Beer. Blue Milk. If you’re a beleaguered trooper with a thirsty throat, which beverage really has more bounce to the once?
Build time and the DoTextureMaps tick past, scrolling up the Build Information window like a modern day teletype, spewing the skinny on the process progress. Got maybe another 20 minutes yet, use them wisely, miserly, mice words and spoil the mean while.
Today the day of big update letters splash landing on deck in the in-box and coworker colleague casting about links to fat aka dirty beats on SoundCloud. Oy-vey what the kids get up to these days. What do Stormtroopers listen too, anyway? Helmets with built in speaker systems to drown out the raspy fans of their air purifier regulation regulatory respirators. Do they crank the volume on the Empire’s number one spiritual shock jocks, or does the Dark Side set the dial and determine the delectable playlist.
Alliterative rambling aside, if pulling up a stool in the cantina after a long day’s patrol, were both options available on pull taps adorned with darling little statuettes of horned devil starlet clonettes or buxom Wookie wunderkind for the rug rustlers, which might the typical Stormtrooper prefer?
Would they simply have what the locals were having? Then in that cantina blue milk’d win.
If they’re along with a 501st detail barnstorming San Diego’s epic ComiCon, perhaps they’d prefer some of the abuse Dick’s Last Resort has to offer up the way, where the vending machine has a claw to catch lobsters with the kids just love.
Speaking of Dick's place, the waiters had a gag there, they'd yell at folks returning from the restroom, ask what color the soap was. The correct answer many patrons failed to have, much to the chagrin of others, was blue. Like milk.
If they’re on Sky Walker Ranch, it could be organic beer, or blue milk infused with rum. Tie (fighter) vote.
If you’ve just spent the week intercepting chop shop droids with stolen restraining bolts still sparking next to where Jawas filed of the serial numbers and no matter how good your suit sealant is you’re still tasting sand under your tongue, do you point at the Bantha Cream or the Wicked Wookie Ale?
After a low speed stroll through aisle after aisle of useless Jar Jar junk trying to find that perfect something for your squadmate to say you care on their birthday without looking too warm and fuzzy like some hippy Jedi, only to end up getting yet another Sharper Image or Amazon gift certificate and feeling envy for the guy that always knows just what to get and shows up to the surprise office party with Bonnie’s new book gift wrapped under his arm, what bests serves to quench the backwash of bile burning the rump off your tongue? Some soothing Milk of Mothma? Or some black oak cask conditioned Grand Marnier Tarkin Stout?
Only those troopers could say, and that was a long time ago in a pub far, far away.