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The Exodus obviously took place on Mars. That's why no evidence of it having ever occurred can be found on Earth -- it didn't actually happen on Earth.
It also explains the pyramids on Mars; Martian Israelites built them.
CARRIE FISHER: "I told George from the very beginning that I wasn't going to wear the gold bikini. He said 'Fine, sure, have it your way, just get into your Boussh outfit and get out there'. Once I put the helmet on, though, the chloroform fit me like a cocaine high, and I was out like a light. I woke up a few hours later, and BAM! - there I was done up like Dejah Thoris, laid out on this giant latex turd. Worst of all was when Mark started oogling me; he said he was just getting into character - seriously, that's what he said. I just love Mark all to pieces and all, but sometimes I think there's something wrong with the boy".
Fan-edits won't make much of a thematic impact on the general audience.
Going off of all those old Looney Tunes cartoons where Bugs Bunny crossdresses, I can't help but wonder if the character has gender dysphoria.
Bingowings said:
It reminds me of a scene from Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Spike got a Bill Pullman through his scrotum... or did I just eat too much cheese that night??
Uncle Tom has no rights. If he wants favours, he'll have to kiss massa's flawless, porcelain ass.
DominicCobb said:
It's not a complaint, it's just a suggestion. I don't like the thought that Skywalker = Jedi and I especially dislike the thought that force user = lightsaber. A lightsaber is a weapon. Not all force users need weapons. ROTJ implied that Leia will learn the ways of the force, so I'll give you that. But she doesn't need to become a full on lightsaber toting Jedi master. It would make more sense if she remained in politics.
Reegar said:
DuracellEnergizer said:
SilverWook said:
(Remember those 70's Brady Bunch reunions?) These darn kids know nothing of hell. ;)
That's before my time, actually. I'm a 90's/early 00's kid all the way =D
You come across as someone considerably older.
SilverWook said:
(Remember those 70's Brady Bunch reunions?) These darn kids know nothing of hell. ;)
Reegar said:
ROTS: D+ (pass, but barely, and my view of it may be deluded by the novelization)
Terminator 3 was lame, but not as lame as Terminator: Salvation. Instead of seing all those awesome glimpses of the War with the Machines from the first two films expanded to fill a feature length movie, we get watered-down tripe starring Christian Bale's ego.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again -- I want to see Jedi with red lightsabers and darksiders (from here on out I won't say "Sith") with blue and green. Hell, not only that, but I want to see other lightsaber colours and shades, too; orange, pink, yellow, teal, red-violet, midnight blue, mauve, white, silver, aquamarine, gold, cyan, etc.
This doesn't mean that I want/need to see a large number of Force-users with lightsabers. I'd be happy with about five-to-ten Force-users; just give them a wide variety of lightsaber colours.
Besides, I love how Leia looks with a red lightsaber.
I've seen too many truly horrible movies to be fazed by the moderate poorness that is the Holiday Special.
I thought R2's about the same size in the early McQuarrie paintings as he is in the films, only with more arms sticking out.
ALL HAIL KRUUL, AND HIS GLORIOUS NEW REGIME!!!
Sorry, it had to be said.
Reminds me of the scene in The Serpent and the Rainbow where Bill Pullman gets a spike through the scrotum.
captainsolo said:
And speaking of the ongoing MoS debate and the horrid Supes movies that keep coming down the pipeline...I read this recently and felt it worked as a movie so well...http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Last_Son_%28comics%29
PAN UP & FADE TO
An exterior shot of the Scottish Rite Temple on Wilshire Boulevard earlier that day. Though the sky is heavy with gray cloud, no rain is falling as of yet.
INT. SCOTTISH RITE TEMPLE/CONFERENCE HALL – DAY (FLASHBACK)
A large audience made up of Egyptologists, archaeologists, miscellaneous scholars, and a few scattered reporters sits in rows of seats, facing a large stage. On the stage, a dignified-looking man in his late sixties or early seventies – DOCTOR AJAMI – stands behind a podium, while Daniel – dressed in the same clothes seen earlier minus the hat, coat, and moisture – sits on a chair to his left.
DR. AJAMI: (cont’d) He graduated with his Master’s at the age of twenty, speaks eleven different languages, and I fully expect his dissertation to become the standard reference on the early development of Egyptian hieroglyphics. He has written several seminal articles on the comparative linguistics of the Afro-Asiatic language groups and, of course, on the development of the Egyptian language from the Archaic Period to the Old Kingdom, which will be his topic today. Please welcome one of Egyptology’s most promising young scholars, Daniel Jackson!
