TROOPERCLERKS

INTRODUCTION:

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

(CRAWL)

A VAST AND PROUD IMPERIAL NAVY SPANS THE REACHES OF INTERSTELLAR
SPACE. ENFORCING ITS MIGHT ARE SQUADRONS OF CRACK FIGHTER PILOTS,
ARMADAS OF GREAT BATTLESHIPS, AND ECHELON UPON ECHELON OF ELITE
FIGHTING TROOPS, THE STORMTROOPERS. THESE FEARLESS WHITE-ARMORED
WARRIORS GO WHERE NO ONE ELSE DARES TO GO, FIGHT WHAT NO ONE ELSE
DARES TO FIGHT. BUT EVEN THE MIGHTIEST ARMY NEEDS AN INFRASTRUCTURE.
NOT EVERY TROOPER CAN FIGHT ON THE FRONT LINES. SOME MUST PROVIDE VITAL
REAR-ECHELON SUPPORT. SOME MUST BE:

CRAWL is suddenly replaced by SPLASH of "TROOPER CLERKS" logo, accompanied
not by the blast of John Williams Star Wars fanfare, but by a blast of, like, MonsterMagnet, man...

END INTRO

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

EXTERIOR: THE BASE

FADE IN; it is night. The dark bulk of buildings is hinted at by occasional lights on them here and there.
A lone sentry stalks along the fence. As the camera follows him past the gate, we see the placard:

MAS BASURA IMPERIAL SUPPORT AND RESUPPLY DEPOT

CUT TO:

STORMTROOPER BARRACKS, also nearly dark. Suddenly a klaxon blares;
shadowy forms scramble, crawl, and fall out of bunks, and make their
way down a shadowy corridor.

CUT TO: STORMTROOPER Locker Room

Half-armored STORMTROOPERS are putting on the rest of their armor.
There is a general atmosphere of bustle and busyness. As the
STORMTROOPERS wake up, they banter amongst themselves.

TROOPER #6969: Hey, 0007, too bad you can't make it to the smashieball game today. Stuck down in that... shop...

TROOPER #0007: (Glum) Yeah. Since I got stuck in that hole I haven't made it to a game in, how long?

TROOPER #3800: 3 months.

0007: 3 looong months. Dammit.

6969: Yeah, well, eventually you'll get out of that dump and we'll all have to knock all the moss and shit off of you.

(General laughter)

An idea slowly begins to germinate in 0007's mind. He asks:

0007: What are the dimensions of a standard smashieball court?

6969: (with a tone of longsuffering at 0007's stupidity) 30 meters by 10 meters. What, you forgot already?

0007: Well, there's a mostly deserted corridor behind the shop that's about 30 meters long and pretty wide. It's not 10 meters wide,

of course, but... Hey, is there any rule that says we have to play smashieball on a regulation court?

6969: (intrigued) Go on.

0007: Well, I'm just thinkin'. If all you guys came down by the shop, we could play in that corridor... the shop would be right there

so I could keep an eye on it...

6969: Hey there's sodas in that shop!

0007: Now you're cooking.

6969: (to the group) You all know how dry we get after a good smashieball game! We could all go into the shop after the game

and tank up! (to 0007) Now you're cookin'!

0007: So you'll all come down at the usual game time?

6969: 1600 hours. BX. Back corridor. You got it, boy!

The TROOPERS scramble out to their posts, and disperse, trotting down the corridors.

END SCENE

RAWHIDE

CLOSEUP of the MAS BASURA BASE EXCHANGE sign. Immediately below it is
the illuminated legend, "CLOSED". The 'closed' sign occasionally flickers,
like a bad neon light.

WIDER VIEW of the darkened and locked up shop, and dim corridor. 0007 comes
trotting up. He unlocks the door and steps into the shop. The lights come
up. 0007 fetches the stacks of newspapers and cuts them out of their strings
and dumps them into the racks. He stuffs a coffee filter into the brew cup
and fires up the coffeemaker. CLOSEUP of the coffee brewing.
WIDER VIEW: 0007 drops a package of footlongs into the boiler, turns on the lights in
the sweetcakes displays, and turns on the cash register. He walks to the
front of the store and flips a switch; the "Closed" sign rolls up to say
"Open". He goes back into the store and sits down on the
stool behind the counter, folds his arms on the counter and drops his
head down onto them. /* Pure dupe of the original 'Clerks' scene */

END SCENE

HIGH TECHNOLOGY

TROOPER #6666 jogs in to find 0007 slumped over the counter.

6666: Hey! No sleepin' on the job!

0007: Like you should talk. Late as usual, leaving ME to open the store!

6666: Well, if your barracks were all the way across the base like mine are, you'd get here at the same time and we'd open

the store together!

0007: Just my luck, I get stationed to this mynock-hole and get stuck in the barracks closest to it.

6666: (points) Hey, what's that on the counter?

0007: A cash register, you mope.

6666: Well, that's not the same cash register that was here yesterday.

0007: It's the new one. Facilities installed it last night, after the store closed. It's a MaxiTech, from Kratospylae Technologies,

top of the line.

6666: Let's check it out. I'll pretend to buy something.

0007 rings up his "purchase"-- or tries to. The MaxiTech does not cooperate.

0007: What is this? "You have entered an erroneous entry." What bullshit is that?

6666: Did you enter the ID and price?

0007: (irritated) YES I entered the ID and price, just like we always do-- what the fuck now??

(the MaxiTech is beeping and bleeping, and suddenly goes silent.)

0007: "Shut Down"?? Oh, great! Now I have to start this damn thing all over again!!

Grumbling and fuming, he wrestles with the MaxiTech. The holocomm chimes.

0007: Get that.

6666 answers the comm.

6666: Mas Basura Base Exchange.

(pause)
No, ma'am, we don't have any PokeyDoke yet.
(pause)
No ma'am, I don't know when we'll get it in. Sorry.
(closes the connection)

I swear, if I ever actually see one of these PokeyDoke things, I'm gonna use it for target practice.

0007: So how much you think old Kratospylae gets for these hunks of junk? "Latest modern technology" my armored ass...

