This article is part of the The Blue Stripe Logs series.
THEFT OF MESS PROPERTY
Date / Time: 7-22-79 / 09:40
Incident Description: I realize that the Rebellion is an equal-opportunity employer, but I have to question the wisdom of hiring a clan of kleptomaniac dwarfs that do not speak a comprehensible language. Regardless of HR's reasoning, we're stuck with these six and they are nothing but trouble.
I will attempt to use this report to chronicle the sum of the larceny that has occured in the Officer's Mess since the Jawas were hired.
7-4: Meekek and Sevu were asked to mop the floors. They instead melted down all of the silverware into a large metal ingot that they traded to one of our suppliers for a JJ-F4 droid that is only capable of opening doors. They seemed very pleased with this trade, although they scattered when I began yelling.
7-8: Torno convinced the others to unscrew the metal countertops in the kitchen. He smuggled them out to Yavin 3 and sold them for a droid that paints ceilings. When I confiscated this droid to hand it over to custodial several of the Jawas bit me.
7-15: During a formal dinner Zuk distracted me with a dance while the others crept under tables and stole the shoes, socks, and feet of various officers and their guests. With the help of security I was able to recover most of the feet, but the shoes and socks were never found.
7-16: The next day a Corellian HN-66 assembly droid appeared in the mess. It was apparently taken from one of Corellia's shipyards and it spent most of the morning stamping our folding chairs into the shape of window frames.
7-17: All of our ovens disappeared. In their place was a cone with feet and a flashing yellow light that just keeps cursing in Mandalorian. If you get too close to it a little panel opens and it tries to grab your breasts.
7-22: The last straw was this morning. I woke up on the floor of the barracks and found that all of the metal bedframes had disappeared during the night. In the Officer's Mess I found 750 bird incubator droids all screeching like the bird they are supposed to emulate.
Something has got to be done about these guys.
Suggested Action: Have security investigate fully.
FORMAL REQUEST FOR TRANSFER
Date / Time: 11-27-80 / 08:34
Incident Description: I've been with the Rebellion for what, fifteen years now? I've been stationed on Dantooine, Hoth, Yavin 4, you name it. My wife and my son have followed me all the way. Now here I am on Endor, wondering why we need a field kitchen in the middle of a commando operation. I want out.
Look, I think these Empire guys get the message. We don't like them. We don't like them so much we're going to blow up everything they have built.
Here I am feeding Norloc soup to a bunch of ungrateful teddy bears while the commandos I landed with are playing grab ass with some storm troopers. What am I doing? Why am I ladling out re-heated soup for these little shits? Can you answer me that?
Can you answer me why I joined you guys when I was a teenager with dreams of bringing down the oppressive Empire and you filled me with promises of being a fighter pilot? Then when it came time to qualify for pilot I couldn't even make Z-95 school because you assholes said my compound eyes fuck with my depth perception.
News flash dickheads: I had those eyes when you told me I could be a pilot. And besides, have you ever seen a fly crash into a wall? I see dimensions you haven't even imagined with these things.
In short, get me off of Build-a-Bear Planet and either let me get back to the private sector or let me get behind the stick of an X-wing.
Suggested Action: Fuck you.
Of course, they didn't let me go. I sat on Endor watching the action like a tourist while those furry little creeps ate the dead storm troopers. Bet they didn't show you that in the newsreels did they? I guess my Norloc soup just wasn't enough because once they started taking prisoners they were pulling those poor bastards apart and eating them while they were still alive. Most horrific fucking thing I have ever seen. I'll never get it out of my head. Fuck the Rebellion.
Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic follow up to "Baby Got Back" has serious unintended consequences.
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
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