THE GREAT GADFLY:

That's No Moon

Okay, so I've been contributing to an advice column here for a while, under the guise of an anthropomorphized version of the Death Star from Star Wars. Don't ask why - it just seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Anyway, here are some of the kernels of wisdom The Death Star has dispensed. If you want to see more, you should go and read the stuff in context and then submit some woes of your own for She Of The Massive Hull, and all of her wise, wise co-horts.

I had a long, well thought-out response prepared to share with you, but the way I see it, it really doesn't matter, because at the end of the day I'm going to blow up your planet anyway.

bring your pets

With an armada of homosexual TIE fighters filled with Galaxi-Hull matte black space paint. Well, you asked.

I'm afraid we can't be of help without photos depicting at least a detailed recreation of said disgusting act. I'm sorry. Them's the rules up in here.

I blow up planets for an evil empire. What the hell do YOU do?

Maybe you should publish something along the lines of "Rolling Stone"...like, for example, I think you should call your magazine "Massive Hull".

Honey, you need to strike out on your own. Men have been keeping us gals down too long. I once had this fling with a Star Destroyer and he made me feel like I could barely chip an asteroid, let alone obliterate a solar system. ME! I felt pretty low, but it was only because I loved him. Then one day, Lord Vader had a really good talk with me and told me to get it together or else I could just pack up and take on a new job as a Galacti-Mall somewhere in the outer rim. Well, I knew I had more potential than to spend the rest of my life as one big glorified Lady Foot Locker, so I took the wampa by the horns and told that damn Star Destroyer to shove off. Then I vaporized his ass. Showed him.