Without success, Darth Supremis tried to shake water from his tray. “Garçon.”

“Yes, mate,” Eddie Izzard replied.

“I’m not your mate, jester. I’m the Dark Lord Supremis.”

“Luke Skywalker rolls better off the tongue, dudn’t?”

“You aren’t here to give your opinion of my royal namesake. You’re here because I find you to be particularly amusing. Make no mistake, though. You can be replaced. I hear Dane Cook is the dog’s bollox right now.”

“All right, what’ll it be Lord Supremis?”

“I’ll have the tauntaun steak, medium rare with French fries.”

“We don’t serve that here. If you’re looking for fine dining it’s in corridor C-12. This is more of a cafeteria sort of thing, really.”

Darth Supremis raged, using the force to smash everything to bits, “I’M THE EMPEROR OF THE ENTIRE GALAXY AND I CAN ’T EVEN GET A TAUNTAUN STEAK IN MY OWN FREAKING CAFE! THINGS ARE GONNA CHANGE AROUND HERE , STARTING NOW !”

“Looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the Death Star this morning,” Eddie observed casually.