JOSH’S BASEMENT, SPRINGFIELD—Great, this goddamn map again.
This has to be the worst map in all of First-Person-Shooter history. Christ, there were two other choices. Who, WHO would vote this pile of crap of a map into play for the fourth time? I guess everyone has a boner for huge maps with no cover, bottlenecked entrances and spawn points next to cliffs. Yes, great, I’ve fallen into the gorge again because I was facing the wrong goddamn direction. Awesome.
There are fourteen different goddamn maps and I’ve played the same three in the last hour.
Why did I even download the DLCs?
And Christ, I’m sick of being raped by the same group of assholes—eight rounds straight! Half of them have maxed out their ranking. Jesus, don’t these people work?
Not my team, though. My team must be every player on the planet who has school or kids or a job or active sex lives.
HEY! CaptainSpongeBob99? Can you give a guy some motherlovin’ cover? GheysRGhey_87, you just threw a grenade at yourself. Good work.
Yes, finally! I have mortar rounds! Now I can CRUSH that diarrheal dick-gobbling xXxMisterBig14xXx, who’s been sniping the hell out of me for my last ten deaths. I don’t even know how he got up on that cliff—that has to be a hack. But, he’s going to get a face full of boom. Now to just get this set up… targeting… in my sights… firing…
…aaaaaannnd crushed by a helicopter.
Mother… goddamn… SH… ARGH WHY?!? I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW THAT COULD HAPPEN!
And the round’s over.
I’m seriously thinking of quitting this session…
Hey, holy crap! A different set of maps! Yes! I love these ones! I’m actually good at these maps. These maps have an effing rhythm to them. Thank you Je… wuh…
Who changed their vote at the last minute? TO “NONE OF THE ABOVE”? WHAT THE FU—NO! NOT THIS GODDAM F***ING MAP AGA—
Goddammit motherfu—how?!? HOW THE F… how does that…DEAD AGAIN! HOLY SNIPER! IT’S xXxMisterBig14xXx AGAIN!HOW IN GOD’S NAME DOES THAT GUY KEEP GETTING THERE? THAT’S AN INACCESSIBLE SPOT! The round has just begun… and he’s already there?
Goddammit. I’m … fu… I’ve respawned into death. He knows the spawn points. He shot me as I came back. I’m dead.
Oh, WONDERFUL, they respawned me in an open field with a deadly sniper who has the godlike powers of Zeus. If this isn’t the most vulnerable place to be… ANYONE and their blind grandmother can see me here.
I’m still alive.
I’m in the middle of a goddamn clearing and somehow the sniper hasn’t spotted me. Good god. I don’t know what’s happening but there’s a goddamn mini-gun drop just at the edge of this plain and I’m just going for it. I’m totally turning the tides of this g—
OH FOR F… really? KILLED BY AN RC CAR? THAT HAS TO BE THE MOST RIDICULOUS…
You know what, xXxMisterBig14xXx, you can go f*** yourself.
<MrWookie_79 has left the current session>
MScottAwesome_85 is The Daily Sprat’s resident hardwired blob. He recently published “Why Would they Spawn Me There?!?” on GamesForums.com
Federation suspends Prime Directive upon discovery of planet populated by hipsters
USS MEERKAT, SOMEWHERE IN THE ALPHA QUADRANT—Citizens of the United Federation of Planets are still reeling after two shocking announcements were made: the Federation Council has suspended the Prime Directive in the case of a newly discovered planet and the aforementioned planet is populated entirely by Hipsters.
Several days ago, the USS Meerkat stumbled upon the M-class planet on an unrelated mission. Captain Tobias Greer led an away team to investigate what seemed to be a pre-industrial civilization. However, after discovering a group of twenty-somethings drinking PBR and listening to Animal Collective in a public park, it quickly became apparent what the crew of the Meerkat were dealing with.
“My god,” said Captain Greer. “It’s a planet full of goddamn Hipsters.”
The people of The Planet—which has yet to be given an official name as the Hipster species in question refuses to give in to being labelled by a mainstream culture desiring to compartmentalize everything for the sake of consumerism—appears to be a lethargic race, characterized by obscure references, clashing fashion of both outdated and modern materials, and a pervasive smugness.
“We’ve come across a society that spends more time contriving authenticity and twirling their moustaches than progressing civilization,” explained Capt. Greer.
Anthropologists studying The Planet are puzzled by the irony and cynicism by which the Hipsters seem to define themselves, as there appears to be no central culture for which hipsters can reference.
“Hipster culture is a reaction to the mainstream; but, there is nothing left here that could be considered traditionally mainstream—which effectively makes the hipsters mainstream,” said Lieutenant Oscar Tisdale, chief anthropologist assigned to The Planet. “I’d like to say this is a classic example of ‘rebel without a cause’, but that would still imply an ounce of effort.”
A disguised Federation outpost was established with the initial intention to study the Hipster population from afar, without interference, as per the Prime Directive. According to Federation officials, the decision to ignore the Prime directive was boiled down to a moral and ethical choice as it became evident that the hipster civilization was on the verge of collapse.
“In pre-contact capitalist societies, hipsters are mostly middle-class,” said Capt. Greer. “They’re young, mostly educated, and, due to being offspring of well-off white-collar families, are able to avoid work as much as possible, choosing instead to enjoy the fruits of their subculture.”
“Oh, how they despise work.”
However, further investigation has shown that the Hipster demographic drops off steeply at age 30. In fact, so far, anthropologists have yet to find a live Hipster over the age of 35.
“Essentially, demographic groups consisting of the working class, the gainfully employed, and the leaders of the corporate and government spheres are nowhere to be found,” said Lt. Tisdale.
“We have found evidence of launch sites where personal spacecrafts may have been used to allow aging Hipsters to escape to neighbouring planets. Possibly because wearing shutter shades and vintage Sesame Street tees two sizes too small verges on embarrassing when you’re approaching 40.”
Anthropologists believe with the absence of a mature, productive workforce, society collapsed quicker than the Hipsters would admit. Despite an abundance of well-educated people, including civil engineering students and liberal arts majors, public education and power plants remained unmanned.
“We don’t want to be, like, cogs in the machines of consumer society,” said Noah, who sported a handle-bar moustache, sleeve tattoos, and rainbow suspenders.
Hipster food sources have quickly dwindled. Fresh organic vegetables and tofu-based foods are non-existent, with vegan dry goods and fair-trade coffee beans nearly depleted. Communal farming has yielded some organic crops, but not enough to sustain the entire population.
“Had there been remnants of the previously uncool social groups for which the hipsters could re-appropriate as cool, the cycle could have eventually been broken,” explained Lt. Tisdale. “Eventually, dull, but hard-working capitalists would have carried society on for a few decades—maybe even a few centuries. A horribly mundane, greed-driven society—yes. But well-fed at the very least.”
Federation workers do have a great deal of work ahead of them—and an uncooperative populace does not make matters easier.
“She said they [Hipsters] don’t bow down to the will of the masses for the sake of corporate greed,” said one Starfleet engineer, regarding a belligerent Hipster. “I told her that in the Federation, progress is not driven by monetary gain but for personal betterment.”
“She said ‘Pshaw’. Can you believe that? ‘Pshaw’. Who still says that? Was that meant to be ironic?”
The suspension of the Prime Directive certainly sets a frightening precedent which has many worried that this may signal a new order in the Federation. But, the President has attempted to quell these fears.
“So long as you are capable of sustaining a progressive civilization with a priority on meeting the basic needs of your species rather than cyclically regurgitating pop culture, then there should be no need for Federation intervention.”
M. Scott Caldwell is The Daily Sprat’s senior space correspondent and a contributing editor to The Ferengi Report, which mainly discusses whether Ferengis smell as bad as they look. They do.
