ever since the Christmas Party. Fett had been making good progress with an intern from Dantooine, and Moff strode right up and basically pulled rank. She was a nice little piece of ass, too. And you know how Fett is about shit like that. If the money is right, Fett will take it. Vader looked down at his plasticine unicorn; it was delicate but strong, just like him. Just like me, Vader thought, lugubriously.