Star Wars Joke-A-Day

After Tusken Raiders attack his farm, Uncle Owen decides to buy some nexus as guard animals. He purchases five nexus, but soon realizes that the cost of feeding them is just too expensive. So he piles them into his landspeeder and travels to Mos Eisley, with the intention of selling them.

When he gets to Mos Eisley, he visits all of the local pet stores, but nobody wants to buy the nexus. Finally, a shady Toydarian merchant offers a deal. “Listen,” he tells Owen, “I happen to notice that all of your nexus are female. And I happen to own five male nexus. Let’s get our nexus together, raise a nexu farm, and split the profits.”

It’s not what he had in mind, but Owen figures it’s better than nothing. So he speeds over to the Toydarian’s house, and lets his nexus do their thing with the male nexus.

Afterwards, as he puts his nexus into the landspeeder, the Toydarian flutters over to him. “If they’re not pregnant in a week,” he says, “bring ‘em back and we’ll try again.”

“How will I know if they’re pregnant?” asks Owen.

“Nexus are very predictable,” responds the Toydarian, “if they’re pregnant, they’ll be huddled together in the shade. If they’re not, they’ll be roaming around in the sun.”

So Owen goes home, waits a week, then on the seventh day, looks outside to see his nexus roaming around in the hot desert sun. “Guess they’re not pregnant,” shrugs Owen, and he piles them back into the landspeeder for another trip to Mos Eisley.

After that trip, Owen goes home and waits another week. On the seventh day, he’s relaxing in his favorite chair when he remembers the nexus. “Hey Beru,” he calls into the next room, “can you look out the window and see if the nexus are in the shade or in the sun?”

Beru goes to look. “Neither,” she calls back, “they’re sitting in your landspeeder, and one of them is honking the horn!”

Shortly after the Invasion of Naboo, the newly-elected Chancellor Palpatine is invited to a special Gungan ceremony. He will be the first of the Naboo to visit the Gungan Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Palpatine arrives at the Sacred Place, and is greeted by Boss Nass, who leads him into a dank mausoleum. In the center is a large stone burial chamber, with the following words etched into its side: “The Unknown Soldier: Ganne Bopals, Gooba Fisherman.”

“I don’t understand,” says Palpatine, “Why is Ganne Bopals buried here? I was told this is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier!”

“It ees the Tomb-a of the Unknown Soldier,” replies Boss Nass. “As a soldier, Bopals was nobody. But as a fisherman, he was-a famous!”

One particularly dry evening, Momaw Nadon strolls into the Mos Eisley Cantina and stands next to the bar. “Three shots of Corellian whiskey, please,” he warbles in stereo.

Ackmena, the bartender, looks at him suspiciously. “One after another?”

“Nope,” responds Momaw, “all at once, if you could.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she takes out three shotglasses, fills them each to the brim, and places them before him. The thirsty Ithorian quickly downs the first glass, then the second, then the third.

“You know,” says the curious Ackmena, “that’s pretty strong stuff. Why not savor it and drink ‘em one at a time?”

“It’s to remind me of home,” responds Momaw. “Back on Ithor, my two brothers and I would go drinking all the time. But now, the three of us are scattered about the galaxy. So we made a pact: every night, no matter where we were, we’d each take three shots all at once, as if we were all drinking together once again.”

“Awwww, that’s sweet,” says Ackmena, “you come back here any time you want.”

And that’s exactly what Momaw Nadon did. Every night he’d return to the Cantina, where he would drink three separate shots of Corellian whiskey.

This ritual continues for months, until one evening. As usual, Momaw walks to his regular place at the bar, and Ackmena sets three full shotglasses before him. Then, slowly, Momaw pushes one of the glasses back towards her. “Not tonight, Ackmena. Just two glasses tonight, and just two from now on.”

As he slurps down both drinks, the rest of the Cantina patrons grow silent. Everyone feels the same terrible sense of loss. Finally, Ackmena summons up the courage to say something.

“Momaw,” she stammers, “I’m so sorry. Which of your brothers passed away?”

The Ithorian’s hammerhead eyes widen with surprise. “What? My brothers aren’t dead!”

“But — you wanted two glasses, instead of three?”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that,” says Momaw, “I just gave up drinking!”

Jar Jar Binks is aboard Queen Amidala’s royal starship, holding on for dear life as the cruiser busts past the Neimoidian blockade. It’s Jar Jar’s first experience with space travel, and his ears are popping horribly.

“Ex-squeeze me,” he asks his fellow passengers, “do yousa have anything that might help mesa ears?”

Padme stands up and hands him a stick of chewing gum. “That should do the trick,” she explains.

Jar Jar is quiet for the rest of the flight, but when they finally land on Tatooine, he goes back to Padme. “Muy muy thanks for the gum,” he says, “but do yousa know how to get it out of mesa ears?”

Reeking of intoxication, Hem Dazon stumbles into the Mos Eisley Cantina and approaches the bar. “My good man,” he says to Wuher the bartender, “I’d like you to give a drink to everyone here! Then pour yourself a drink. And give me the tab.”