Rising from his chair, Daniel takes Ajami’s place behind the podium. From there he spots two aging professors – the pudgy PROFESSOR RAUSCHENBERG and the lanky DOCTOR TUBMAN – snickering to one another.
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: Ah, another wunderkind.
DR. TUBMAN: I own socks older than this kid.
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: Not quite up to Sir Alan Gardiner.
DR. TUBMAN: But let’s hope he’s not another Wallis Budge!
Daniel quickly looks up toward the ceiling, coughs into his hand, then points his finger in Rauschenberg’s direction.
DANIEL: Sir, what kind of car do you drive?
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: (confused) A Ford.
DANIEL: A Model T?
A number of audience members laugh at Rauschenberg’s expense. The professor takes it all in stride.
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: (smiles) I’m not quite that old. I drive an Escort.
DANIEL: (scratches his chin) I see. Power steering and power brakes?
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: (grins) Don’t forget power windows!
DANIEL: So, in the unlikely event that a long-dormant volcano erupts in Santa Monica this afternoon and we’re all exhumed hundred of years later by wunderkind archaeologists, there’s really no chance of them dating you and your car to the early part of the last century?
DR. TUBMAN: (frowns) What are you driving at?
DANIEL: Henry Ford starts out modestly – one could say primitively – with the Model A, then he slowly develops his product into the sophisticated technology we enjoy today. Which leads to my central question about the ancient Egyptians: why didn’t their culture “develop”? (beat) I believe the evidence shows that their arts, their sciences, mathematics, technology, and techniques of warfare were all there, complete from the beginning.
The audience members begin to murmur amongst themselves. Daniel gives them a moment then resumes.
DANIEL: (cont’d) What I want to argue here today is that the Egyptians of the Archaic Period somehow “inherited” all of these arts and sciences, then, after a short “getting acquainted” period, we see the full flowering of what we call ancient Egypt. (beat) Their writing for example. The hieroglyphic system of the first two dynasties is notoriously difficult to interpret. The common wisdom holds that it is a crude version of the more complex writing we find later, at the time of the Old Kingdom. But, what I have tried to demonstrate in a series of articles, is that this early language is a fully developed system, a combination of phonetic and ideogrammatic elements. If this is true, they were able to move from crude cave paintings to a complicated system for describing the world and themselves in virtually no time at all, a few generations.
Pausing, Daniel watches as the first group of scholars gets up from their chairs and moves toward the exits. Rolling his eyes, he continues.
DANIEL: Let’s take another example. The theme of today’s conference is the Great Pyramid of Khufu.
Dr. Ajami coughs politely and nods, wordlessly reminding Daniel that that is the theme and silently admonishing him to please stick to it.
DANIEL: (cont’d) The same argument applies to Khufu’s Pyramid. Most scientists believe that this masterpiece of engineering must have been the result of generations of practice. According to this theory, Djoser’s Step Pyramid at Saqqara, the so-called Flat Pyramid, and the large tombs at Abydos are seen as warm-ups, learning exercises that lead to the infinitely more complex and precise Great Pyramid. (beat) As many of you know, I don’t subscribe to that theory. In my view, the Great Pyramid must have come first, followed by the lesser structures just mentioned. The evidence supporting the traditional sequence of construction is based on folklore and written records that were made hundreds of years after the fact. (beat) The scant evidence we do have suggests, in my view, that the people living along the Nile were slowly forgetting how to build these structures, getting worse and worse at it with each passing generation.
A number of audience members giggle at Daniel’s proclamation while a few others stand up and walk out.
DANIEL: (cont’d) Unfortunately, the many attempts to determine the construction dates of the pyramids using C14 tests haven’t given us conclusive results. Enough conflicting data exists to justify just about any theoretical position. But ask yourselves this question: All the lesser pyramids are heavily inscribed with the names of the pharaohs who ordered their construction. The mastabas surrounding the pyramids are blanketed with hieroglyphs announcing the names and titles of their owners, lists of offerings, construction dates, which gods they worshipped, the musical instruments they played, etc. Typically, we find painted histories in these tombs extolling the many godlike qualities of the persons buried there. And yet the greatest pyramid of all, Khufu’s, has no writings whatsoever. Not a mark anywhere, inside or out. Does that make any sense?
