Han Solo Prepares For The Mos Eisley Mayoral Election

By: G. Xavier Robillard

At times I don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t trust myself. Cocksure on some days, and then others? Memory’s fading. Leia thinks Greedo shot first. She’d like to think that. But at point blank range? How does a bounty hunter miss at point blank range? This wasn’t some kid shooting wamp rats out in the desert. This was fricking Greedo. He wasn’t Boba Fett, although in the end, it turns out Boba Fett wasn’t Boba Fett. Still, you’d think the guy who caught up to me wouldn’t have missed. Oh, it all happened so long ago. Ancient history, except it’s not. It’s politics.

Sometimes Leia says I shot first. When she wants to make me feel bad about myself. Like when the Falcon was blocking the driveway because I was waiting for parts and she had to park on the street and then it was “you shot Greedo first.” Or like when she gets mad because I ask her to wear the Jabba slave girl outfit. But is that so wrong? I must be the only guy who missed that — still blind from the carbonite and all. You’d think she could throw me a bone.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to be married. Maybe the Force created me to walk this earth alone, by myself, singular, not part of a duet…what’s the word I’m looking for? No, that’s stupid. There are two rules in politics: you have to be married, and you have to believe in the Force.

There were like a thousand witnesses in that bar, some with several sets of eyes, but everyone remembers something different. The drummer says I shot first. The bald bug-eyed oboe dudes insist it was Greedo. All the bartender remembers is that I flipped him a coin for the mess. Why would I clean it up if he shot me first?

And why does it even matter? I mean, he was going to cause my death one way or the other, right? What difference does it make whether he was a cold-blooded killer or just an amoral bounty hunter dropping me off to be tortured by Jabba? Only an imbecile with too much time on his hands would worry about who drew first. I mean, either way it was self-defense. But I can hear my PR people now: “Of course, it matters. The people of Mos Eisley don’t want a drug smuggler with an itchy trigger finger as their mayor. Greedo shot first.”

How did a guy like me even end up with PR people? I’d like to shoot them first. But a necessary evil I’m told if I want to be mayor of Mos Eisley. Do I want to be mayor of Mos Eisley? Am I qualified? Ah, what am I saying? That’s the Sergeant Solo talking…I’m a Captain! Who should be mayor if not me? I’ve done so much here since I first visited after my record-breaking Kessel Run. Nobody else would have turned this backwater planet into a premier shopping and gambling destination. Nobody else would have had the gumption to build the Death Star Resort with five thousand rooms and staff dressed as Stormtroopers. They called it tacky, but it paid for itself instantly. And I always stood by Chewie even when it was confirmed that Wookies spread Lyme disease.

So why am I listening to my critics now? Who are these Tatooines for Truth, spreading rumors? The lies they tell. That I was never frozen in Carbonite, that I’ve never even been to Endor. And now this – that I shot Greedo in cold blood, and chose a law career later in life defending bounty hunters pro bono so I could make up for it.

I tried to get my hands on the bar’s surveillance tapes, but I’m not sure which is the right one. I swear, there’s like three. One where I shoot first. Another where he totally guns for me first — badly. And then there’s one where I actually turn out of the way, but it looks weird, like the orgy scene in Eyes Wide Shut.

Sometimes I wish Luke were still here. That he had gone on with his life. Had new experiences. Now I only see him on a talk show every couple of years talking about the old days. You knew things were bad when he went from black robes to a white sequined jumpsuit. I get so sad, I can’t even watch. But at least he endorsed me. Lando threw his support to the blue piano-playing elephant at the last minute, saying I was weak on the malt liquor tax issue.

I could always say, “Greed killed Greedo.” I mean, that’s technically true isn’t it? But that would never hold up through all these press conferences and town hall meetings. My consultants tell me there’s shades of truth as if there’s anything subtle about a direct blaster shot to the gut. But, I know I’ll have to listen. Greedo shot first. Greedo shot first. Yeah, that version sounds better. Polls better anyway.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *