The heroes had to wade through a sea of picketers, and judging by their signs the union of death was not in a festive mood.

Darth makes me barf!

Supremis is a blemish!

Padme was a ho!

Bring Back Palpetine!

Meesa, Jar Jar Binks! And the Emperor Stinks!

“Excuse us,” Han said. “We need to have words with the Emperor.”

“Scabs!” Jar Jar Binks yelled, angrily, his ears flopping.

Terrified by the horrible beast, Roland drew his weapon and fired.

“Meesa wounded.” Jar Jar said, before breathing his last.

Everyone looked at Jesus expectantly. “What do you want me to do, resurrect him?”

“No!” they shouted in unison.

They were almost through the sea of picketers when they came across a white-haired wizard.

“You shall not pass!” Gandolf yelled, raising his staff.

“Look, we have no beef with you, Gandolf the White,” Han Solo said. “Let us pass and we might not send you on a one-way trip to Mordor.”

“Do you have ill-tempered words for the Emperor?” Dr. Evil asked.

“Yes.”

“Let them through, G.“