The following journal entries are those of Stormtrooper TK-726, a struggling, low-level attorney stationed on the first Death Star. They largely depict his trials and tribulations as a last-resort Imperial attorney. Found floating in space by a band of smugglers, Mos Eisley Radio acquired the journals and has set to work on translating and documenting the content. Though his fate is still shrouded in mystery, at this point, one thing is strikingly unclear: Who knows why TK-726 even bothered to record his these things?
JOURNAL ENTRY 11.92.11
To see a Moff stroll into my office was a shock. Even more shocking was what he carried with him.
I should enlighten you as to why it would be a shock to see a real live Moff walk into my office. Not three floors above me sits the high end firm of TKs-7 and 9, PLC. They have represented virtually every big-time imperial Moff in the last fifty years. I, on the other hand, am pretty sure that the last occupant of my office was some sort of huttese cookery because early in the mornings when the heat kicks in, this place has a weird smell. If you were a Moff looking for legal counsel, where would you go? Spendy Corellianwood conference tables, or former Hutt kitchen. Exactly.
Anyway, here comes this old guy. I know he’s old because 1: he looks old, and 2: he has no sideburns. I’m not sure when exactly this happened, but someone must have passed some sort of law that says that Moffs under the age of fifty have to grow enormous burns. I saw a guy yesterday whose head was wider than it is tall. Let’s just say I’m glad I wear a helmet because sideburns big enough to put into ponytails are not exactly what I want.
I digress. Here comes old man Moff with one of those durasteel briefcases. The kind where you’re about 95% sure whatever is in there has got to be seriously illegal, and is usually handcuffed to some poor chap who is destined to take a blaster bolt at any time.
He steps in and the first thing he says is, “This shall remain confidential. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir. How may I help you?”
“I have something I want you to look at.”
Now, if you know me at all, you’re probably wondering why I haven’t started thinking about how I’m going to get paid. Let me assure you; Moffs have a great legal coverage plan. We can move on, back to what’s in the briefcase.
“Before I show you what’s in this, you’re probably wondering why I’m not at 7 and 9. I don’t trust them, and I don’t trust their clients; namely, all the other Moffs. Someone has broken into my personal quarters. After a thorough sweep, it appears that no documents were disturbed, and no bugs were planted. However, they did leave behind a piece of evidence,” the Moff calmly spoke, although I could see the intensity in his eyes that he was going to open the briefcase.
He cracks the lid and a little bit of fog escapes, as though I needed any more mystique in this whole event. As the lid opens wider I recognize he’s got a mini-carbonite casing inside. First off, those things are flat-out awesome, and not even close to affordable. But what is even more awesome is what I was pretty sure was captured perfectly inside the little carbonite chamber.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“It is indeed. The burglar left it in the sani-room.”
It was a perfectly preserved turd, sealed in carbonite.
Yes, I was staring at a grown man who has brought me another man’s (I can only assume man. I suppose I could be wrong) defecation in a 25,000 credit mini-carbonite chamber.
“So, just so we’re clear here, this is indeed feces?”
“Yes, it is”
“And why exactly are you here again?”
“You’re going to help me find the burglar.”
Sigh. I really thought this was going to be a big score for me. I was so tired of drinking low end garbage ale that I really did consider going through with it, but I just couldn’t. I had to bring this nut-job back to reality and out of the holodramas. My god, he could have his finger on the button of this freaking space station’s laser. He doesn’t need this on his mind.
“Sir, if you could take a look around for a second, you’ll see that not only do I not have any of the fake equipment you see in holodramas that might be used to, how shall I say, process this particular item, but I’d like to raise the following potential to you. Let’s say that I was another Moff looking to really befuddle you. Isn’t it possible that someone broke into your quarters, left no bugs, took nothing, and dropped one in your sanibowl knowing that you just might spend the next month carrying it around trying to track down the culprit?”
We stared at each other for a good 30 seconds. I have never been more glad I wear a helmet.
He grabbed his sh*t and walked out. I didn’t hear another word about it.