6666: (pointing) What's that little doobie?

0007: 'SKU entry'-- oh, Gods, you mean we have to enter SKUs to make this damn thing happy? What a pain in the ass!

Fuck PokeyDoke. If I ever actually see Kratospylae, I'm gonna use HIM for target practice!

END SCENE

LASSIE GO HOME

A WOOKIEE wanders into the BX, looks around, spots the beef jerkey,
pulls it all out and brings it up to the counter. 0007 rings him up-- or tries to;
the MaxiTech is refusing to cooperate. The WOOKIEE starts to get impatient.

0007: Hang on, furball, I'm trying to get this thing to work. I'll ring you up in a minute.

The WOOKIEE gets in his face and yowls and bawls something.

0007: Keep your hair on, OK? I'm working on it!!

He smacks the MaxiTech, but it just beeps insolently at him.
The WOOKIEE leans over the counter again and out-and-out roars in his face.

0007: Listen, you, if you're going to be that way--

The WOOKIEE lunges over the counter at him and grabs for his throat. 0007 barely dodges
in time. The WOOKIEE finishes coming over the counter, and 0007 flees out from behind it.
As 6666 comes out of the back room to see what is going on, the WOOKIEE chases 0007 as far
as the pet supplies section and finally manages to grab the back of 0007's armor.

0007: Get offa me, hairball!!

6666 rushes to help. As he grabs for his blaster, it slips out of his grasp
and clatters under the motor oil rack, out of reach. Then 6666 spots PET REPELLENT
on the shelf, grabs a can, and proceeds to spray, not the WOOKIE, but everything on the
shelves AROUND the WOOKIEE, and 0007 too. 0007 waves his arms at 6666 in protest, trying
to ward him off.

0007: Hey, man, quit it! What're you doing??

However, the first whiff hits the WOOKIEE, who roars in dismay, claps both hands over his nose, and runs out of the store.

After a long moment, the MaxiTech 'cha-chings'.

END SCENE

MILITARY INTELLIGENCE

Two OFFICERS amble into the BX. One is very young, obviously just out of Carida
Academy and still wet behind the ears, and is listening with rapt attention to
the older, obviously senior OFFICER. The senior OFFICER is yit-yatting on about
nothing in particular.

SENIOR OFFICER: ... But according to General Melvar, that's not how one subdues a populace at all...

The SENIOR OFFICER pauses for a moment, wrinkles up his nose, and sniffs.

SENIOR OFFICER: *What's that smell?

JUNIOR OFFICER: It smells like cat repellent, Sir.

They each pick up a paper and coffee and come up to the counter.

SENIOR OFFICER: #5567, be so kind as to ring us up, here.

0007 seems a little surprised at first, then resigned, and rings up the sale.

JUNIOR OFFICER: Wow, Sir, how did you know what his number was? They're not marked...

SENIOR OFFICER: Son, I didn't. It is a well-known fact that no one can tell stormtroopers apart. However, since

"Trooper #5567" is a standard stormtrooper character in Imperial training holos, anyone will know what you mean when you call a stormtrooper #5567.

JUNIOR OFFICER: Yes, Sir.

They leave with their papers and coffee.
The TROOPERS stand for a long minute and watch them go, then when
the door has closed behind them, they say softly, and in unison:

0007 and 6666: LOOOOOOOOOSERRRRRR.....

0007: Barely out of the Academy, and they're already corrupting him.

6666: Gotta get 'em while they're young, you know.

END SCENE

TAKE A DEEP BREATH

Darth Vader strides into the store and starts helping himself to various goods:
Nacho snax, motor oil, a case of Bolt Cola, etc. VADER takes a few moments to
inspect some of the eggs from the cooler, then stalks imperiously up to the
counter with his booty and dumps it in front of the TROOPERS.

VADER: I will purchase these, and a case of BorlMaros.

6666: Oh... you smoke sir?

VADER: (Leans forward and glowers at him) No. Torture accessories.

6666 turns to the racks behind the counter to fetch the box of BorlMaros. VADER turns from side to side, hands on hips, surveying the store with evident disdain, and begins to harangue 0007.

VADER: This Base Exchange is undersized, and obviously not well-maintained. I can see the dust on top

of the shelves from here. I sincerely hope you'll never be stationed to a vital post, for your attention to detail is obviously so lacking that a squadron of Banthas being ridden down the corridor of an Imperial Star Destroyer would undoubtedly escape your notice!

While VADER thus chews on 0007, 0007 rings up his order and puts the items into a plastic bag.
He has to whack the MaxiTech several times during this process. 6666 returns with the BorlMaros,
and 0007 rings them up and puts them in the bag too. While he is doing this, 6666 reaches around
him to the front of the counter next to VADER, and picks a packet of BREATH MINTS out of the display
box, and drops these into VADER'S bag too. VADER is too busy talking to notice.

VADER: I am going to have a word with your commander. Obviously, you do not take your duties

with the seriousness they require!

0007 reaches past him, picks up the display box of BREATH MINTS, and dumps the entire box into
VADER's bag while VADER is talking. He takes the receipt out of the MaxiTech and puts it in the
bag, and presents the bag of goods to VADER.

0007: Here you are, sir.

Vader hands him money, then without a word turns imperiously on his heel with a sweep of his cape, and stalks out of the store.

6666: What were you doing, man? That was all of the breath mints we got left!

0007: No, it isn't. There's one more box of them in the back.

6666 heads through the door into the back of the store to get the last box of breath mints.

END SCENE

WHO IS ALWAYS RIGHT?

An OFFICER walks in. He gets a coffee and a junk snack, and comes up to the counter. He does a slight double take, sniffs the air, and then his expression brightens visibly.

* DOPEY OFFICER: Mmm, air freshener!

Wordlessly, 6666 rings him up, and he leaves.

A pair of GUNNERS wander into the store. They look all around, high and low.

GUNNER #1: Hey, do you have any PokeyDoke?

6666: No, we don't have any PokeyDoke. I've never even seen a PokeyDoke.

A rather large GNK droid ambles into the store.

GUNNER #2: Bummer, man. So when you going to get them in?