Another web-comic abandoned five days after creation
COLUMBUS, OHIO—Brad Myles, otherwise known by his penname “The Periwinkle Knight”, has abandoned his web-comic after a mere five days.
Myles, a 37-year-old male living with his mother, had lofty hopes to pump out a daily comic during a sabbatical from his seasonal work as a parking-lot attendant/lawn maintenance technician for his neighbours.
Myles foolishly envisioned a consistent daily output throughout the winter months. But, the comic was predestined for abandonment once his powdered-cheese coated fingers picked up a 2H pencil.
“I just thought I’d have more ideas,” said Myles. “The only one who read it was my mother.”
The now-defunct Tales from Sugar Cube Corner was a humourless labour of love inspired by the latest incarnation of the children’s cartoon, My Little Pony. Brad Myles, who proudly declared himself to be a “bronie”, had already been contributing to online fan-fiction—posting vignettes from the lives of the sickeningly- named miniature equines Twilight Sparkle, Rainbow Dash and company on the fan-website, Equestaria Daily.
“Doing a web-comic about what I love just seemed natural,” said Myles. “And, I mean, I see what other artists have done. I figured ‘wow, it must be so easy. You don’t even need talent.’”
Though most web-comic artists work with graphic design software, Myles preferred Crayola markers and copy paper, using the money his grandmother gave him for a Wacom tablet to instead purchase a pack of Washable Super Tip Markers with Silly Scents, a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, and a Pachinko machine.
In a grand gesture of commitment, Myles put ink to skin before putting ink to paper, paying $259 for a poorly executed My Little Pony-themed tattoo, a deluded gesture of unfulfilled dedication to his now-nonexistent comic. The tattoo will likely to be an enduring reminder in his waning years of poor decisions and precious time squandered.
“It’s a ‘cutie mark’,” Myles explained of the purple quill etched permanently on his upper thigh, mimicking a feature of the show in which ponies are marked upon their flanks with a symbol of their special talent—talents that these fictional characters were ironically more successful at developing than Myles.
Despite the inevitability of the desertion of the ill-fated web-comic, Myles had spent a senseless amount of time mapping out plots and character biographies, essentially spending the bulk of the comic’s production on back-story that no one would have the chance to read.
“I was going to base the comic within the mythology of the My Little Pony Tales series, but I figured I should stay contemporary and mapped out an entire arch within the realm of the Friendship is Magic lore,” explained Myles, revealing a deep knowledge of the franchise of which most seven-year-old girls would not have the patience to retain.
Multiple factors led to the comic’s early demise, including an obligatory vacation with his mother to see family in South Carolina and the discovery of large diamond deposits in Minecraft. The premature drying-out of the Cotton Candy marker used for the character Pinkie Pie also greatly influenced the death of Tales from Sugar Cube Corner.
“You have to maintain a certain level of consistency in this art-form,” said Myles, defending a level of meticulousness unwarranted for the chosen medium and subject matter. “It’s not like I could have used the Pink Sherbert marker for Pinkie Pie. Fans were going to notice.”
The comic will remain on his mother’s fridge for another four years, at which point his future step-father will finally kick him out and remove all such mementos from the house.
M. Scott Caldwell is The Daily Sprat’s senior correspondent in self-deprecation and is the leading expert in calling the kettle black. His latest article for Harper’s Magazine—“My Geeky Interests Are Far Superior to Your Geeky Interests”—accidently exposed the hollowness of nerds slandering other nerds. That being said, “bronies” are still stupid.
Aperture Laboratories New Weighted Companion Cube Dating Site
Meet Bill, Test Subject #678. His story is a typical one here at Aperture Laboratories. Bill finds himself in the perfect sterility of the Relaxation Vault, awakened from stasis with the great privilege to participate in an Aperture Science Enrichment Center test program—only to be ensnared by grief at the sudden realization that he is alone and unloved.