A tall, gaunt man – the English PROFESSOR ROMNEY – rises up from his feet, interrupting Daniel.
PROF. ROMNEY: It’s an interesting theory, Dr. Jackson, one that most of us are familiar with.
Someone begins humming The Twilight Zone theme, cracking some of the audience members up.
PROF. ROMNEY: (cont’d) You suggest that the pyramid wasn’t built for a pharaoh because there was no name in it. But what about Vyse’s discovery of the quarryman’s inscription of Khufu’s name written inside the relieving chamber, sealed since its construction?
DANIEL: (sighs) That discovery was a joke, a fraud perpetrated by Vyse himself.
The audience erupts into loud, vehement dissent. Some boo, others leave.
PROF. ROMNEY: That’s too easy, Dr. Jackson. If you had done your homework, you wouldn’t have to defame the good reputation of dead men to support your ideas.
DANIEL: (takes off his glasses to wipe a smudge from a lens) Before leaving for Egypt, Vyse bragged that he would make an important discovery that would make him world famous. Using his father’s money, he hired an elite team of experts and brought them to the Giza Pyramids. But after several very expensive months, they had nothing to show for their efforts, so Vyse fired the lot of them and imported a gang of gold miners from his father’s South American mining operation. Less than three weeks later, they “discovered” what forty centuries of explorers, grave robbers, and scientists could not find – the secret room “sealed since construction”. (beat) In this otherwise empty room, they found the very thing that made Vyse’s reputation: the long-sought-after cartouche with Khufu’s name. The cartouche appears on three walls of the chamber, but, strangely, not on the wall Vyse sledgehammered into rubble to enter the room. The name is written in a red ink that appears nowhere else in ancient Egypt. It is astonishingly well preserved and, incredibly, it is misspelled.
PROF. ROMNEY: Well, what can you expect from an illiterate quarryman?
Daniel turns his back to the podium, strides over to the chalkboard behind him and, picking up a piece of chalk, draws a cartouche containing a hieroglyphic inscription.
DANIEL: This is the inscription Vyse claims to have found in the relieving chamber. Now we all know, if we’re done our homework (narrows his eyes at Romney), that Vyse carried with him the 1906 edition of Wilkenson’s Materia Hieroglyphica published in Amsterdam by Heynis Books. (beat) Diligent students such as yourself, Professor, will not have failed to notice that in the very next edition the publishers included a loose-leaf apology listing the errata in the previous edition. This list includes the hieroglyphs for the name “Khufu”. They misprinted the first consonant of the name. It should look like this ….
Daniel crosses out the cartouche and draws another containing a nearly identical line of hieroglyphs beside it.
DANIEL: (cont’d) What an exceedingly strange coincidence that the cartouche Vyse discovered is misspelled in exactly the same way! (beat) If a quarryman had misspelled the name of the pharaoh, especially inside his burial chamber, he would have been put to death and the wall would have been torn down and rebuilt. (sarcastic) But I’m sure you knew all this already because you look like a man who takes his work seriously.
PROF. ROMNEY: (sneers) You sound like a bad television show or that ludicrous Chariots of the Gods book.
With those words, Romney turns and leaves for the exits. The majority of the audience remains seated, however, and are now far more interested in what Daniel has to say.
DANIEL: (runs a hand through his unkempt hair) Now if we could get back for a moment. Perhaps the real origins of their civilization lay buried in the wadis of the Western Sahara –
56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: (O.S.) Doctor, if I may ….
Daniel looks around, searching for the owner of the voice with his eyes, until he spots a FIFTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD WOMAN standing back at the far end of the conference hall. Dressed in all-black with a gold pendant bearing the design of a stylized human eye clasped around her neck, she has shoulder-length blond hair and an accent that, while largely American, contains a slight Swedish tinge.
56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: Let me first say that your command of the facts is impressive.
DANIEL: (smiles) Thank you.
56-YEAR-OLD WOMAN: I just have one question: Who do you think built the Great Pyramid?
DANIEL: (the smile dropping from his face) I have no idea who built it or why.
A collective groan of disappointment goes up from the audience. The woman, however, just nods briskly, apparently satisfied with the answer. She then turns around and leaves.
