Alas, my wicked scheme doth go awry
for ere the child queen could captured be,
this self-same girl, new placed upon her throne,
of foolish, weak and naïve mind, Padme
she is called by some, Amidala else,
was stolen, spirited away by those
sent forth in secret by that Valorum
who has ever thought himself befriended
by my hidden self, one shrewd yet kindly,
e’en avuncular to those I favor,
a Senator by day, called Palpatine,
who yet by night treads darker paths unknown
to all save that apprentice to the Sith.
Come, Lord Maul, attend me.

Master, I will.
Bid me serve thy black and vile purpose.
Let me delight in skewering thy foes,
send me forth to split them crown to navel
and spread their stinking offal at thy feet,
to unleash gory torrents from their necks
in crimson streams to lap about thy ankles.
This I do crave and more. Shall I go on?

Nay, thou hast made thy meaning crystal clear.
Thy vivid words leave no need of pictures,
so send them not to my office again
my secretary oft times checks my mail

Abjectly I beg my master’s pardon
and humbly ask to taste the lash’s pain.
Denise the dominatrix at Big Al’s,
punishment’s princess, mistress of mayhem,
hath much experience in these matters.
If I could have a couple hours free…

Too far in certain parts of thy training
sometimes I do think I have taken thee.
Verily, you do weird me out, Lord Maul.
But stay, enough of such pleasant pastimes.
Duty calls. Hast traced the Queen’s ship’s signal?

Yea, my master. This ship, though tempest-tossed,
battle-scarred, crippled, piloted by fools
did set down upon a sere, blasted world
a barren planet, Tatooine ‘tis called
of scant life by day, no nightlife at all.

My master, I do. A pleasure ‘twill be
to meet these Jedi, and so defeat them,
then disarm them, perhaps behead them.
Feet, arms, heads, get it? Am I good or what?

For that pun, Lord Maul, you should only die.
You prove yourself a master of evil.
But aye, these Jedi should give you no pause.
They’ll be no match for thy skill, I’ll warrant.
Indeed, ‘twas mine own hand that did train thee
and they are but a man well past his prime
and a boy, a pup, young, green and untried.

What of the Queen, once these Jedi are dead?
What would you have me do with this woman
after my enemies’ bloated corpses
lie motionless upon the blood-soaked sand,
naught but foul carrion for scavengers,
as bereft of breath as they are of souls?

She you must take to her own world, Naboo
and so deliver her to the Viceroy.
See that her frame of mind is well disposed
to sign such treaties as I require.

In sooth, ‘twill be a long trip to Naboo
and time will hang heavy upon my hands.
Methinks the trip could be even longer
should it happen my ship runs out of fuel.

Think again, Lord Maul, for this is DMEB
and the Queen is still under legal age.
Better ‘twould be for you if a maiden,
lady to the queen, sixteen or older,
did disguise herself as her mistress
and make noble sacrifice of herself
although aware of your depravities.
Your fearsome rage upon discovery,
eased by heaving bosom and trembling lips,
would make a tale to be read and sighed o’er.
‘Tis either that, or take a deck of cards.

I defer to thy wisdom, my master,
and will check ID’s before the assaults.
But how I do long for that happy day
when Sith stand forth and revenge will be ours,
our wrongs righted, our coolness acknowledged.

And so we Sith, we two, we happy few
Do put this scene to bed and say adieu