We at Aperture Laboratories have wrestled with the pathetic frailties of human test subjects like Bill for decades. Attempts have been made to compensate for these instances of mental relapse, including promises of grief counselling and cake upon completion of testing.
However, humans like Bill need more than corporate administered trauma therapy and the increased serotonin levels that come from anticipating the engorgement of black forest cake. Though it may seem laughable to you or I, human test subjects require a healthy dose of something far less tangible: love.
Test subjects who are afflicted by this unfortunate cognitive process may be pleased to hear that Aperture Science has developed the Love Organizing System for Emotional Restoration (L.O.S.E.R.), a network-based relational-resolution algorithmic system, or “dating site”.
L.O.S.E.R. aids in matching repulsively despondent humans with appropriate Aperture Science Weighted Companion Cube surrogates.
In keeping with Aperture Laboratories’ spirit of continuous testing, GLaDOS—the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System responsible for the L.O.S.E.R. program’s development—announced that the program is part of a greater scientific initiative to methodically hypothesize the oft misunderstood human concept of love.
Such a grand endeavour must surely have excited the surviving Aperture employees, who despite their human limitations have always shown a wilful determination bordering on insolence. Surely, the resultant line-ups to volunteer for testing would have left many employees with the feeling that they would be left out of the program. However, members of the Aperture team were likely grateful to learn that participation in the program has been made mandatory for all.
“Here at Aperture, we will capture your heart,” announced GLaDOS, “as well as any connected organs, limbs, tissues, and freedoms.”
The L.O.S.E.R. dating site has been tailored to be human-friendly, with simple prompts, rounded graphical surfaces, and pretty colours. Upon completion of a rigorous questionnaire, the test subject is presented with a narrowed selection of Weighted Companion Cube variants.
The test subject can then make a final selection based on numerous traits, including gender associations and sexual orientation. The selected Companion Cube will then appear in the test subject’s relaxation vault via the Aperture Science Vital Apparatus Vent for their first romantic encounter.
Should the courtship prove fruitful, the test subject and the chosen Companion Cube are invited to move to the more “intimate” setting of an Aperture Science Extended Relaxation Chamber. These are fitted with bed, chair, Aperture Science Durable Weight-Supporting Surface, or “floor”, and other furnishings that may be required for an emotionally fulfilling engagement.
The consummated human and Companion Cube pair will then be subjected to a number of gruelling live-fire military courses, resplendent with sentry turrets, crushing spike plates, lasers, and pits of toxic soup that will both challenge and solidify the test subjects’ relationship with their Companion Cubes.
These tests have already yielded a wealth of information, most relevant being the psychological implications of the human-Cube relationships.
Isolation, coupled with situations of extreme stress, has led many human test subjects to form emotional bonds with the inanimate Companion Cubes. Successful completion of a test sequence is entirely dependent upon this bond, which we shall assume is “love. A subject and Cube pair in a relationship of mutual respect and co-operation is more likely to survive a deadly laser maze, whereas a pair-up with a weaker bond will more likely find themselves at the bottom of a pool of toxic waste, the human subject having been emancipated from his or her spine, the successful completion of the test now questionable.
Similarly, jealous test subjects have been known to cause insurmountable damage to testing facilities when suspicions of Companion Cube infidelity prove indisputable.
“We have learned so much about ‘love’,” comments GLaDOS. “Did you know zero out of 500 people survive a broken heart? Regardless of what instrument we use, or what part of the heart we destroy. Sad.”
Upon completion and survival of the test, the human test subject, now made emotionally and psychologically whole, is instructed to part with his or her Companion Cube by depositing it into the Aperture Science Emergency Intelligence Incinerator for immediate euthanasia.
The requisite of love fulfilled, the test subject can then be queued into the normal testing cycle.
