I Am Surrounded By Idiots
Short entry today. Full schedule. Deploying killer probe droids across the galaxy.
You know what I hate? Idiots.
What I do not understand is why they do not understand that the only way for lower men to maintain any kind of dignity at all is to respect their own limitations. Humility is a virtue, if you are low.
In my meditations I have found myself drawn toward a remote sector, one not yet scheduled for probe deployment. Something speaks to me out of the velvet between the stars, and I cannot ignore it. "Redesign for the Themoth Sector," I commanded. "Make ready the jump to hyperspace."
"But Lord Vader," whinnied Admiral Ozzel, "the armada is already moving along a prescribed route..."
I withered him with a stare, my hands on my belt.
He ordered the helm to replot our course, and notified the fleet commanders. Then he turned and asked as contritely as he could manage, "May I at least know what leads you to suspect Themoth will yield results, my Lord?"
"You may ask," I told him, turning away to the glass. "As an ant may ask the sun why it shines. It is beyond you, Admiral. See to your duty."
Ozzel hesitated. "Sir," he said crisply and turned on heel.
Do you want to know what the worst part is? My left leg is still on the fritz. Whose trachea do you have to crush with your mind to get a little service around here?
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