Star Wars: The Phantom Poop/Part 2

*Star Wars: The Phantom Poop*, Part 2, by Night.

**Previous**

A Hutt news reporter rushed to the scene of what was now being dubbed the “Hutt Pooptastrophe” by billions of citizens across Coruscant. Bilnan the Hutt adjusted his suit and bowtie, ready to report.

The speeder stopped and Bilnan hopped—well, he slid, as all Hutts do—out of it and quickly—well, as quickly as a Hutt could—over to the scene of the Pooptastrophe.

“3, 2, 1… you’re rolling, Bilnan,” said a cameraman.

“Here we are, live, at the Senate building, where Hukan the Hutt, a Senator of Nal Hutta, has just unleashed one of the Hutt species’ famous ever-100-year poops. These unloads can weigh in at up to 50 tons, and, let me tell you, this is a big one. Just look at tha— Could you just pan up a little? Yeah, there. See that? Instead of the famous dome on top of the Senate building, there’s an enormous brown shape that looks like a rock. *That* is Hukan’s crap.

“A search and rescue team has been deployed to search for the survivors of this disaster. Now, what’s very interesting is *where* these search and rescue teams have come from. They are ARF troopers, Advanced Recon Force Scout Troopers, from a Clone Army that was rumored to be created by Senator Sheev Palpatine of Naboo just moments before Hukan unloaded.

“Darth Maul, a Sith assassin who claimed to have been working for a mastermind named Darth Sidious, was apprehended by the Republic earlier today. His evidence from during the Senate meeting seems to point to the idea that Sidious—aka Sheev Palpatine—was planning to orchestrate a war, pitting the Jedi and their Republic against the newly emerging Confederacy of Independent Systems, or Separatists. Then, he was going to take over the galaxy by using a command to make all the troopers turn against their Jedi Masters, killing them so that Sheev could usurp the ruling government.”

Bilnan continued inside, and looked at his watch to find the time and see how long he had left on the air. But, the special countdown in the top right corner was activated. It said:

1:01:14 UNTIL POOP TIME

Not good. Not good at all. Back on Nal Hutta, they had whole *landfills* dedicated to this stuff. But here on Coruscant, you were lucky if you could get to a toilet.

“Uh… I’m not feeling so good,” he lied to the cameraman. “Could you get a substitute reporter for today?”

“Um… sure, I guess,” replied the perplexed cameraman.

An Ithorian walked over to Bilnan and punched him on the shoulder. “Ha. Guess *I’m* getting your spot, Hutt. This isn’t your lucky day.”

*Ugh.* This Ithorian in particular was a nasty blowhard that frequently got under Bilnan’s skin. He almost considered protesting to the cameraman before realizing that 50 tons of crap littering the streets of Coruscant and killing thousands would be a far worse headline that *Hutt doesn’t get reporting job and punches producer.*

There was one way to stop the poop, according to Hutt legend: to eat. The Hutt digestive system worked in a very particular way: it had to process all the food that was in the Hutt’s stomach *before* it could unload. Therefore, if you kept eating, it would keep having new food to process, and thus push back the time of the poop. Essentially, Bilnan would have to continuously eat until he found a toilet, which could be a long time.

But nothing was ever easy when a Hutt had to go #2.

Bilnan found his assistant shortly afterward. “Order me 10 boxes of donuts, then keep ‘em coming.”

“Uh… may I ask why, sir?”

“No, you may not.”

“Alrighty, then.”

Five minutes later, Bilnan was shoving dozens of donuts at a time down his throat and swallowing them, basically by the end of his first 10 boxes just dumping them in and swallowing. “Make sure you’ve got more when I’m done,” he mumbled around a mouthful of 15 or more donuts.

“Okay, sir,” said the assistant in a strained voice as he lifted the next 20 boxes of donuts over to Bilnan. The Hutt immediately shoved 3 boxes in his mouth, chewing and swallowing. Only after he swallowed did he realize he’d also eaten the cardboard boxes.

A pile of donuts quickly amassed around Bilnan, about 1,000,000 credits worth, to be exact, and he kept eating them. The pile of empty boxes soared to 15 feet high on all sides, and soon, the assistant had to lob the new boxes over the pile of *old* ones.

“KEEP ‘EM COMIN’!” screamed a Bilnan with a sugar high and maniacal craving for donuts.

“Yes, sir,” said the assistant as he hurled another box over the wall. “Whose account should I charge it to?”

“I DON’T CARE! JUST GET ME MORE DONUTS!”