“After thousands of tests we believe we understand the concept of ‘love’,” pontificated GLaDOS, “provided that love is the following: inflicting physical, emotional and mental pain on another sentient being; controlling and manipulating said being; taking possession of said being’s meagre assets; knowing all aspects of said being’s life in order to more efficiently manipulate and control them. Accordingly, it is safe to say that we here at Aperture Science… love each and every… one of you. To pieces.”
KAKARIKO VILLAGE, HYRULE—Link, the Hero of Hyrule—eradicator of the arachnid Gohma, annihilator of the Dragon Volvagia, and innoculator of the evil plague beset by the Gerudo king, Ganondorf—was defeated by chickens.
Residents of Kakariko Village looked on with a mixture of alarm and amusement as the champion of the mighty Hylian race was descended upon by a vengeful brood of cuccos, a breed of chickens known for their brainless wanderlust and a murderous temper when provoked.
“There was only one at first,” said Anju, the chicken keeper, “but then two, three, and then six more flocked to Link and started pecking him about.”
Eyewitnesses say that Link was attempting to perform a feat of bravado by gliding down from the top of the old windmill using only a cucco. The cucco in question did not wish to be wrangled. With all eyes of the Kakarikians upon him, a frustrated Link lost his temper and, to the shock of the villagers, smacked the befuddled chicken multiple times with a Deku stick.
The tables turned on Link, however, when a shrieking caw emitted from the fat fowl. Within seconds, several enraged chickens swept in and attacked Link, their feathery fury besting the wielder of the Master Sword.
When the dust and feathers settled, Link laid in bloodied dirt, his bones broken, his ego shattered. The urgent bleeping of Link’s last heart and the quiet clucking of the satiated cuccos were the only sounds to befall the muted crowd.
"Every year in Hyrule, there are at least eight reported fatal cucco attacks," claims Impa, Kakriko’s de facto guardian. “Usually alcohol is a factor.”
Some would be quick to say that it could happen to anyone, though many of the Kakarikians present for this attack believe it was a result of Link’s own hubris.
“Since defeating Ganondorf and freeing us from possible enslavement, Link has become a huuuuge douche,” said a young villager named Darling, recalling a time when Link seduced, then bedded, his courting lady, Honey. “Now he’s beating on helpless chickens? Is nothing sacred?”
Other villagers described another scandal when Link road down from Death Mountain on the backs of several bound Goron children, proclaiming aloud his birthright of his self-bestowed title of “Hero of Every-Goddamn-Thing”. He then absconded with a maiden and road off on his horse, Epona.
“Oh, look at me! I’m Link! I have the Master Sword!” Mutoh, the town carpenter, complained of Link’s arrogance. “Look! This is the hammer I used to bash a dragon’s head in! Oh, here’s the grappling hook I used to kill an amorphous blob. Oh, here’s the Lens of Truth I used to defeat some shadow monster bull****, but now I use it to look at the womenfolk naked!”
“That’s RIGHT! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing! I CAN SEE YOU STANDING OUTSIDE MY DAUGHTER’S WINDOW!” The carpenter then became unintelligible with rage.
Only Anju, the Cucco keeper, took pity on the newly-proclaimed persona non grata of Kakariko.
“I’ve been a Cucco farmer since I was a little girl,” cooed the smiling, petite young farmer. “One thing I’ve learned about these fluffy creatures is that they’re a plague onto this earth, capable of doing all manners of unseemly things to the human flesh.”
“They are not our cuddly animal friends, they are death machines,” she continued, never losing her inviting smile. “We should take from the cuccos what we can use and discard their shredded carcases to be chewed upon by orphans and the elderly.”
According to her friends, Anju is a well-known Link “groupie”, often found purposely standing in view of her bedroom window, awaiting her obsession to appear. “I welcome Link to look upon so he might peer upon my bosom with his Lens of Truth and find comfort and solace from his weary travels,” explained the crazy chicken lady.