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: (in a posh English accent) The lost people of Atlantis?
A number of audience members break out in riotous laughter. They begin collecting their belongings and start leaving in droves.
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: (cont’d) Or Martians, perhaps!
DANIEL: I didn’t say that.
PROF. RAUSCHENBERG: (drops the accent) No, but you were about to.
DANIEL: You’re missing the point entirely –
Half the audience has left at this point, with the other half beginning to follow its example. Desperately hoping to find a way to salvage the lecture, Daniel hurriedly begins rifling through his stack of notes.
DANIEL: (frantic) Geological evidence dates the Sphinx back to the Neolithic Period. Knowing this to be true, we must begin to re-evaluate everything we’ve come to accept about the origins of ancient Egyptian culture ….
The few remaining audience members depart, leaving Daniel and Dr. Ajami alone together on the stage. Ajami, clearly disappointed, approaches Daniel with his hands clasped tightly together.
DR. AJAMI: I’m very, very disappointed with you, Daniel. I thought we had an understanding that you wouldn’t discuss this nonsense here today. I took a risk presenting you here today, tried to do you a favour, but now I’m afraid you’ve killed your career. Goodbye.
Ajami leaves the stage, leaving Daniel truly – finally – alone in the deserted conference hall.
DANIEL: (leans forward into the podium’s microphone) Are there any questions?
CROSSFADE TO
An industrial section of Gower Street in Hollywood, Los Angeles. The sky is solid black and a heavy rainfall pelts the ground.
SUPERIMPOSE: “LOS ANGELES, 2014”
DANIEL JACKSON, a thirty-five-year-old Scottish expatriate with dark brown hair and round John Lennon glasses, walks alone down the street, miserably carrying a heavy book sack through the rain. Unshaven and clad in a faded green fishing hat and worn-out boots, he looks positively destitute; only the long cashmere trench coat he wears gives him the air of any respectability.
Turning the corner, Daniel passes by a pair of disreputable women – one short and skinny, the other tall and fat – and comes to a small grocery store. Readjusting the sack to redistribute its weight, the wet man enters the store.
INT. GROCERY STORE – EVENING
As Daniel enters the store, the shopkeeper – a large man with a shaved bald head and a big handlebar mustache – puts down his copy of Gamines Galore and firmly places his hands down upon the counter, greeting his customer with a large, toothy grin.
ARZUMANIAN: Mr. Dan, my friend, what’s happen’?
DANIEL: Amen ench shat ahavor ar. Nrank char hasskanum yes enchkar khalatse em. (beat) So, I was hoping to get a bottle of wine, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.
ARZUMANIAN: I got idea. Yes kpoknem. You come in next day, I tell you. Okay?
DANIEL: I’ll be here. Thanks.
EXT. GROCERY STORE – EVENING
Daniel exits the store, a bottle of cheap red wine in a paper bag in his hand. Stuffing the bottle into one of his coat pockets, he again readjusts his sack and continues on his way.
EXT. TKENCHENKO’S TIRES – EVENING
Daniel walks across a largely empty parking lot to the open doors of Tkenchenko’s Tires, a seedy-looking garage set in a short, squat building. Stepping inside, he walks past the owner, Vladimir Tkenchenko, who is busy working on a rusty Lexus. Seeing the sodden man in his pitiful hat and boots, the mechanic shakes his balding head with disapproval.
Ignoring Tkenchenko, Daniel crosses over to the shop’s business counter. There, filing her long, red-violet nails with her red-violet lips upturned in a smile of contentment, is a pretty woman; sporting blonde-streaked brown hair and garbed in a bosom-hugging red-violet sweater, she’s not much younger than Daniel.
DANIEL: Any mail for me, Svetlana?
Svetlana, noticing Daniel for the first time, abruptly stops filing her nails, chipping one of them in the process. The smile quickly disappears from her face.
SVETLANA: Goddammit, Daniel! Look what you made me do! (beat) I just got a manicure!
DANIEL: Why’re you filing your nails if you just got a manicure?
SVETLANA: (narrows her eyes) Shut up.
Svetlana reaches under the counter and brings out two items of mail. She hands them to Daniel.
DANIEL: (half-smiles) Isn’t tonight Thai night?
SVETLANA: Get bent.
DANIEL: You weren’t saying that five months ago.
