Hey losers, C1-10P here. If that’s too complicated for your spongy flesh brain, don’t strain yourself on my account—just call me “Chopper”. I’m told that today is the day Earth humans celebrate their own cluelessness (just one day a year? Pretty charitable if you ask me), and because there’s nothing I love more than clueless humans, the fine people at Eleven-ThirtyEight asked me to share my reflections on the first season of Chopper and Friends—huh? What Wars? Who the **** said—okay, I’m being told that’s not what the show is called. Let’s just move on.
I guess I should start at the beginning—no, not when the kid showed up, the real beginning. I’m doing a deep-cover op on Nar Shaddaa, right? Deep cover’s my specialty, because us astromechs are reeeaal patient, and no one pays much attention to us. So I spend three months as a server in this crappy dive just shy of dirtside, waiting for a runaway moff to amble his way in, when word comes from the big guy that he’s got a new job for me. Says there’s a wayward Jedi padawan hooked up with an equally-wayward rebel agent. The reb’s a real piece of work—intel said her father was some anti-Republic big shot on Ryloth back in the Clone Wars—but she’s not my job, the paddie is. Read More