Ooooooooooooh
OOOOOOOOOH
Come see a Hutt move.
Flabby fat in a gig ‘n’ groove.
It's Perla the Hutt and then some!
She’ll write her own book someday.
About how to succeed in being a Hutt.
Kark, only such scum will read it anyway.
Memoirs of a Hutt—something such.
She thinks about it, finger to her lip.
Sitting on her throne, yup, on her butt.
But she's just as much here on business.
Perla the Hutt. It has a ring to it, it does.
She tells herself, doesn’t get told much.
Except by her thugs, and they’re scum.
If they speak otherwise, it’s their blood.
On her throne then, that gilded chair of Perla, the Golden Queen.
In her dreams, some say, for she’s no Nor’baal, who makes her blink.
He can make her blush, that one, and one day they shall become married.
She’ll give him an obsidian ring, a necklace of mynock tails, become his queen.
“YES INDEED”
She roars in her throne room.
Her chamber in her own casino too.
“I AM THE MOST MAJESTIC MAJESTYYY”
Slaps hands on armchairs, careful not to slam the wrong buttons because—
“WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”
“Kymmmmmmm”
Finger-to-lips hmm.
“Accidentally hit the floor trap again…kyeh.”
Weequay screaming to the very end of his death.
Giving it a moment, his mistress gives into silence, looks left and right at minions.
They’re quiet, guards and slaves and jesters and pastry servers, each one listening.
Finally, after moments, there comes the roar of her best pet, Pug, the pretty rancor.
Tearing that deadbeat to shreds, likely eating his head, leaving bones for the floor.
“KYAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA”
How a Hutt’s mighty chest rises!
Her armchair has other surprises!
“SEND IN THE APPETIZAAAAAAAAS”
Good googly moogly was she starved, that poor Hutt—hadn’t eaten in ten minutes!
Her last meal consisted of eel, wasn’t slimy enough, so fed the server to her pet Pug.
Silence again, folks gulping in dread, wondering if the waiter will please his mistress.
And he steps in, but he isn’t an idiot, at least he hopes he isn’t as Perla’s fingers drum.
“What have you brought me to EAT!?”
The Ugnaught steps forth. “O Queen!”
She cocks a brow, already displeased.
“OH SHOW ME WHAT LIES BENEATH”
His hands shake, straining to hold the plate, lifting the lid off the tray.
And his mistress stares at him, and she leans in, and she licks her lips.
Deliciousssss… She snatches a squirming toad-frog or whatever this is.
Finishes, throws the leftover at her minion, slime sliding down his face.
“KYOHOHOOOOOOOOO—”
-Burp-
Another minion steps hereto.
“Queen, message for you,” quivers.
His voice is pathetic, that piece of bantha poodiddly doo, but he has her attention.
Sitting on her throne, Golden Queen, Binder of Chains, Captain of the Sable Chariot.
She can hear the purr of her engine like the soft whimper of baby Nunion in his dream.
He’s in bed behind her, safe and sound. “What’s this now?” An invitation. “Gravenell City?”
OOOOOOOOOH
Come see a Hutt move.
Flabby fat in a gig ‘n’ groove.
It's Perla the Hutt and then some!
She’ll write her own book someday.
About how to succeed in being a Hutt.
Kark, only such scum will read it anyway.
Memoirs of a Hutt—something such.
She thinks about it, finger to her lip.
Sitting on her throne, yup, on her butt.
But she's just as much here on business.
Perla the Hutt. It has a ring to it, it does.
She tells herself, doesn’t get told much.
Except by her thugs, and they’re scum.
If they speak otherwise, it’s their blood.
On her throne then, that gilded chair of Perla, the Golden Queen.
In her dreams, some say, for she’s no Nor’baal, who makes her blink.
He can make her blush, that one, and one day they shall become married.
She’ll give him an obsidian ring, a necklace of mynock tails, become his queen.
“YES INDEED”
She roars in her throne room.
Her chamber in her own casino too.
“I AM THE MOST MAJESTIC MAJESTYYY”
Slaps hands on armchairs, careful not to slam the wrong buttons because—
“WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH”
“Kymmmmmmm”
Finger-to-lips hmm.
“Accidentally hit the floor trap again…kyeh.”
Weequay screaming to the very end of his death.
Giving it a moment, his mistress gives into silence, looks left and right at minions.
They’re quiet, guards and slaves and jesters and pastry servers, each one listening.
Finally, after moments, there comes the roar of her best pet, Pug, the pretty rancor.
Tearing that deadbeat to shreds, likely eating his head, leaving bones for the floor.
“KYAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA”
How a Hutt’s mighty chest rises!
Her armchair has other surprises!
“SEND IN THE APPETIZAAAAAAAAS”
Good googly moogly was she starved, that poor Hutt—hadn’t eaten in ten minutes!
Her last meal consisted of eel, wasn’t slimy enough, so fed the server to her pet Pug.
Silence again, folks gulping in dread, wondering if the waiter will please his mistress.
And he steps in, but he isn’t an idiot, at least he hopes he isn’t as Perla’s fingers drum.
“What have you brought me to EAT!?”
The Ugnaught steps forth. “O Queen!”
She cocks a brow, already displeased.
“OH SHOW ME WHAT LIES BENEATH”
His hands shake, straining to hold the plate, lifting the lid off the tray.
And his mistress stares at him, and she leans in, and she licks her lips.
Deliciousssss… She snatches a squirming toad-frog or whatever this is.
Finishes, throws the leftover at her minion, slime sliding down his face.
“KYOHOHOOOOOOOOO—”
-Burp-
Another minion steps hereto.
“Queen, message for you,” quivers.
His voice is pathetic, that piece of bantha poodiddly doo, but he has her attention.
Sitting on her throne, Golden Queen, Binder of Chains, Captain of the Sable Chariot.
She can hear the purr of her engine like the soft whimper of baby Nunion in his dream.
He’s in bed behind her, safe and sound. “What’s this now?” An invitation. “Gravenell City?”