Frowning, Svetlana doesn’t say another word. Taking out her iPod, she puts the earbuds in her ears and turns it on, ignoring Daniel once again.
DANIEL: It’s been a pleasure, Sweet Svetlana.
Turning his back to the cold woman, Daniel begins going through his mail. The first item is a phone bill with the words “FINAL WARNING” printed in big red letters at the top, the second a missing children’s card. Sighing dispassionately, he stuffs the items into a coat pocket – not the one holding the booze – then leaves the garage, stepping back out into the pouring rain.
Taking a seat on a pile of beat-up old tires, Daniel spots a filthy homeless man arguing with a cat and a tough-looking chauffeur guarding a sleek limousine across the street. Sighing again, he props his chin up on his balled fists.
DISEMBODIED VOICE #1: (V.O.) Ignores long established facts ….
DISEMBODIED VOICE #2: (V.O.) Jackson is either misguided and incompetent or he is engaging in substance abuse ….
DISEMBODIED VOICE #3: (V.O.) This is the sort of archaeology we expect to find in The National Enquirer ….
skyjedi2005 said:
Bad EU idea from the 90's Palpatine's Son.
darklordoftech said:
DuracellEnergizer said:
darklordoftech said:
Here's why I hate Thrawn: I feel that the Empire should die with Palpatine. To have the Sith and/or the Empire outlive Palpatine undermines Palpatine's death and all that the heroes of the original trilogy fought for.
Yeah, and all those Neo-Nazis goose-stepping around today really negate the sacrifice all those Allied soldiers who fought in WWII made and render the deaths of the ones who died totally meaningless.
They do negate the sacrifice of the allied soldiers and make their deaths much less meaningful, and if those neo-nazis took over the territory once ruled by nazi germany, the deaths of the allied soldiers would be totally meaningless.
EXT. GIZA PLATEAU – EXCAVATION SITE – DAY
As the Rolls Royce comes to a stop at the edge of a rock shelf, Langford climbs out of the vehicle and starts making the trek up the slope of loose rock and silt to the top, Catherine following close behind at his heels. Reaching the top of the shelf, the father-daughter duo surveys the landscape stretched out before them.
CATHERINE: (points; subtitled) Daddy, the treasure’s over there.
Langford follows the girl’s finger. Though the entire surface of the shelf is painted with the telltale signs of archaeological excavation, most of the site’s present activity is centred over at the far end of the shelf, where dozens upon dozens of FELLAHIN – Egyptian labourers – are working at a frenetic pace, carrying away bucket-loads of loose rubble and bringing in a large amount of ropes, pulleys, and cranes.
PROF. LANGFORD: (subtitled) We’ll go see Ed Taylor first.
Langford and his daughter make their way over to a parcel of land occupied by a large tent. There, a small group of men – ED TAYLOR included – stand hunched over a low table situated off to the side of the tent’s entrance.
PROF. LANGFORD: (approaches Taylor) Ed, if we’ve found a pet cemetery, I quit.
TAYLOR: (to Langford) We can’t decipher this writing. Take a look.
Taylor steps aside, making room for Langford to come in close to the table. Laid out over the table’s top is a large sheet of paper covered with charcoal rubbings of strange glyphs.
CATHERINE: (pushes in between her father and Taylor) Those aren’t real hieroglyphics.
TAYLOR: At least not the ones we’re used to.
PROF. LANGFORD: (edgy) Taylor, where did these symbols come from?
TAYLOR: I’ll show you.
Motioning for the professor and his daughter to follow, Taylor begins making his way from the tent. Working their way through the maze of excavated parcels, they soon come to the far end of the shelf, under a low rock wall beyond which lies the pit where the dozens of fellahin are setting up their cranes. There, resting in the sand, is a large coverstone.
Chiselled from a single large block of sandstone, the coverstone is perfectly round and 6.7 metres in diametre. The surface is engraved with etchings, each subdivided into distinct sections: a round centerpiece with three surrounding rings. The centerpiece contains an elaborate cartouche housing eight strange glyphs; the inner ring contains a series of concentric lines, some of the intersecting points of which are clearly marked while others are not; the middle ring contains lines of ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic text; and the outer ring contains thirty-nine unrecognizable glyphs – eight of which match those contained in the central cartouche.
TAYLOR: It’s a coverstone, the largest one I’ve ever seen. (beat) When you bury something with a rock this size, you mean to keep it buried.