While Anju remains an obsessive admirer of the former Hero of Hyrule, the rest of Kakariko is happy to see Link brought down a notch.
“It’s nice to see the elite wallowing in the dirt and blood like the rest of us schmucks,” said Mutoh. “I’d pay to see that again.”
M. Scott Caldwell is The Daily Sprat’s resident expert on Hyrulian history. His book, The Water Temple: An Architectural Quagmire, has won lasting praise, though the most recent, unabridged edition with profanities left intact was given less favourable reviews for being unreadable.
“Free roam my ass,” says local man flying helicopter out to sea
LIBERTY CITY—Tired of living in the vacuous confines of Liberty City, former resident Pete O’Connor took to the sky in a stolen police attack helicopter and headed into open waters.
Some experts are saying O’Conner, who has lived in the borough of Broker for 23 years, is suffering a “mental relapse”. Others suggest his abdication of civilized society is a logical reaction to a diminishing personal domain and probably his wiener not getting up.
“Liberty City may seem big to an outsider, but for me, it’s a prison,” said O’Conner, as he skimmed the surface of a calm blue ocean, smooth as a mirror, like a metaphor for self-actualization punching you in the teeth.
“I’m breaking past the confines of the world I knew and into the unknown. And I brought my Supertramp tapes!”
Liberty City Police Commissioner Mitt Fitzsimmons reported on the events that led up to the theft of the LCPD helicopter.
“This morning, Pete O’Connor kissed his wife Doris goodbye and took the subway to Algonquin, where he works as a clerk at the law firm of Goldberg, Ligner & Shyster. But, instead of clocking in at the office, he took a train to the northeast Algonquin precinct, made his way up to the roof of the station, and, with minimal effort and embarrassing ease, stole our military-grade attack helicopter.”
In the last year, O’Connor had dreamt of breaking through the Truman Show-like wall of blue sky surrounding the city and away from what he calls “a den of apathy and indifference, where a single person is drowned in the flood of the many, and I can never find a parking spot or a prostitute for less than $10 an hour.”
While O’Connor emphasized his desire to escape the oppressing banality of the urban jungle, dissatisfaction with his career seemed an important part of his decision to lam it.
“Working at a successful Algonquin law firm, I came in contact with lots of people who could pull out their cell phone and, with a quick dial, a helicopter or a boat would appear to take them away. I’ve always wanted to be able to do that.”
“Now that I’ve had to steal my own police chopper though, I feel like those guys were cheating at life somehow. Me? I had to earn this.”
Despite his lack of experience, O’Connor flew out into the Atlantic, the Liberty City shoreline rapidly disappearing, his fuel tank level clearly ignorable.
As day gave way to night, O’Connor’s panoramic view of the beauty of the cosmos unsullied by light pollution gave way to visions of Moses, the Buddha, and, finally, the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
By the time O’Connor had flown 800 kilometres from the coast, he was spouting off the tenets of Existentialist philosophy.
“There is no inherent meaning to be extracted from this universe,” said O’Connor, “only the meaning which we give to ourselves. And I have found that meaning. And it’s to be completely pointless.”
O’Connor soon entered a trance-like state, humming a seemingly endless dirge, well within achieving what Buddhists call Enlightment . Until he grew bored and attempted several aerial flips, firing his mounted machine guns like a meth-addled Yosemite Sam .
Then he accidently hit the Y button and fell 50 feet into the ocean.
M. Scott Caldwell is The Daily Sprat’s senior third-person-omniscient voice, author of the book The News of God: First-Person Accuracy from the Outside, about which the New York Times wrote “…this is just bulls***”.
Multiple Jedis arrested, one on trial after younglings Force-molested by Jedi instructors
CORUSCANT, GALACTIC REPUBLIC—To a repertoire that includes Force jumping, Force pushing, and Force crocheting, the Jedi Order can now add Force molesting.
