After the destruction of its most expensive battle station, the Empire had declared martial arts, er, law throughout the Galaxy.  A thousand worlds have felt the oppresive hand of the Empress, as she attempts to crush the growing Rebellion.  As the Imperial margarine, uh, grip of tyranny tightens, Princess Katroz Organa and her small band of freedom fighters Sonic, Tails - oops, search for a more secure base of operations.

Scotch!  A world of plaid landscapes and the smell of haggis in the air.  On patrol, PGSkywalker paused, and scanned the skies with his, well duh, eyes.  A barrage of projectiles struck the ground, startling his mount, a taunt.
"Easy, it's just a cache of scotch bottles.  They fall here like beer in Canada," reassured PGSkywalker.  He activated his comlink.  "You read me, AracHan?"
"You're not a book, are you?" questioned the eight-armed Corvettian over the comlink.
"I'm about to head back, after I check a bottle that just landed.  I'm thirsty," said PGS.
"There isn't enough non-alcoholic beverages on this planet to fill the Millenium Fart-on's hold.  I'll see you back at the base."  The base to which 'Han referred to was an extremely large bagpipe.  It blended with the landscape quite well.
As soon as 'Han had signed off, PGS's taunt bucked and reared.  "What's the matter?  There's nothing here except-."  PGS was cut off in mid-sentence as a howl filled the air.  "Please tell me that's the sound taunts make when they're constipated," he squeaked.
A large plaid creature leaped in front of PGS.  Before he could draw his pepper spray, the creature slammed a clawed hand into his face.

Somewhere across the horizon, a crater smoldered.  From it came an Imperial probe droid, shaped in the head of a wolf.

Elsewhere, within the large bagpipe serving as the Rebels headquarters, activity bustled.  A lone rider entered.  One of the engineers commented,"We thought Corvettians were tough, 'Han.  You actually look sick to your stomach."
"Well, I'm not wild about the smell of sheep organs cooked in a sheep's stomach," replied 'Han.  AracHan strode over over to his pride and joy, the Millenium Fart-on.  His co-pilot, Chewtobacca1234 was repairing the lifters.  "Hey Chewie!  How're the lifters?  I'll give you a hand," he said.
Chewtobacca1234 answered, but the tobacco he chewed altered his speech.  AracHan was the only one who understood him.
"Okay, I'll report first," said 'Han as he walked off.
"Leaving 'Han?" asked Major Rojo.
"Yep.  I've gotta get the price off my head Leech the Hutt's placed on me," responded AracHan.
"Well, good luck," said Rojo as he walked away. AracHan turned and found Princess Katroz Organa behind him.  "Geez, don't do that!"
"Sorry 'Han."
"Well, I guess this is it."
"Guess so."
"Well, don't get mushy on me or anything," said 'Han.
"I'm sorry!  We'll all miss you terribly!" cried Katroz, as fake tears began to flow.
"I wasn't being sarcastic."
"Oh."  Katroz stopped the fake sobbing instantly.  "Does PGS know you're leaving?"
"He's a smart boy, he'll figure it out.  I need to get this price off my head.  No time for goodbyes."
"But we still need you," said Katroz as she followed him to the Fart-on.
"I think you were just afraid I was going to leave without giving you a kiss," said the ever incorrible 'Han.
"Yeah right!  I'd rather kiss a wookie!"
"Hey Chewie!" called AracHan.
"I was joking," she yelled over her shoulder as she walked away.

Hanging from the ceiling of a plaid cave, PGSkywalker regained consciousness.  He saw an object lying beneath him.  "My MiSTsaber!  If I could only reach it!" he said aloud.  But the meter or so might as well have been, uh, two.
A voice filled the air.  "PGS, you must relax.  Think the saber into your hand.  Let the Farce flow."
PGS's relaxed, and began to use the Farce.  The saber reached his hand...and kept going.  The saber clubbed him in the head.
When he regained consciousness, the voice of Obi Hack Kenobi once again filled the air.  "Your hand, not your head, you yutz!"
Finally, the saber reached his hand and he freed himself.  Suddenly, a large creature burst through the wall.  "It's a plaid goblin!" thought PGS.  He battled it, and escaped to the surface.
It was night, and the stench of haggis was near its peak.  No living organism could withstand the smell overnight.  PGSkywalker trudged on, trying not to succumb to the smell.

