How Cartman Stole Christmas C1It started with a letter
This wasn't a normal letter you must understand. It was one of those letters that changed your life, knocked you for six and made you fall flat on your ass.
And the fact it was delivered by a reindeer did not lessen its impact.
The whole of South Park stared as the reindeer made its way down the Main Street, just occasionally snorting and looking vaguely into windows, a bag of letters around its neck. Many children were delighted by its presence and ran to tell their parents that Santa had arrived early.
But Santa was not early. It was just trusty old Comet, who had been roped into helping jolly old St Nicholas with delivering replies to the children who had sent letters to him this year. Usually Santa sent an underpants gnome but there had been so many trade union problems recently and Comet was happy to help out. Santa was having to downsize his whole organisation because the world's economy had taken a slump and even Comet was feeling the pinch. He had never
Little Blue EyesAt least I got to keep the Skywalker name.
I don't want the horrible Lars name and I don't see how Uncle Owen or Aunt Beru would want it either. But then a lot of people don't see why I have a different name from the rest of my family. I like that. It makes me feel special, different and that weird word beginning with the letter 'U' that I don't know how to spell yet.
Uncle Owen said that Skywalker was my father's name, that he had been a navigator on a space freighter a long time ago before he died but surely a navigator wouldn't have a name like Skywalker. With a name like that he'd definitely be a pilot. Yeah, definitely a pilot. So I decided to ignore what must be a lie about my dad ('father' sounds far too formal to me, like I'm in a military family or something). I want to be a pilot too but with an uncle like Owen Lars, I'm going to have to wait till I'm all grown up before I can have that sort of fun.
Because for sith's sake, I'm nearly eight years old! Seven is a big important
You and Your Sorcerer's Ways"Commander Skywalker. I'm here to see the Chancellor."
"He's in a meeting," Motti replied without even looking up from his datapad to the strangely joyful arrival. Already frustrated, why did people insist on interrupting critical reading. He had to overlook all these plans, check and double check (even though he had already done so a thousand times already) before he could present them to the Chancellor.
"But I must see him immediately. It is urgent," the dark figure balled his mechanical wrist, newfound annoyance coating his voice, the flicker of gold involuntarily catching Motti's eye.
Where was the Republic getting these ignorant, impatient youths that were so arrogant as to demand the attentions of the glorified Palpatine? Motti, with an exasperated sneer, flicked off his Report on "Weapon Development" and his eyes still embittered looked up. And up. And up into the disappointed glare that masked the face of the obnoxious upstart. There w