“He doesn’t like you.”
The lightsaber cuts swiftly
A disarming scene

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MINCH: Hi there, I’m Minch, and I’m the owner and proprietor of Minch’s Hot Yoda.

[External image of MINCH’S HOT YODA in the strip mall opposite Tanget]

MINCH: We offer a full slate of classes in the ancient exercise form of yoda, from beginners to experts. In a world that’s largely burned out on trendy yoga, our yoda classes offer the same dime-store philosophizing along with the ability to kick some serious ass.

[Video of MINCH’S HOT YODA students fighting each other with foam lightsabers, jumping about like grasshoppers and visibly sweating]

MINCH: Our lightsaber drills combined with Dagobah-hot temperatures guarantee that you’ll lose weight, gain strength in your core, and send your midichlorian count through the roof assuming you believe in that nonesense.

[Video of MINCH’S HOT YODA students stacking rocks and lifting X-Wings with pulleys]

MINCH: Whether you’re interested in the meditative, deliberate Puppet Yoda style or the hyperkinetic, unrealistic CGI Yoda style, Minch’s Hot Yoda has it! Darksiders need not apply. Open on the fourth, fifth, and sixth days of the week, since the others don’t count.

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Full Name: Xasa Barcolian
Gender: Female
Galactic Security No: XXX-XX-1977
Date of Birth: 17/32/28 ABY
Place of Birth: Socorro
Race: Corellian
Ethnicity: Bharhulai
Settlement of Birth: Cjaalysce’I
Religion: Church of the Force (Reformed)
H-mail Address: xasabear@laptinek.hol.soc
Permission to Contact Using Spacebook? No
HoloNet No: 46703839741437
Mailing Address: 1981 Solview Terrace, Vakeyya, SO
Father’s Name: Dolo Barcolian
Mother’s Name: Cinda Barcolian

Fighting Gundarks Women’s Smashball
Fighting Gundarks Women’s Swoop Team
Fighting Gundarks Women’s Banthaquestrian
Fighting Gundarks Cheertrooper Legion
Church of the Force YoungLife
Droid Club


Jon Yosarian Jr. High School
Core GPA:: 2.44/4.0
Overall GPA: 2.81/4.0

Galactic Aptitude Test (GAT)
Galactic Standard Speech: 16/36
Galactic Standard Reading: 17/36
Science: 27/36
Mathematics: 26/36
Force: 37/36

Standard Galactic Test (SGT)
Verbal Reasoning: 580/1127
Mathematical Reasoning: 1058/1127
Force Reasoning: 1130/1127

Part of going to college is expanding who you are and findinf your dream. I know that i need to expad my horisons and chase after my dreams. My dreams are to be a profesional Cheertrooper and also a pro swoop racer. Im not so silly that i dont have a plan after that, i want to be a drod designer for Cybot Galactica. My droid will be the firsst to win the Galatic Art Cup. In closing, whil i dont know what i want to major in yet, it has been a journey of making my dreams and myself as a persin. My gradez do not reflect who i am as a person, i am more than a set of numbers. Thank u for your time, may the frce b with u, and GO BANTHAS!!!!

Very poor core GPA
-Pukey essay
-AGT/SGT scores show strong ‪‎Dark Side‬ leanings
-Recommend admissions deferral at this time

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The drill instructor was a younger man, well-muscled, wearing a pair of thick black eyeglasses beneath his campaign hat. His dark skin glistened in the 100-degree sunshine, and there was a Decepticon badge on his lapel.

“It doesn’t matter what my name is; you crotchjockeys don’t have the brain cells to say it without making my ancestors howl worse than your parents when they saw your SAT scores,” he barked. “Just call me Sergeant Poindexter. I joined up because I wanted to boss around the jockstrap sniffers that used to snap decent people with towels. So saddle up, my precious unorganized grabastic amphibians, because I am the Kwisatz Haderach and my name is a killing word!”

Some of the recruits exchanged nervous glances. One seemed about to ask a question; the sergeant quickly stepped in front of him, nose to nose. “From now on you speak only when spoken to. You talk out of turn and I will pluck a strand of your hair and give it to the voodoo chaplain to curse you with crotch sores, yea unto the seventh generation! You got that, padawan?”

“Y-yes sir!” the unfortunate recruit stammered.

“I am not ‘sir,'” howled the sergeant, “‘sir’ is your deputy basketball coach or whoever else in your life regularly handled your balls. You will call me ‘Sergeant’ or so help me I will mow you redneck zombies down like George Romero and keep your heads in my icebox next to Zuul! That clear, you piss-poor pack of level one fighters?”

“Yes sergeant!”

“Come on, now, sound off like you got a pair! How’s Cobra Commander going to know you’re coming if you can’t even squeeze out a decent ‘yo Joe?’ All of you, in unison!”

“Yes sergeant!” the men cried at what could hardly be described as the same time.

“My job is to weed out all you letter-jackets who are too dumb for even the United States armed forces,” the sergeant continued. “I asked for a bunch of Imperial Stormtroopers, and I got you! I don’t need to see your identification, I know you’re not the recruits we’re looking for. You’re clueless as a bunch of Microsoft dancing paperclips and twice as annoying; but you popped up and by God I’m going to bend you into shape even if I have to rewrite the source code. You grok me?”

“Yes sergeant!” the men answered once more, a bit more in unison.

“From now on, you maggots are my own personal Pokémon: I throw down, and you do what I say without question. You don’t need to know how to do anything but follow orders, say your own name, and learn to like getting repeatedly shoved in the balls. You are the lowest form of life on Earth, all equally worthless. A flu virus in a Chinese hooker contributes more to society. Are your feelings on this matter clear? Let me hear it again, Recruitmons!”

“Yes, sergeant!”

With apologies to Stanley Kubrick and Skippy.

“I don’t think our generation has fully thought this whole childraising thing through,” said Andrea. “There are important issues that our parents didn’t have to deal with.”

“Like the internet?” Jake said, stroking her hair. “Or cell phones?”

“Like Star Wars,” Andrea said. “Will we teach our kids that Han Solo shot first and that you watch the movies in the order that they were made? When will we sit them down to talk about Jar Jar Binks?”

“I think we can work through that issue,” Jake said.

“Will we really let them play with kids whose parents are Star Wars fundamentalists that insist no new movies have been made since 1983, or kids who–God forbid–make them watch the movies in numerical order?” Andrea giggled. “What kind of parents would we be if we allowed that?”


“There you go again, oversimplifying,” Andrea said, playfully hitting Jake with a pillow. “Star Wars orthodoxy could be a huge issue for our children, causing strife in the classroom and on the playground to rival the great schisms of old. Nobody our age has thought this through in the slightest, to say nothing of other issues like Old Trek vs. New Trek or which cut of Blade Runner they should see. We’ve got to do it, for the children’s sake!”