According to the Republic Security Forces, several arrests have been made with one trial already underway after a number of younglings professed to being grabbed, groped, and fondled without ever being physically touched by their assailant.
“This sort of thing has been going on for years, maybe thousands,” said Security Force Chief Dayton Terek. “Most Jedi initiates are orphans who were whisked away from their parents while still infants. Jedis are the closest to family they have. So, when you can’t go to a parent, what do you do? You live in silence.”
Since last year’s launch of the Youngling Help Phone, more Jedi initiates and Padawans are going outside of the Jedi Temple’s sanctum to make reports to the Republic Security Forces. As a result, police have already made several arrests.
Most recently, Jedi Master Coleman Trebor is on trial before the regional court of Coruscant on five counts of youngling molestation.
Master Trebor was nearly released before his trial even began when Judge Lysscol Pog looked upon Master Trebor and subsequently told the court “We don’t need to see this man. This isn’t the Jedi we’re looking for.” The strong-minded bailiff eventually convinced Judge Pog that Trebor was indeed the Jedi they were looking for.
Master Trebor’s attorneys believe they can make a case for his innocence, despite massive evidence to the contrary, including eyewitnesses and semen-stained tunics.
“My client was unaware that the Pau’an species take longer to mature than humans,” said attorney Nawara Ven. “When Jedi Initiate Wug said he was twenty-one standard-years old, Master Trebor thought that meant Wug was well past the age of consent—rather than 3-years-old. So, in a way, my client is guilty of sexual harassment, not pedophilia.”
However, when Wug took the stand yesterday morning, the prosecution was dealt a strategic victory:
PROSECUTOR: “Wug, can you show for the Court on this plush Wampa doll where Jedi Master Trebor touched you?”
WUG: “AHHH, he’s doing it right now!”
TREBOR: “Pfft, what? Oh, I am not! … I swear!”
Jedi Master Trebor’s counsel is still optimistic, believing the justice system will prevail. “I will do what it takes to keep Master Trebor from being raped in prison by a Rancor.”
While the people of the Galactic Republic wait on the outcome of the trial, the staggering revelation of Jedi abuse has left many bewildered and demanding answers.
“The Jedi Order has long seen their institution as something outside the law,” said Chief Terek. “The Jedi see our laws and constitutions as mere human constructs, considered secondary to the teachings of the Force.”
“As a result, these unlawful acts are often dealt with internally to protect their people from our supposedly imperfect laws,” continued Terek. “So, even when a youngling does approach another Jedi for help, the news rarely leaves their halls.”
This protocol has come under scrutiny from the Senate, many of whom suspect this policy is being used to shuffle off offending instructors to other academies—and to unsuspecting clans of initiates.
“There needs to be some kind of accountability,” says Senator Fang Zar. “The Jedi Council is whisking away offenders without due process.”
Many Jedis have come forward to condemn their colleagues’ debased acts of abuse. However, with first-hand insight into the inner-workings of the Jedi Temple , they see it as a difficult problem to solve.
“The fact is we’ve all been molested at some point,” said Jedi Master Du Mahn, a minder of Jedi initiates. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had my boob Force-groped. And Obi-Wan Kenobi was always telling me how he’d swear his ass was in a constant state of being caressed. Mace Windu was always leering at him. The problem is you can’t always tell who it is, not when we Jedis can use the Force to put up mind-blocks.”
“Once, though, I’m pretty sure I knew who it was,” Mahn revealed, “when I swear my nipple was twisted by a small, three-fingered claw.”
There have also been recent reports of male younglings being taken advantage of by female Jedi masters. However, most of these reports have been dismissed by security forces as being “F***ING AWESOME!” as officers then high-five the supposed “victims”.
M. Scott Caldwell is The Daily Sprat’s senior interplanetary relations correspondent. His latest book, Jawas Can’t Look Up: Interesting Facts about the Least Impressive Species, was extremely dull.