Narrator: The Tale of Sir Corran. So each of the pilots went their separate ways. Sir Corran flew north in his trusty X-wing (here we see Corran running with his arms held out like wings, making engine noises) through the dark system of Kay-Jay-Ay, accompanied by his favorite R2 unit.
Whistler: [translation] Bravely bold Sir Corran, flew forth from Coruscant.
He was not afraid to die, O brave Sir Corran.
He was not at all afraid to be vaped in nasty ways.
Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Corran!
He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp,
Or to have his eyes gouged out, and his elbows broken.
To have his kneecaps split, and his body burned away,
And his X-wing hacked and mangled, brave Sir Corran!
His head smashed in and his heart cut out,
And his liver removed and his bowels unplugged
And his nostrils raped and his bottom burned off,
And his pen--
Corran: That's-- that's, uh-- that's enough music for now, Whistler. Heh. Looks like there's dirty work afoot.
Mon Calamari: Anarcho-cynicalism is a way of preserving freedom.
Quarren: Oh, Ackbar, forget about freedom. We haven't got enough mud.
Three-Headed Darth: Halt! Who art thou?
Whistler: [translation] He is brave Sir Corran, brave Sir Corran, who--
Corran: Shut up! Um, n-- n-- n-- nobody really, I'm j-- j-- j-- ju-- just um, just passing through.
All Darths: What do you want?
Whistler: [translation] To fight and--
Corran: Shut up! Um, oo, a-- nothing, nothing really. I, uh, j-- j-- just-- just to um, just to p-- pass through, good Sir Sith.
All Darths: I'm afraid not!
Corran: Ah. W-- well, actually I-- I am a pilot of Rogue Squadron.
All Darths: You're a pilot of Rogue Squadron?
Corran: I am.
Left Darth: In that case I shall have to kill you.
Middle Darth: Shall I?
Right Darth: Oh, I don't think so.
Middle Darth: Well, what do I think?
Left Darth: I think kill him.
Right Darth: Oh, let's be nice to him.
Left Darth: Oh shut up.
Corran: Perhaps I could--
Left Darth: And you. Oh, quick! Get the lightsaber out. I want to cut his head off!
Right Darth: Oh, cut your own head off!
Middle Darth: Yes, do us all a favor!
Left Darth: What?
Right Darth: Yapping on all the time.
Middle Darth: You're lucky. You're not next to him.
Left Darth: What do you mean?
Middle Darth: You snore! And that breathing problem-- hoo hah, hoo hah-- get an inhaler, for Sith's sake!
Left Darth: Oh, I don't. Anyway, you've got bad breath.
Middle Darth: Well it's only because you don't brush my teeth.
Right Darth: Oh stop bitching and let's go have tea.
Left Darth: Oh, all right. All right. All right. We'll kill him first and then have tea and ryshcate.
Middle Darth: Yes.
Right Darth: Oh, not ryshcate.
Left Darth: All right. All right, not ryshcate, but let's kill him anyway.
All Darths: Right!
Middle Darth: He buggered off.
Right Darth: So he has. He's scarpered.
Whistler: [translation] Brave Sir Corran ran away.
Whistler: [translation] Bravely ran away away.
Corran: I didn't!
Whistler: [translation] When danger reared its ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled.
Whistler: [translation] Yes, brave Sir Corran turned about
Corran: I didn't!
Whistler: [translation] And gallantly he chickened out, bravely taking to his feet.
Corran: I never did!
Whistler: [translation] He beat a very brave retreat.
Corran: All lies!
Whistler: [translation] Bravest of the brave, Sir Corran.
Corran: I never!
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