“Okay, sir.”

Bilnan force-fed himself another 15 boxes at once—180 donuts *still inside their boxes*—and swallowed after hardly chewing at all, then proceeded to do it again. After this, he saw a light shine through the wall of donuts.

“AH! MY EYES!” Bilnan hadn’t seen light in 8 hours, and, when he looked up at the sky, it was the pitch black of a cloudy night.

“Bilnan the Hutt,” said a muffled voice, “please step out of the donut wall.”

“NO! NEVER!”

“We have rifles trained on you in 20 different places.”

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!!!”

A clone soldier crashed through the wall of boxes and grabbed one of Bilnan’s arms, pulling him away from the donuts as Bilnan reached for one more and crammed it into his mouth. An ARF trooper grabbed his other arm and two more troopers grabbed his tail. Together, all four troopers pulled him away and tranquilized Bilnan.

Bilnan woke up behind bars. Both inside and outside the cell, everything was pure white. A sign on a wall about two hundred feet away read:

REHAB FACILITY FOR THE MENTALLY TROUBLED

Bilnan’s jaw hung open in disbelief. “Rehab?! This is uncalled for!” Then he remembered the timer. He checked it, and *that* read:

15:32 UNTIL POOP TIME

“OH SHOOT!” Bilnan screamed, frantically looking around for something to eat. There was no food. “Come on come on come on come on… There must be something in this building that I can…” Then it hit him.

“Um… Mr. ARF trooper, sir?”

The ARF trooper came over to him. “Yes? By the way, we are here to help you recover from whatever your addiction may be and help however we can.”

“So,” Bilnan said, “I’d just like to confirm exactly what I’m here *for.* My addiction specifically to *donuts,* right?”

“Yes, Bilnan.”

“Okay. Thank you.” Bilnan smiled. The ARF trooper stayed there.

Bilnan smiled wider. Maybe he didn’t look happy enough.

The ARF trooper was still there.

Bilnan put on a crazed, toothy grin from ear to ear.

“Mr. Bilnan, are you okay? You seem a bit too happy.”

Immediately dropping the smile and putting on an angry face, Bilnan replied, “No. Happy? Me? I hate this. I hate life.”

“Oh dear,” said the ARF trooper, then he left.

He found someone who was also in rehab (after being spit on and shot at by 15 other people) and told them to order 10 packs of chocolate chip cookies.

“Why?” asked the patient. “You’re in rehab for brownies or somethin’, right?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t say anything about cookies! ORDER NOW!”

“Sheesh, fine!”

When the clock reached 2:13, the cookies arrived. Swallowing box after box, Bilnan was determined to eat enough to revert the clock back to at least another month, just to be safe.

An ARF trooper rounded the corner, whistling. Bilnan, fearful of being caught, turned his back to the trooper, and, glancing over his shoulder wildly, shoved cookies into his mouth. Soon, just like the donuts, he was eating boxes and boxes at a time.

4 minutes into the force-feeding festival, three ARF troopers arrived to catch the Hutt.

“His problem isn’t just with donuts,” the first one said. “It’s with *all* food. The Hutt’s addicted to food. Spread out and haul him away. He’s eaten enough to last him 50 years anyway.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” screamed Bilnan. When the first ARF trooper came in, Bilnan let out a war cry and punched him in the face, sending the stunned clone reeling.

With his other hand, Bilnan continued to shovel chocolate chip cookies into his mouth, screaming as he did so. Another trooper came at him, blaster raised, and Bilnan whacked him in the face with his plump Hutt tail. “HIYAAAAA!” he screamed as he grabbed two of them, smashing their helmets together and knocking them out cold.

“Reinforcements!” screamed the remaining ARF trooper into his comlink. “We need reinforcements!”

Five more ARF troopers arrived with E-web canons and blaster turrets, as well as ten more with just normal DC-15 carbines.

Bilnan the Hutt, still funneling cookies into his mouth, belly flopped onto one of the clones and knocked them out, proceeding to punch two more in the face simultaneously. Two troopers got on either side of him and, with all four clones, they were able to haul him away from the cookies as he shoved one last one into his mouth and licked his fingers. “No wait! You don’t understand!”

The problem with the method of postponing the digestive system’s unload with more food to process was that, whatever you ate, it would come out *in addition to* whatever was *already* going to come out.

Sitting in his cell with a miserable expression on his face, 45 minutes later, Bilnan the Hutt let out 100 tons of feces and was hated by all of the galaxy for centuries to come.

THE END.