6666: (with infinite patience) I don't know when we're going to get them in. Or if we're going to get them in.

Admiralty doesn't tell us what they're sending us. They just send it to us.

While he's saying this, the GNK picks up a bottle of distilled water with a telescoping
arm, and turning, heads toward the counter with it.

GUNNER #1: Oh. Bummer man.

Well let us know when they come in, OK?

The GUNNERS leave.

The GNK arrives at the counter with the distilled water and presents it to 6666.

GNK DROID: Gonk.

6666: That'll be 2.75 credits.

END SCENE

PHILOSOPHY

6666: You know, This job'd be great if it wasn't for the customers.

0007: I don't bother them, and they don't bother me.

6666: I could do without the people in the video store.

CUT AWAY to DOPEY OFFICER in video store, asking for a movie:

DOPEY OFFICER: Do you have that movie with that guy from that movie that came out last year?

6666: (After a moment's thought) ...You mean the one where he shot that other guy and blew that stuff up?

DOPEY OFFICER: Yes! That's the one!

6666: I'll see if we have it. (goes into the back)

CUT BACK to the TROOPERS talking at the counter.

0007: You should hear the barrage of stupid questions I get.

CUT AWAY to looking out over the counter at a SPEEDER BIKE TROOPER

SPEEDER BIKE TROOPER: What do you mean, you don't have any ice?? You mean I have to drink this coffee hot?!

CUT BACK to the TROOPERS at the counter.

6666: You'd feel a hell of a lot better if you'd rip into the occasional customer.

The HOLOCOMM sounds.

6666: Speaking of stupid questions. I bet you a day's pay that's another PokeyDope looking for PokeyDoke. (answers it)

Mas Basura Base Exchange, no, we do not have any PokeyDoke! (closes the connection)

0007: You know, you really ought to give them a chance to ask the question.

6666: Why? This way, saves energy on all our parts.

END SCENE

LIVE LIFE WITH RELISH

The TROOPERS are clerking away. 0007 is at the counter. 6666 discovers the coffee filters are used up.

6666: Damn! I'm going in the back to open up a new case of coffee filters.

0007 makes a noncommital noise. 6666 sets his BlasTech on the stool behind the counter
and heads into the back of the store.

A RODIAN walks into the store. As it approaches the counter, it produces a large and nasty
looking blaster, and points it straight at 0007's chest. 0007 slowly raises his hands up to
shoulder height.

RODIAN #1: (In a thick Rodian accent) You! You give me all your money from your cash register. You give me all

your breath mints. And you give me one of your Super Foot Longs-- with everything on it!
(pauses for a moment, sniffs and wrinkles up its snout)
*What that smell?

0007: "Air freshener."

RODIAN: Well it stinky! Where my stuff yet?!

0007: Just take it easy. I'll get it for you.

For once the damned MaxiTech cash register works perfectly, obeying 0007's every command.
He gets it open and empties the tiller, handing the cash to the RODIAN.

RODIAN #1: In a bag!!

0007 produces a plastic shopping bag and stuffs the cash into it. The bag has printed on its side,
"Visit Scenic Tatooine: sun-blessed wonderland!"

RODIAN #1: And the mints!

0007 picks up the whole display box of breath mints (their LAST box) and drops it into the bag.

RODIAN #1: And the Super Foot Long with everything on it!!

0007: I'm going to have to make that for you.

RODIAN #1: Hurry it up! And no funny stuff!

With the edgy RODIAN pointing the blaster at him, 0007 reaches under the counter and pulls a
footlong bun out of the bag and puts it on a paper footlong hotdog plate (or whatever you call
those oblong pieces of thick paper with the crinkled sides).
Turning toward the hot dog case, he spots 6666's BlasTech E-11 lying on the stool. It is below counter
level, and thus hidden from the RODIAN.

0007: Oh, here's the fresh batch. These ones in the display are old. I'll give you this fresh one.

RODIAN #1: That's good! Now hurry it up!! Up! Up!

Keeping the bun below counter level, 0007 places the Blastech in it lengthways. He then
goes over to the chili pot and, still keeping the BlasTech-on-bun below counter level, spoons chili
liberally over it. He then gets the mustard and ketchup bottles, and squirts the BlasTech with
them in turn. Finally, he dips out several big spoonfuls each of onions, corn relish, and
green relish, and donks them onto the BlasTech too. By now, it is virtually hidden under the
condiments.

0007: Is that enough?

RODIAN #1: Horseradish!

0007: Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.

Dips out some horseradish and spoons that onto the BlasTech too.

0007: Here you go.

0007 lifts the BlasTech-on-bun above the counter and presents it to the RODIAN muzzle-first.
It really does look like some sort of strange Coney Island creation, except for the angular
shapes under the chili etc. As the RODIAN reaches eagerly for it, 0007 pulls the trigger and
blasts him square in the chest. Despite the abundant condiments, the blaster still works
perfectly. The RODIAN falls backward onto the middle of the store floor and lies there unmoving.

6666 hears the blaster shot and pops out of the door to the back of the store. He spots 0007
standing at the counter holding the smoking chili-covered BlasTech, and hurries over and grabs
it from him.

6666: What are you doing to my blaster, man??? I can't leave you alone for 3 seconds... uucchhhhh!

(he holds it up by one corner, letting the rest of it dangle and drip on the floor.)

0007: (indicating the RODIAN on the floor) Umm, we need to do a cleanup here...

6666: (has eyes only for his condiment-covered blaster) No, shit, man! Uuccchhh!

6666 turns away from 0007 and heads into the back of the store with his blaster, still holding it by one corner, obviously planning to hose it off in the service sink.

END SCENE

AT A POSITION OF A TENNIS SHOE

Two TROOPERS, #6969 and #3800, stand at attention on either side of the door to the orderly room. In walks SUPERCILIOUS OFFICER, who strides up to the door.

SUPERCILIOUS OFFICER: #5567, is the Commandant in?

6969: (crisply) Yes Sir. The Commandant is waiting for you now.

SUPERCILIOUS OFFICER: Excellent.

