It Was A Lovely Neighborhood Until The Sand People Moved InSubmitted by ryandonovan at 2005-10-10 13:11:54 EDT
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IT WAS A LOVELY NEIGHBORHOOD UNTIL THE SAND PEOPLE MOVED IN
TO: Mos Espa City Council
FROM: Ryan Donovan, concerned citizen and dutiful taxpayer
DATE: A long time ago
Dear Esteemed Council Members,
As an upstanding citizen of Mos Espa for over 20 years, I am writing to you about concerns I have about my neighborhood. I own a quaint subterranean dwelling on four acres of sand, a non-polluting moisture vaporator, and a landspeeder with a baby seat. My section of town, just a stone’s throw from Beggar’s Canyon, has always been safe, friendly, and quiet. No gambling, no loud junk dealers, and very few sandstorms. A genuine slice of good ol’ middle Tatooine.
That is, until the Sand People moved in next door.
The list of their inexcusable behavior is endless:
- They often borrow my power converters and forget to return them.
- They keep beating the shit out of my droids.
- Every weekend they’re out taking potshots at passing vehicles on our street.
- They blast podracing on their TV so the whole neighborhood can hear. Goddam NASCAR rednecks.
- I am pretty sure the kids have been shooting bee-bees at my vaporator (but my wife thinks the blast points are too accurate to be Sand Kids).
- They get all freaked out and howl like banshees whenever the crazy old hermit goes for a walk in his brown bathrobe.
The last straw was a party they had last night. Their guests started arriving just after the two sunsets, riding single-file. Pretty soon their entire tribe had arrived. Banthas were lined up and down the street, even on my property. They built enormous bonfires in their backyard, roasting womprat meat and god knows what else, screaming all night like warring walruses and playing the Luke Skywalker drinking game. Apparently they could be heard all they way down at Toshee’s Station. Some of the party-goers left around 3:00am, but I knew they’d soon be back, and in greater numbers. This morning, the scene was atrocious: drunken Sand Sluts past out on the porch, several people puking out of the breathing holes in their masks behind my dune, bantha tracks all over my property, gaffi sticks strewn about everywhere. One of the banthas even took a dump in my pool.
I’ve tried to reason with them. When I asked for a neighborly warning whenever they planned to have company over for cocktails, Mr. Raider coolly replied, “ERRR-ERRR-AAWOOEEEEEAAHH!”
I don’t spend my hard-earned Republican credits on taxes, levees, tariffs, tithes, smuggler bounties, Huttese gambling debts, and Imperial shakedowns just to watch this community turn into another Mos Eisley. I demand that you perform a full investigation and background check on these Dune Sea cocksuckers, and evict them from the city. Not to be a racist, but they are worse than those Bocce-speaking illegals. My wife is convinced they’re Taliban. Some of the neighbors think they’re on the lam for the brutal murder of Owen and Beru Lars last season. Others think they’re refugees from the town where that ADD kid went all Columbine with a lightsaber a while back. Regardless, they’re bad seeds. Not even the Jawa couple across the street can abide them.
As a community, we won’t stand for this ronto poodu. This used to be one of the greatest territories in the Outer Rim. Now we’ve been rated by the Pioneer Press as one of the Top 10 Wretched Hives Of Scum And Villainy. We’ve gotten signatures from the Chamber Of Commerce and all the residents. Even the Rodian widow down the block joined the petition. We demand that Mr. and Mrs. Raider vacate before the next harvest. We don’t care where, but preferably far, far away.