The Cantina crowd cheers, and Wuher happily hands out a round. But when he presents Hem with the bill, Hem shakes his head. “Sorry,” says the tipsy Arcona, “I can’t cover that. I don’t have a dime on me.”

Wuher is properly incensed. He punches Dazon in the face, then kicks him to the ground. Finally, he picks him up and literally throws him out of the Cantina.

But the next day, as if nothing had happened, Hem strolls back into the Cantina. “Sir,” he announces, “please pour a drink for all of your wonderful patrons, and give me the tab!”

“Oh really?” smirks Wuher, “No drink for me this time?”

“Certainly not,” says Dazon, “you get violent when you drink.”

Watto’s in trouble. He purchased a huge lot of rolo-droids — 4,000 in all — and nobody was buying.

“This will ruin me,” laments Watto to his young slave Anakin, “those little droids cost me a fortune, and they’re taking up half my junkyard! How-a am I ever supposed to turn a profit now?”

Just then, a well-dressed Twi’lek strides into the shop. “Excuse me,” he booms, “I represent Ogramit Securities, and I was told by a rival merchant that you might have some R-PK rolo-droids available.”

Watto flutters to the door. “Why-a, yes! Yes, of course I do! How-a many do you need?”

“Several thousand, at least.”

Watto stares back at Anakin, who’s equally amazed.

“I have just what you need! The boy will get them for you!”

“Wonderful,” chortles the Twi’lek businessman, “but I will not be taking them back with me. For an order this large, I must confirm it with my home office on Ryloth. Afterwards, if they approve, you can ship all the droids directly to there.”

He hands Watto a small disc. “All the information you require is on here. If there is a problem, I will send a message with a protocol droid. But if you don’t hear from me in one week’s time, assume the deal is on and send the droids!” With that, he slaps Watto’s hand and departs.

The next week is the longest of Watto’s life. Each day, he and Anakin do nothing but stare at the entrance to the shop. Day one passed, and no protocol droid showed up. Day two, no droid. Same for days three, four, five, six. By closing time on day seven, Watto is ecstatic — until a silver-white droid suddenly appears in his doorway.

“I have a priority message for the proprietor of this establishment.”

Watto slumps to the ground, waving a hand at Anakin. “You get it, boy.”

Anakin sprints to the droid and take a small envelope out of its hands. He opens it up, takes a glance — then suddenly perks up! “Watto, great news! Your sister died!”

Kabe sits in the Mos Eisley Cantina, pounding down one drink after another. Muftak notices this and strolls on over to see what’s bothering her.

“Yeah, I’m upset” replies Kabe, “Three months ago, my grandmother died. Suddenly, out of nowhere. Gone. She left me 15,000 credits.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says Muftak.

“But then,” Kabe continues, “but then! But then, four weeks later, my father passes away. He wasn’t much of a dad, but he left me 40,000 credits.”

“Two losses in a row,” replies Muftak, “that must have been pretty hard on you.”

“It was,” nods Kabe, “and then it got worse. Three weeks ago, my own mother died. My own dear sweet mother! And in her inheritance, she willed me 20,000 credits.”

“What a horrible time this must be for you,” says Muftak in his most sympathetic voice.

“Yeah,” Muftak responds, “and then this month - nothin’!”

Luke Skywalker, racing along on his way to Anchorhead, sees a sign on the side of the road. Talking Nexu For Sale, it reads in hand-written letters, with an arrow pointing towards an old shack. Screeching his landspeeder to a halt, Luke jumps out and heads towards the hovel.

He knocks on the door, which is promptly answered by a grizzled old man. “Can I help you?”

“The sign says you have a, um, talking nexu…?” asks Luke.

“Yup. Out back,” mumbles the old man, pointing to an even smaller shed on the side, “go on ‘n’ check ‘im out.”

Unsure of what to think, Luke quietly steps off in the direction of the shed. He opens its creaky door to find, sure enough, a nexu sitting calmly inside.

“So,” Luke begins, “do you talk?”

“Sure do,” the nexu says.

Luke can barely keep his jaw from hitting the sand. “Then how did you end up here?”

“Well, during the Clone Wars,” replies the nexu, “I worked with the Grand Army, sniffing out mines and keeping the Troopers safe. For that, I was awarded the Chancellor’s Medal of Honor. After the war ended, I served in Palpatine’s office, acting as the Emperor’s official guard nexu. Then, during a campaign stop on Ord Mantell, I foiled an assassination attempt on the Emperor’s life. After that, I was honorably discharged and sent here to retire.”

Luke is dumbfounded. “Um, thank you very much,” he manages, before slipping out and heading back to the shack. The old man is waiting for him on the front porch.

“How much do you want for that nexu?” Luke asks, trying to be calm.

“Five credits.”

Luke nearly screams. “Just five credits?!?”

“Or make an offer.”

“But, but, but,” stammers Luke, “that’s an amazing animal you’ve got there!”

“Hardly,” snorts the old man, “everything he says is a damn lie!”