He walks in the door. As soon as the door closes behind him, 6969 says, in the same crisp professional tone:

6969: Sir, your fly is unbuttoned sir.

3800 cracks up, breaking the position of attention.

R & R

0007 begins to put stuff away as though he is going to close up the store.

6666: What are you doing? Closing's not for hours yet.

0007: We're going to have a little convenience shop recess. The boys are coming down and we're going

to have a game of smashieball in the corridor out back.

6666: Cool! Can I play too?

0007: What, you're so sociable all of a sudden? You hate people, man!

6666: But I love gatherings. Isn't that ironic?

0007 finishes a handwritten sign and plasters it to the inside of the door, facing out. The sign reads:

SIGN: "Temporarily closed. Open after First Period."

0007 locks the door.
There is a thumping from the back, and he heads back to the service door to answer it.
It is 6969 and the guys.

6969: Took you long enough to answer the door, man.

0007: Yeah, I had to walk all the way from the front of the store. A whopping 15 seconds.

6969: Who's this, your partner?

0007: 6666. He's going to be joining us.

6969: Well, he better be good, man, or we'll use him for the smashieball.

(General laughter)

The various TROOPERS pile in the service door and head for the front of the store.
Some of them have red armbands, and some black with dark blue stripes. 6969 is
carrying something under his arm that is whirring and whining. When 0007 looks
closer, he sees that it is a MOUSE DROID.

0007: What's that for?

6969: (laughs) This is the ball, man.

0007: A droid for a ball? Kinda twisted...

6969: Well hey, it's a little court. I thought we'd have a 'ball' with attitude-- give ourselves a bit more

of a challenge, you know?

As the troopers are getting ready inside the store, a GUNNER comes up to the locked front door and bangs on it.

GUNNER: Hey, you guys open?

0007 and 6666: NO!!

The TROOPERS all troop back out the back door into the service corridor. A couple set up goals on either end of the corridor. 6969 gives the game briefing.

6969: OK, our "guests" are disposed as follows. 0007 is on Blood Red Team, and 6666 is going to be on

Black and Blue Team. This goal (points) is Blood Red's, and that's Black and Blue's. Standard smashieball rules;
and don't scuff each other's armor up too bad because we have inspection tonight. Set up!

The teams take up their respective positions at opposite ends of the corridor.
6969 sets the MOUSE DROID down in the middle of the corridor and bolts for his stick,
laying at the side. As the MOUSE DROID spirals once or twice to get its bearings,
the two teams of STORMTROOPERS charge it with their sticks in hand.

The teams collide with a crash, and a melee of TROOPERS chase the MOUSE DROID about.
There are a couple of runs up the corridor one way, then down the other, as
first one team, then the other gets the upper hand. Then scrimmage tightens up
in a knot again.

The TROOPERS corner the MOUSE DROID and badger it about with their sticks.
The MOUSE DROID jinks and darts, trying to escape, to no avail.
The TROOPERS are really getting into the game. BLOOD RED TEAM momentarily gets the upper
hand, and as they block off the BLACK AND BLUE TEAM scrimmagers, their forwards
drive the MOUSE DROID toward the goal. #6969 jumps onto the MOUSE DROID and
balances stylishly on one foot, riding it to victory... but then the MOUSE DROID
picks up a floor-level access port on its sensors, and changing angle slightly,
heads toward it at top speed. #6969 is about 6 feet tall. The access port is
about 18 inches high. The MOUSE DROID makes it into the port easily...
#6969 makes it into the wall-- HARD.

3800: Shit! Who brought another ball?

There is general muttering and hunting around. It turns out no one else brought a ball.

0007: I don't believe this! Nobody else brought a ball? Did Riding High here

(nudges the half-conscious 6969 with his toe) think to bring a 'regular' ball?

Several TROOPERS search 6969. There is no ball on him.

0007: Shit! 6 minutes into the game and we're closed out because we lost the ball!! This hardly even

counts as a warmup!

Grumbling, the various TROOPERS gather up #6969 and their sticks, and head back to their posts.

END SCENE

I AM THE EYE IN THE SKY

As 0007 finishes reopening the store, The TROOPER CAPTAIN walks in. The TROOPERS snap to attention.

TROOPER CAPTAIN: At ease. We have some matters to discuss.

The TROOPERS come out of their position of attention, but are obviously not
"at ease" with the CAPTAIN. The CAPTAIN, who is very much at ease, takes a
seat on the lone chair behind the counter.

TROOPER CAPTAIN: I just got called on the carpet by the Base Commandant over you two. Apparently when he

called this BX this morning, one of you two Homers answered the comm with some inane shit about "OkeyDoke"
or "PokeyDoke" or some damned thing and cut the connection on him before he could get a word in edgewise.

The two TROOPERS look at each other, astonished. Evidently the TROOPER CAPTAIN is the only one on the base who has not heard of PokeyDoke.

TROOPER CAPTAIN: (puts his feet up on the counter) Furthermore, I've been getting reports from various sources that

your duty performance in this BX is not entirely up to spec. Irregular practices, unsanitary conditions... You're clerks.
You can't just do whatever you want while you're working.

0007: Yes, sir, we understand sir. But some of our customers aren't very cooperative with the

sanitation standards, sir.

TROOPER CAPTAIN: I understand the two of you have to cover both the convenience store and the video store.

Maybe the workload really is too much. Or maybe you're just a pair of unprofessional slackers. Either way, I've got the situation covered.
(turns toward the door and raises his voice)
OU-812!

A droid shuffles in the door. It appears to be a protocol droid in bad need of
polishing, being a dingy shade of weathered bronze. It comes to a stop in front of
the counter and gives the TROOPER CAPTAIN a surprisingly snappy salute.

OU-812:(brightly) Unit OU-812 reporting for duty sir!

TROOPER CAPTAIN: (to the TROOPERS) This is OU-812. It will monitor your job performance, and everything that

goes on in this Base Exchange. If there are any irregularities, it will report to me. If there are not, OU-812 will be an extra set of arms and legs to help you keep this Base Exchange in the condition it should be kept.

6666 and 0007: Yes Sir.

