WUHER: Hello. Is this thing working? (he taps the microphone) Hello! And welcome to Amateur Night at the Mos Eisley Cantina. Our usual band isn't here tonight; seems they got discovered by a major recording label, and decided to forget about all of their friends--the ones who gave them a job when nobody else would; who pulled them out of the gutter and helped catapult them to fame. But I'm not bitter! Oh, no! ANYway, we've decided to open up the stage to anyone who wants a moment in the spotlight to show us their true talents. First up....He has the heart of a smuggler, but the soul of a poet. Get ready for the lyrical stylings of Mr. Han Solo!

(The audience applauds as HAN steps on stage. He stands at the microphone, pulls a piece of paper from his pocket.)

HAN: I call this poem, "Time". Ahem...."Time. It's, like, really big./ Infinite, man. Infinite./ I swim through it like a fish through gravy./ Looking for my biscuits./ Can't have my gravy without my biscuits./ Where are my biscuits?/ They're lost in Time, man. Time." Thank you.

(Out in the audience, CHEWBACCA starts to snap his fingers in applause. A few others do the same. WUHER bounds back up onto the stage as HAN steps down.)

WUHER: Well, that was certainly...profound. Next, put your hands together for the Amazingly Acrobatic Jawas!

(A trio of Jawas leap onto the stage and begin to flip and cartwheel around...)

(The next half-hour passes in a whirl: after the Acrobatic Jawas comes a Tusken Raider performing magic tricks; Owen Lars and three other moisture farmers singing as a barber shop quartet; and a tap-dancing Gamorrean. As the Gamorrean leaves the stage, WUHER takes the microphone again.)

WUHER: Wasn't that just great, folks? Who's having fun?

(The audience applauds.)

WUHER:, Well, hold onto your hats. Because coming up next, we've got a Bothan who juggles womp rats, of all things! Say hello to--

(WUHER breaks off as one of his assistants comes onto the stage and starts to whisper to him.)

WUHER: What? What do you mean, the Bothan's dead? *Eaten* by the womp rats? And they're loose? I have carnivorous womp rats loose in my cantina? (he suddenly realizes the microphone is still on, and looks out sheepishly toward the audience.) Heh. Just kidding, folks. Having a little fun with you. And speaking of fun, let's bring out our next act. He's come in all the way from Nar Shaddaa--please put your hands together for Shecky the Trandoshan!

(The lizard-like alien comes onto the stage amidst the applause.)

SHECKY: Thank you. Thank you. Do we have any Gungans in the audience tonight? (he looks around) Any Gungans?

(A Gungan at one of the tables raises his hand; SHECKY pulls out a blaster and shoots him. The Gungan slumps over, dead, and SHECKY turns back to the audience.)

SHECKY: But seriously folks....I just flew in from Nar Shaddaa, and boy is my thruster tired!

(A heckler pipes up from the audience:)

HECKLER: Yeah, that's what your wife said!

(The audience chuckles.)

SHECKY: Hey, that's funny, man. You're pretty good.

HECKLER: Yeah, your wife said I was pretty good, too!

(The audience laughs harder. SHECKY shoots the HECKLER in the chest, and the audience applauds. As the body slides to the floor, SHECKY steps off the stage, and approaches a horned Devaronian sitting nearby.

SHECKY: Knock-knock.

(The Devaronian stares at him. SHECKY puts his blaster up against the Devaronian's forehead.)

SHECKY: I *said*...knock-knock.

DEVARONIAN: Wh-who's there?

SHECKY: Naboo.

DEVARONIAN: Naboo who?

SHECKY: Aw, don't cry! My act's not *that* bad!

(The Devaronian frowns in puzzlement.)

SHECKY: Get it? "Boo-hoo"?

(The Devaronian says nothing, looking nervously at the gun. As SHECKY's claw begins to tighten on the trigger, the Devaronian faints from fear. SHECKY shakes his head, hurries back onto the stage.)

SHECKY: But seriously, folks....A Gamorrean, a human and an Ewok walk into a bar...

(Fifteen minutes later, half the audience is dead, either slumped in their seats or sprawled on the floor, all with blaster wounds courtesy of SHECKY. WUHER gets back on the stage, takes the microphone as SHECKY leaves.)

WUHER: Shecky the Trandoshan, ladies and gentlemen! Oh, and before I forget, he wanted me to let you know that he'll be performing next week at Cloud City's newest comedy club, Laugh Or I'll Kill You...

(SHECKY, who'd been drawing a bead on WUHER with his blaster, holsters the weapon with a nod.)

WUHER: And that'll do it for our first-ever Amateur Night. Thank you for coming and get the hell out.

(The audience--what's left of it, anyway--begins to leave. WUHER's assistant joins him, and waves a hand toward all the corpses.)

ASSISTANT: So, what are we supposed to do with all of this? It'll take us forever to clean it up.

WUHER: (shrugging) Ah, just leave it for those womp rats. With luck, they'll have it all eaten by morning. Oh, and one more thing--I've got a new rule.

ASSISTANT: Oh?

WUHER: Yeah. From now on, no blasters.

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