"Obi-Wan is a Prick"
by Jay Richard

Look at that. That’s just great. I told you that I had the high ground, didn’t I? But no, no, you didn’t listen. Now look at you. You’re, like, Darth Stumpy McStumpstump now. You overachiever -- you couldn’t stop with just one missing limb. That would be too easy for you, Sith boy.

You were the Chosen One, you idiot. I mean, Space Jesus, you were supposed to be the salvation of the galaxy.

I had to grade you on a curve just to get you to “Jedi” status. I couldn’t flunk our precious little Chosen One, now could I? Do you have any idea how much pressure there was for me to pass you, like you were the school’s star quarterback? It was just like that, except instead of the school’s head coach pressuring me it was a green midget with a grammar problem. You have no idea how humiliating that is. Yoda has been talking down to me for longer than you’ve been alive, and it just gets worse over time. Trust me on that.

And the whole thing about you destroying the Sith -- we can see how well that went over. And what is up with your eyes? Did you put your contacts in wrong again? I keep telling you not to rub them....

Oh, you hate me. That’s great, just great. I’m sorry. That’s just great, you know that?

Did I mention that I had the high ground? Did I not tell you that it was over? You could have kept on floating down this river of lava, found a closer spot, jumped up there and we could have started fighting all over again. Did you even consider that? For a Sith, you’re not big on planning things out and cackling in the shadows.

You were like a brother to me, Anakin. You were like my younger, mildly retarded brother that I had to keep making excuses for so you wouldn’t get in trouble. You break the cookie jar and I have to go into a monologue about how it’s not your fault that you were born with a hair-lip.

And all your Emo shit got old real fast. Walking around trying to look Goth with your dark leather armor that wouldn’t protect you from a mouse droid with a gyro out of sync.... What was up with that? You lose your hand, get some small scratches on your face, then that gives you the right to write bad poetry on how life is pain?

Oh, that’s right; you didn’t know that I read your diary. Yeah, your poems suck. All of them. And I’m so glad that you’re going to die before you finish your screenplay. Who in their right mind names their protagonist “Starkiller,” Space Jesus....

Oh, and now look. You’re on fire. That’s just great. I told you I had the high ground, you stupid motherfucker. What kind of Sith Lord are you? You’ve been on the job for, like, what? Two days tops? You got your punk ass handed to you before you even got your stock red lightsaber.

And speaking of that, I’ll be taking your saber now for no apparent reason.

And don’t think I don’t expect the Emperor to show up and haul you out of here. I can see the shuttle now -- the old man has had his blinker on for the last parsec. And you know what? I don’t care. Let him handle you -- I'm done with you, momma’s boy. Thank you and goodnight, Skywalker.