TROOPER CAPTAIN: (gets up) That is all. Carry on. (he leaves)

The TROOPERS stand at attention until he has left. OU-812 turns to them, and gives them a surprisingly snappy salute.

OU-812:(brightly) Unit OU-812 reporting for duty sir!

The TROOPERS exchange a long look.

END SCENE

NEXT DAY:

ROMANTIC DISENTANGLEMENTS

6666 comes into the BX just after 0007 has opened it. He looks a little down in the mouth.

0007: Hey, what's up with you today? You don't look so good.

6666: It's my girlfriend, man....

0007: Say no more. I understand completely.

... So what exactly is it about your girlfriend?

6666: It's just not working out, man. Her interests and mine... they're just too different.

0007: Like for instance?

6666: Well, like, she's got these pet mice. Well, not 'pet' mice exactly.

0007: Hey, women like little warm furry animals...it's one of those laws of nature things... so what?

6666: Well, she likes to... (shudders a little) ...play with them.

We FADE OUT from this view as Trooper 0007 says:

0007: What's wrong with that?

FADE IN to a closeup of a feminine hand holding up a mouse, dangling by its tail.
We are looking slightly upward at the mouse, into its face. Hand and mouse nearly fill
the screen.

6666: (Voiceover) Well, there's this... snake...

Our VIEW WIDENS to reveal that the hand belongs to a cruelly handsome woman in a svelte red
Imperial uniform, who is dangling the mouse over a very interested-looking snake, of the
baby burmese python persuasion. The snake's head is raised, and it is looking at the mouse with
flickering tongue. The woman, YSANNE, has long dark hair, except that a lock of it
on either side of her face is pure white. One of her eyes is blue, but the other is fiery red.

We CUT BACK to the troopers in the store.

6666: Yeah. Almost as mean as her.

0007: (winces) Ooh. Mean snake.

So why don't you break up with her?

6666: Um. I already did.

0007: Well hey! There you go!

6666: It's not that easy. She was pretty bummed out. And when she gets into a bad mood, she... blows things up.

0007: (Looking speculatively at the MaxiTech cash register/useless heap) Hmmm. Blows things up...

6666: I'm really worried, man. You think my Trooper Group Life Insurance will cover it if.... something... happens?

0007: (Makes an expansive gesture of dismissal) Pf! Girlfriends, ex-girlfriends... they understand all about that stuff!

(Claps 6666 on the shoulder) Don't sweat it, man! You're covered!

6666: Thanks man. You're a big help.

The holocom chimes. 0007 answers it.

0007: Base Exchange, we have no PokeyDoke, may I help you?

HOLOCOM VOICE: This is Regg at the spaceport. Your store stock from Admiralty Supply is in.

0007: All right, we'll be over to pick it up. Hey, OU-812! (sotto voce) Gods, I hate that name.

OU-812: (pops out of the back room) Yes sir?

0007: Mind the counter for a while. We've got to go pick up the grocery shipment.

OU-812: Sir yes sir! Three bags full, sir!

The Troopers exchange a look, and flee out the front door.

END SCENE

SPECIAL DELIVERY

The first long rays of daylight are crawling across the spaceport (resembles an airport tarmac)
as 0007 and 6666 sign for the crates of the shipment from Admiralty supply.

On the shuttle ride back to the BX, 6666 opens up one of the crates on the landspeeder's
cargo flat behind them, by way of "inspection", and pulls out a smallish box.

6666: Hey hey! Look what we got! (holds it up to 0007)

0007, who is driving, looks for a moment, then looks away.

0007: Ewww! It's all purple. (Does a double-take and looks at the box again) THAT'S PokeyDoke??

6666: Yup. Now we can take care of all those moro-- customers who have been bugging us for the things for

the last 6 weeks.

0007: Are you sure that's a good thing? (takes another look at the box) Ewww!

6666: Well hey, maybe they're toxic or something. That would solve all our customer relations problems.

0007: Yeah right, sunshine. That means YOU get to put the display up.

END SCENE

BEFORE THE HOARDERS GET IT ALL

OU-812 is busily sweeping the floor as 0007 settles himself behind the counter.
DARTH VADER walks into the store, just as 6666 is putting up the PokeyDoke display.
There is a big display-back with a graphic of Peek-A-Boo, who looks like an
electric purple Ewok with antennae and a tail. DARTH VADER approaches 6666 and the
display. Without a word and with impeccable timing, just as 6666 puts the last
package in place, VADER arrives and picks it up again... and each of the others in turn,
till he has them all. He carries them up to the counter, places them there, produces some
money, and gives it to 0007. 0007 does a quick Pokey count, pokes the protesting MaxiTech
a half-dozen times, and presents VADER with his receipt. VADER scoops up all the
PokeyDokes and walks out.

6666 stays at attention til VADER is gone, then starts to take the PokeyDoke display down again.

0007: That guy's eerie. One day he's a barrel of gab, and then another day he's all quiet like that.

Wonder what he's going to do with all those PokeyDokes? He doesn't have a kid or something?!

The holocomm sounds. 0007 answers it.

0007: Mas Basura Base Exchange.

No, ma'am, I'm sorry, we're out.
Yes, ma'am, a customer just came in and bought them all.
Sorry, ma'am.
(closes the connection)
She wanted me to chew out the guy that bought up all the PokeyDokes.

6666: As if.

6666 heads into the back of the store with the folded-up PokeyDoke display. OU-812 is still sweeping busily away.

0007: Hey! Droid! You gonna sweep a hole in the floor?? Get back there and help 6666!

OU-812: (brightly) Sir, yes sir!

It heads into the back.

In the back, 6666 is just putting (cramming) the display behind some boxes.

OU-812: (brightly) Unit OU-812 reporting for duty, sir!!

6666 jumps a foot.

6666: Dammit! Don't do that!! What do you want?

OU-812: (brightly) Your counterpart in the front of this establishment suggested that I might assist you here, Sir!

6666: Yeah, right. Help me put these crates on the shelves.

They stack crates for a few minutes. Then 6666 pauses, mulling over the shelves. OU-812 comes up behind him and wraps one of its arms around him.

OU-812: (brightly) You think anyone can see us back here?