Langford begins circling the large coverstone, inspecting the engraved surface carefully, then climbs up onto the stone to scrutinize the centerpiece. The archaeologist furrows his brow and strokes his chin, his mind in deep thought.
PROF. LANGFORD: Very queer. (beat) This inner band is somewhat legible: this one here could be the symbol for years … a thousand years … heaven, the stars or something like that … lives Atum, creator god. (cont’d) But what in the world do you make of these outer symbols?
Before Taylor can answer, a shout rings out from the large pit. Leaving the large round stone, Langford, Taylor, and Catherine begin making their way around the stone wall to the pit beyond. As they come over into the pit, they see the fellahin pull the ropes threaded through their cranes taut. With immense effort, they hoist something out of the ancient earth surrounding it. As the strange object is pulled erect, the labourers prop it up with padded wooden poles, allowing it to rest upright on a ninety-degree angle.
CATHERINE: (looks up at her father in amazement) It’s one of God’s bracelets!
The unearthed artifact is a perfectly round ring composed of some sort of black stone, its entire surface engraved with meticulously wrought designs. 6.7 metres in diametre like the coverstone, the ring is lined with nine wedge-shaped jewels set apart at even distances and contains an inner ring etched with the same thirty-nine strange glyphs found on the coverstone’s outer ring. As sunlight hits it, some of the ring’s natural iridescence shines through its thick layer of brown dust.
PROF. LANGFORD: (to Taylor) What in the world is that?
TAYLOR: I wish I knew ….
The two archaeologists turn to one another, dumbfounded. Their eyes suddenly light up and they clasp hands roughly with broad grins breaking out on their faces.
PROF. LANGFORD & TAYLOR: (in union) We did it!
As the fellahin finish securing the poles supporting the large black ring, one of them notices something in the earth. Stepping into the depression where the ring had lain, he points down into a crack running through the bedrock.
ARAB LABOURER: (in Arabic, subtitled) Look at that! There is something buried underneath!
The fellahin erupt into excitement and they all crowd in in an attempt to uncover what their brother has spotted. Shouting orders to the workers in Arabic, Taylor takes off in a run toward them.
PROF. LANGFORD: (places his hands on Catherine’s shoulders; in Swedish, subtitled) You are not to move from this spot.
Langford rushes off to join Taylor with the fellahin. Catherine stands there, impatiently rocking back-and-forth on her heels, before deciding to disobey her father’s orders and join him at the site.
Pushing her way through the crowded Arabs, Catherine grimaces as she makes her way toward the epicentre of the frantic activity. There, Catherine sees Taylor directing three men as they pull up and remove slabs of broken stone, revealing what it was the Arab workman had glimpsed.
CATHERINE: (subtitled) Fossils!
There, in the open cavity the labourers have uncovered, lies a horribly twisted figure embedded in the stone. Though its bodies is humanoid, its exoskeletal head is unmistakably non-human; it sports the flinty eyes and wicked beak of a bird of prey. Clasped in the fossil’s one exposed hand, standing out against the surrounding sandstone, is a golden pendant on a chain, the design of a stylized human eye engraved on its surface.
PROF. LANGFORD: (angry) Catherine!
The professor hurriedly makes his way over to his daughter. Picking her up, he begins carrying the girl away from the unearthly discovery and the throng surrounding it. Setting the girl down, Langford makes his way out of the pit, pulling Catherine alongside him.
Making their way back along the way they came, they soon climb down the side of the rock shelf, returning to their Rolls Royce. As they approach the automobile, another Rolls Royce – this one white – pulls up alongside it. The side door opens and a foppishly dressed bureaucrat steps out; this man is the EGYPTIAN UNDER-SECRETARY OF THE MINISTRY OF ANTIQUITIES.
E.U.S: (tips his hat) Good afternoon, Mister and Miss Langford. Has anything interesting happened today?
Langford and Catherine exchange glances.
Most of those people are tasteless teenagers and self-deluded fanboys who don't want to admit to themselves that their golden goose has turned to rust.
darklordoftech said:
Here's why I hate Thrawn: I feel that the Empire should die with Palpatine. To have the Sith and/or the Empire outlive Palpatine undermines Palpatine's death and all that the heroes of the original trilogy fought for.
SilverWook said:
Jar Jar reminds me of someone...