Meanwhile, in the Rebel stronghold, an argument progressed.  "No, it is not my fault, you trasmitting twerp!  I did not say to crank the heat in Katroz's chamber," argued 3Pulse-Pio, the translator droid.  In actuality, 3Pulse-Pio only knew two languages.
The droid next to 3Pulse-Pio, MS-BS, chirped a reply.  "I have no idea what you just said MS, so allow us to forget this argument".  MS's comment had been an unflattering one, so it was probably good 3Pulse-Pio hadn't understood.
The two droids approached their destination.  The Millenium Fart-On.  3Pulse-Pio called out to the captain of the ship.  "Captain 'Han?  Sir, the Princess wishes to know if you are seriously departing, or are just, and I quote, "trying to get under her skin"?"
"I'm gone as soon as the lifters are fixed.  Chewie, try it now!"  The engines of the Fart-On came to life briefly, but not enough for any thrust, "Cripes!  What did we do wrong this time?!"  AracHan struck the ship with three of his eight arms.  MS-BS chirped.
"What was that?" asked 3Pulse, worried his secret of not knowing many languages would leak.  Fortunately, MS had a screen on his front which automatically translated his words.  "You have to be kidding!  Captain 'Han, sir, MS believes he has found your problem."
"Really?  Well then, by all means, tell us!" shouted 'Han sarcastically.
"Did you turn the key in the ignition?"
"Oh crap.  Chewie!!"  A quick reply from Chewie confirmed MS's theory.  "Well turn the key!"  The engine started, and the Fart-On lifted.  "Son of a Ford!" cursed 'Han.
Just then, a proximity alarm went off, drowning out all sound in the complex.  "Now what?" said 'Han to himself as he ran to the nearest security station.
"Sir," began Corporal M, "We are picking up an unidentified heat signature in the far east corridor.  It is moving towards the center of the compound."
"Get the nearest team there on it.  Chewie and I will rendezvous with the team there.  Let's move Chewie!"  The corvettian and his companion took off running, with the two droids not far behind.

"We tried not to kill it, sir, but it just came coming.  It's jokes were terrible and killed two guards," reported Sargeant Noname.  "We had to change to lethal fire power."
"Son of a Ford!" cursed 'Han as he surveyed the destruction.  A large hole in the wall, scorch marks all over the floor, and one dead plaid goblin.  Two security guards, 'Han believed their names to be Worzala and Mauk, had valiantly stood against the creature, buffeting it with comebacks to its terrible jokes, stalling it.  It took a well placed plasma bolt to stop it.
A beep sounded from a console in the wall.  "Katroz to 'Han.  'Han, are you there?" questioned the voice of a panicked Princess Katroz Organa.
"Where else would I be?"
"PGS hasn't came in yet.  Look at your chronometer."
"Why can't you just call it a watch, darn it!"  Despite his outburst, 'Han checked.  The time began to start his panic as well.  "Get me a taunt at the east docking bay.  I'm going out to find him."
"But 'Han, you'll both be killed!" argued Katroz.
"You have a better plan?" asked 'Han, expecting and receiving the answer.
"No, I don't."
"Well I do."
"What?" questioned the princess.
Grimly, 'Han said, "Not get dead."
"You better not, soldier!" said Katroz, a slight edge of humour in her voice.
"Wouldn't dream of it, your Majesty."  He closed the communication.  "Wouldn't want to leave you without company."

PGS struggled acrossed the ground, wishing he had a nose plug, at the least.  He stumbled, then fell.  He rose, but fell again.  He began to accept his fate, and stopped fighting. 
"What the heck are you doing?!  Get a move on, PGS.  You must survive.  The fate of the Rebellion depends on it!" said Obi Hack Kenobi.
"But...it's...so hard!" he croaked, on his hands and knees.  He thanked Tattoo that he had a partial cold.
Just then a figure on a taunt came across the horizon.  PGS blacked out as the figure approached him.  AracHan.

"Where are they?!" demanded Katroz.  She was in the communication center of the Rebel stronghold, and pacing the room.
"No communications from AracHan, Princess," said the communications officer.
"When will the speeders be ready?" questioned the Princess.
"Early morning at the earliest," replied the officer.
"Jinkies!" cursed Katroz.

Morning.  A fleet of speeders fanned out across the plain, searching for AracHan and PGSkywalker.  Just then one of the speeder pilots spotted an eight-armed man and his two-armed companion.  "I've found them."

Next:  Darth Rocheleau strikes Hoth!  PGSkywalker heads for a planet of which he has never heard of before, Tattoo, where he will encounter the MiSTing master, Prelate-Yoda!