6666: Why, you wanna have sex or something?

OU-812: (oilily) Could we?

6666: (after a long pause) I got a better idea. You stack those crates there (points) over here

(points in another direction).

OU-812: (brightly) Sir, Yes Sir!

As the droid proceeds to work on the crates, 6666 flees to the front of the store. When he arrives, 0007 is on the comm.

0007: Mas Basura Base Exchange, we're all out of PokeyDoke, may I help you?

VOICE ON OTHER END: Do you have any PokeyDoke?

0007: No, sir, we're out. (closes connection)

6666: Dude, there's something not right about that droid.

0007: No shit, man, this morning it kissed the cooler.

6666: Yeah, well, just now it damn near kissed me!

0007: Woo woo, you hot dog.

6666 hits him.

0007: You're right. We gotta do something about that droid.

6666: Maybe, if it tries to rape me, I can shoot it in self-defense?

0007: You can shoot it in the mess hall if you like, you just gotta have a good explanation

for the Captain.

The comm sounds. 6666 gets it.

6666: Mas Basura Base Exchange, we're all out of PokeyDoke, may I help you?

VOICE ON OTHER END: Do you have any PokeyDoke?

6666: No, sir, we're out. (closes connection) Dag! Regg must have squealed. They're coming out

of the woodwork! Oh, shit.

OU-812 toddles out of the back room.

OU-812: (brightly) Crates all stacked and accounted for, sir!! (It snaps a surprisingly snappy salute)

0007: I've got another job for you. The water from the back sink is no good.

Our customers complain every time we make coffee with that water.
Get us some of the good water from Mess Hall 40, like about 20 gallons.

OU-812: (brightly) Sir, yes sir!

The droid salutes snappily, then marches out of the store.

6666: Mess Hall 40? That's three-quarters of the way across the base. Good move, General 0007.

0007: That ought to keep him out of our short hairs for a while, heh heh.

6666: Ha ha funny guy.

END SCENE

SPIT AND POLISH

A handwritten sign is pasted to the front of the counter.

SIGN: "NO we do not have any PokeyDoke. We are OUT of PokeyDoke. Gone.
Finito. Plasma gas. Hasta La Pokey. WE DO NOT HAVE POKEYDOKE."

A customer walks up to the counter.

With infinite patience, 0007 reaches over and taps the sign. The CUSTOMER reads it.

CUSTOMER: Oh.

Disappointed, he leaves.

6666 reaches under the counter and produces a small object. He places it to one side on the counter and presses a switch. The not-so-dulcet tones of the MAX REBO BAND blast out of the object.

#6969 walks in the door. He takes one more step, and then starts boogeying to the music.

0007: Hey, you're not looking too hurt, man.

6969: Hello, it's ARMOR, man!

6666: Good thing there's armor plate on your butt, too.

6969: Hey, at least I get out and do stuff. All you guys get to do is vedge around in here and listen to, what's this?

6666: Max Rebo Band.

6969: "Max Rebo Band"? Where's that from, (mockingly) Kar Delba??

0007: Tatooine.

6969: Ooo, Tatooine. Direct to your mudball, from another mudball.

6666: Hasn't stopped you dancing to it, you loser. Just hurry up and get your armor wax, would you?

6969 leaves off dancing for the moment and goes over to the display to shop for his wax. The comm sounds.

6666: (answering holocom) Mas Basura Base Exchange, we're all out of PokeyDoke, may I help you?

VOICE ON OTHER END: Do you have any PokeyDoke?

6666: NO!!! (closes connection)

6969 has gotten his wax. He brings it to the counter and 0007 rings him up.

6969: (leaving) Dag, turn that raucous shit off, man.

END SCENE

TRAINING, DRUGS, AND ROCK AND ROLL

0007 and 6666 are standing by in the BX.

6666: I heard a couple of officers talking about stormtroopers in the mess today.

One of them said he thought the indoctrination on some of the stormtroopers on this base was starting to wear off.

0007: Indoctrination? What indoctrination?

6666: You know. All those dopey holos they had us watch at the Academy.

0007: Ooooohhh.

Was that supposed to be indoctrination?
I hardly remember those holos. I was too busy being high on all the drugs they gave us.
...That was some good shit, man.

6666: Well, hey, shit sticks to some walls and not to others, you know?

0007: I wonder, if we slack off just enough, do you think they'll indoctrinate us again?

6666 cuffs him on the head.

6666: You are one sick pittin, man.

END SCENE

LOVE BOMB #22

IN THE BX. The TROOPERS are working at various tasks behind the counter.
Thumpings, clangings, and oddly metallic singing can be heard coming from the back,
where OU-812 is putting away the water from Mess Hall 40.

The Dopey Officer is back. This time he is looking for PokeyDoke.

0007: No, sir, I'm sorry, we're all out.

DOPEY OFFICER: How can you be out? The new shipment was supposed to be this morning!

0007: Well, sir, the new shipment did come in this morning. And Admiralty included exactly 3 cases of PokeyDoke.

And, thanks to the demand for PokeyDoke around here, those 3 cases were sold out by 10-hundred hours.

DOPEY OFFICER: But I've got to get some! My little one adores Peek-A-Boo!

The TROOPERS merely exchange glances. There is no way in the black holes of the Maw
that they are going to touch that straight line.

0007: Sorry, sir.

The DOPEY OFFICER leaves, all sad.
0007 drops his head onto his arms on the counter.

In walks a RODIAN, in obviously a very bad mood. The RODIAN produces a very large,
ugly blaster and levels it at the TROOPERS.

RODIAN #2: (In a thick Rodian accent) You Bantha droppings! You vrelt pellets!

You killed Squorlsh! Now you pay the price!!

Both troopers raise their hands in the air, and try to act conciliatory.

0007: Hey, take it easy. It was all a big misunderstanding.

RODIAN #2: No, I understand perfectly. You think us Rodians like toilet paper, huh? Disposable, huh?

OU-812 toddles frantically out of the back room, waving its arms.

OU-812: Please sir! No blasters! Oh, dear, this is most irregular!

The RODIAN blasts him. OU-812 flies backward into a stand of IckySnax, crashing
down on top of it with a big smoking hole in his chest. 6666 uses the momentary
distraction to nab his blaster off the chair, but, before he can bring it up:

In walks YSANNE. She has an expression like a thundercloud. Coming in
the door, she marches straight toward the counter, but several steps into the store her
eyes adjust and she spots the RODIAN. She stops, roughly between the RODIAN and the
counter, near a stacked display of cases of Bolt Cola, and looks first at the RODIAN,
then at the TROOPERS behind the counter, then at the RODIAN again, taking this all in.
Her thunderous expression has changed to more of an expression of interest.

RODIAN #2: (to YSANNE) What you looking at?!

YSANNE seems to suddenly melt and go all limber. A sultry expression crosses her face,
and she slinks up to the RODIAN, hips swaying. She wraps one arm around the RODIAN's
waist, and places the other hand between their two hips. The RODIAN looks quite confused,
not sure whether to shoot her or what.

YSANNE: Why, I'm looking at you, big fellow.

The RODIAN starts to stutter something. With her hand that was near the RODIAN's waist,
YSANNE pulls open the waistband of his pants, and with her other hand, produces a round
grey object about the size and shape of a pomegranite, and drops it down the RODIAN's pants.
As he jumps, she takes two swift steps back toward the Bolt Cola display. 6666 raises his
blaster rifle and settles aim on the RODIAN as the RODIAN says:

RODIAN #2: What you put in my pants???

YSANNE: (sweetly) A thermal detonator.

The RODIAN begins to hop up and down and grab at his pants while making loud scared noises.
In a smooth motion, YSANNE steps behind the Bolt Cola display and drops down.
The dismayed TROOPERS realize what is about to happen and in unison yell,

0007 and 6666: DUCK!!

and drop down behind the counter. The thermite grenade goes off. The RODIAN explodes massively,
spewing red and green goo and gobbets and spoodge to every farthest corner of the store, from floor
to ceiling. At the end, something splats onto the camera lens. This one explosion will blow the
Special Effects Department's entire ketchup budget.

END SCENE

WHITE TORNADOES

The troopers are swabbing away at a back corner of the store, near the ceiling.
They are armed with brushes, sponges, buckets, etc. Patches of stuck-on "stuff"
are very much in evidence on the walls, ceiling, merchandise, etc.

0007: You know, your girlfriend really sucks.

6666: (corrects him) EX- girlfriend. Pass me that spoodge sponge.

END SCENE

UPON CLOSER INSPECTION

The two TROOPERS, working behind the counter, suddenly freeze as an IMPERIAL INSPECTOR walks in the door.

6666: (whispered) Shit! An Imperial Inspector!

0007: (also whispered) Just stay cool, boy.

The IMPERIAL INSPECTOR walks up to the counter and addresses the TROOPERS.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Your captain requested an inspection of this Base Exchange. Evidently he feels all

is not right here. You--

(she points at 6666)

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: You will accompany me on my inspection, to answer questions.

6666: Yes, ma'am.

The IMPERIAL INSPECTOR walks slowly about the store, 6666 in tow. She runs
her finger along the tops of merchandise racks. She looks underneath the
cooler. She peers intently at the emergency lighting fixture. After a long
moment, she asks:

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: What is that sticking to the power conduit of the emergency light?

6666 peers up at it, and after a long moment realizes it is a piece of Rodian.

6666: Rodian spoodge, ma'am.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Rodian "spoodge."

Please explain.

0007 nonchalantly walks over. He is hoping that somehow he can salvage this disaster.

6666: From the exploding Rodian, ma'am.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Exploding Rodian.

(Long pause)
What kind of a convenience store do you run here?

0007: Ma'am, we run a tight and shipshape convenience store. We simply had an unusual occurrence

earlier today, in which the Director of Base Intelligence had to deal with a Rodian terrorist.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Ohhh, I seee. And how did the Director of Base Intelligence know that this Rodian

was a terrorist?

6666: Maybe because he was pointing a blaster at #0007 here.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Hmmm. I'll have to see your security recording. Do you have it?

6666: Yes, ma'am. This way.

They go into the back of the store; a moment later 6666 comes back out, alone.

6666: Ohh, man!! They're going to vape us for sure!!

0007: Just sit tight, man. We have extenuating circumstances.

6666: What's going to extenuate Rodian guts hanging from the light fixtures??

Man, I thought we got it all!!

0007: Well, it was everywhere, it stands to reason...

6666 groans and lays down on the counter.

6666: Face it. We're doomed.

0007 stares at 6666 for a long moment, then pulls a jar of SALSA and a single- serving
bag of CHIPS off the rack. He opens the chips and salsa and begins fiddling idly around
with them. He starts to hum the theme from "JAWS".

0007: Duh duh. Duh duh. Salsa shark. We're gonna need a bigger boat.

6666: We're gonna need bigger caskets. And you're gonna need a bigger aspirin in a minute if you don't quit that.

Before 0007 can reply, they hear a noise from the door to the back of the store.
0007 hurriedly hides the chips and salsa behind the counter and they come to erect,
military postures just as the IMPERIAL INSPECTOR comes out the doorway.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Well, that verifies your story, all right. However, with "Rodian spoodge" involved, I'm afraid

I'm going to have to make a complete sanitation inspection of this facility. You two carry on with your duties.

As the TROOPERS busy themselves mournfully around the counter, the IMPERIAL
INSPECTOR perambulates about the store, scrutinizing everything and busily
making entries on her datapad. Near Pet Supplies, she looks up and asks:

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: *What's that smell?

0007 and 6666: "Air freshener," ma'am.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: Odd. I could swear it smells just like cat repellent.

...probably left over from your friend the Rodian.

Some number of minutes later, she makes her way up to the counter. As she is poking about
behind the counter, she spots the MaxiTech. She looks at it for a long moment, then turns
and looks at the TROOPERS.

IMPERIAL INSPECTOR: You poor things. I have a MaxiTech datapad back in my quarters. It makes a marvelous

paperweight.

6666: We appreciate your understanding, ma'am.

The IMPERIAL INSPECTOR continues her inspection for a while, then finally finishes and leaves.

END SCENE

DISGUST

YSANNE walks in the door, sniffs, and says, disgusted:

YSANNE: *What is that smell??

Under his breath, 0007 utters a short, sharp cat's mew. 6666 hits him on the head. Misinterpreting, YSANNE says,

YSANNE: That's it, it smells like cat repellent. I hate cats. (under her breath) ...except for target practice.

You know, that thermite grenade was intended for you (points at 6666). But I suppose it wasn't wasted.
That vermin made a rather satisfying splat, actually...

She pauses for a moment, the ghost of a smile on her face, reminiscing. Then her attention returns to 6666.

YSANNE: I've decided to let you live. For now.

But don't expect any special favors from me. Galaxy knows I'd arrange to have you sent to the butthole of the universe for what you've done to me... except that you're already there.

(She looks around the store, nose wrinkled)

YSANNE: Well, at least you're good for cleaning things... ugh, what a stench. That ought to keep the vermin out,

and the customers, too.

She leaves. 6666 sort of sags and then collapses behind the counter with a big "whewww".

0007: Looks like you lucked out, boy. Spraying the place with perfume, that was a good move. Women like that stuff.

From behind the counter 6666 kicks him in the shins, which causes 0007 to fall down behind the counter too.

END SCENE

SAVED BY THE BELL

It is way after hours, and the store is closed.
The two TROOPERS are down on their hands and knees, scrubbing away at the floor.
Many of the merchandise racks are skewed out of position, and cleaning supplies are scattered everywhere.

0007: %^#$@@#% sanitation inspection.

6666: I told you we were doomed.

0007: Go fuck a Rodian.

6666: That's not fucking funny, man.

There is a banging at the door. Both TROOPERS jump up, and practically
body-slam each other getting to the door. When they unlock it, a FACILITIES
TECH, two labor droids, and a repulsorlift pallet with a largish box on it
come parading in.

FACILITIES TECH: Move aside.

He pushes past the TROOPERS and leads his little parade up to the counter.
He snaps his fingers, and the two labor droids whip into blurringly fast
action. They unhook the MaxiTech and whip it onto the repulsorlift
pallet, unwrap the package and deposit the contents on the counter. One
goes behind the counter, its hands blur over the new object for a moment
until a 'peep!' is heard, then hustles back around the counter.
The FACILITIES TECH turns on his heel, snaps his fingers, and they all parade
out the door again. The TROOPERS, dumbstruck, have stood stock still
through all this. The entire performance has taken maybe a minute and a
half.

After a moment's pause, 0007 prowls carefully around behind the counter
and has a look at the new arrival. He pokes it. It 'peeps'. 6666 takes
a packet of snacks off the rack and offers it to 0007. 0007 takes it,
gives it a look, then shows it to the new machine. It says, 'peep!',
opens the cash drawer, and spits out a receipt.

The TROOPERS jump up and give each other a high five over the counter.

0007 and 6666: All right!!!!

END SCENE

BIGGER AND BETTER PASTURES

#6969 saunters into the store, with a even more of a spring in his step than we have seen before.

6666: Hey, man, what's up with you? Boss give you extra time on the live target range or something?

6969 produces a paper and waves it slowly in the air, with very evident satisfaction.

6969: I got transferred, man.

0007: What!! You're getting off this hellpit?? Oh, man, I'm so jealous! Way to go, man, where they sending you?

6969: Something called the 'Death Star.' My orders say it's top secret, but rumor has it it's even bigger than

an Imperial Star Destroyer.

6666: Boy! Transferred to a monster ship! What I wouldn't give for...

6969: Chance of a lifetime, bud. This is the big break I've been dying for.

0007: (Cuffs him on the helmet) I'm gonna miss your sorry ass, man. You do good on this 'Death Star' thing of yours.

6969: Keep on sweepin'. Maybe someday they'll transfer you too.

Well, my shuttle leaves in 20. See ya on the battlefield! /* trooper equivalent of "see you in the funny papers!" */

6969 walks out the door.

6666: We're never gonna get off this hellball.

6666 and 0007 both drop their heads onto their arms on the counter.

END SCENE

BEST USAGE

DARTH VADER lines up with his blaster in the base firing range.
We CUT to his cross-hairs. Smack in the center of them is a PokeyDoke
Peek-A-Boo doll. The range floor around it is littered with shreds of
purple fabric. FADE OUT to sound of a blaster shot.

END SCENE

END MOVIE

******************************************************************************************

Credits

"Clerks" and portions from the original "Clerks" are © Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier. The smell running gag (*) also comes from the original "Clerks", although there it was from shoe polish.

"Star Wars" and all people, places and things pertaining to it are © LucasFilm Limited, except for the name "Mas Basura", which is original.

Items in red came from the "Trooper Clerks" trailer, as did the items in blue also. Thanks to Jeff Allen and the wild bunch at Maxamir Studios for all their hard work to bring us this spoof of a spoof of a spoof. Pay them a visit.

"Mr. Kratospylae" is a spoof of a well-known entrepeneur, whose name has been translated for the purposes of this script. You can run, Moneybags, but you can't hide.

Thanks to my work-buddy Mike King for the part about "people who feed mice to snakes."

Thanks to my Dad, Alan, for the phrase, "stock up before the hoarders get it all."

Thanks to my long-suffering friend, the comic shop manager/clerk, Sara Gray for "PokeyDoke/Pokemon". She didn't have to tell me anything-- I saw it all. Pikachu!

Thanks to my friend(?) the GM, Eric Jackson, for introducing me to the term "spoodge".
Although I'm not using it >quite< the way it actually means =)

All other material (in black text) is copyright 1999 B.A. Parcells. You have my express written permission to publish or copy this derivative work in its entirety, put up on your web site, etc, AS LONG AS you retain this credits section (so they know who-all contributed to it). However, you do NOT have permission to sell it or make money off it!!! If you want to make money off it you will have to contact and get permission from me and all of the above. My law firm is Tuthe, Gnale, and Klaw, and they are mean. You have been warned.

*******************************************************************************************

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