The Adventures of Bonko Klemmings

'''Contributions Welcome! Just no profanity please.'''

The Birth of a Hero
The year was 31.5 BBY. The cloning masters of Kamino had obtained the DNA of a certain Jango Fett, and were proceeding with the preliminary procedures associated with the production of a grand clone army for the Republic, under the direction of the Jedi Knight Sifo-Dyas. Before beginning the primary portion of the cloning, Kaminoan scientists experimented with Jango’s genes producing 12 clones to perfect a soldier who would be group oriented, intelligent and obedient. Naturally defective clones were produced in the process, 6 total, with flaws ranging from mental retardation to loose stools, really loose stools. I mean stools so loose, well you’d rather not know. All 6 of these clones, the prototypes of an army worthy of song, were disposed of. Or so it is believed….

“What news of the prototypes, Taun We” stated Kaminoan Prime Minister Lama Su. “They’re good as dead sir. Jarmy Fe reports the infants will not last another week. She is ready to deliver them from this world at your order. Fortunately, the remaining six will continue their training and the Gene Team will fix flaws noted in them, in our future clones. Primary production of the army can begin as soon as this detailed analysis is complete.” declared Project Coordinator of the Clone Army, Tuan We. “Very well, spare me your life story. Tell Nurse Fe I will be visiting the lab in one hour to inspect the defective units. Make sure no action is taken until then. Today will be a solemn day for the Kaminoan people, let them die with dignity.” murmured the depressed Lama Su.

….In the depths of the Gene Team laboratory a certain clone, B2-K4, lonely in his baby blue nutrient cylinder, floated freely. His life had been boring with the constant floating and smacking his head against the inch thick plasteel that separated him from the world. Little activity surrounded him as well, only the infrequent steps of creatures foreign to B2-K4, the soft beeps of clone development machinery, and the irritating bubbling of his tank’s aerator. He was utterly sick of it. Every second the baby wasted in his giant tank of Kool-Aid was more than he could bear. The only exciting moments of his life had been when he heard, not seen, for his eyes had not developed at the time, a wild bear-like creature rampage through the lab after escaping its cage in a very remote room of Topica City. Therefore, for the first time in his short 9-month life, with nothing better to do, he opened his eyes. Disgust welled up in the clone’s gut as took in the scene lade before him. “Ugh! This place sure tastes better than it looks!” The baby thought. Immediately in front of him, and surrounding him for that matter, was the nutrient bath that he had felt and tasted before, but had not seen. It was blue; an evil B2-K4 could have never comprehended unaided by his eyes. Once his revulsion passed the clone looked beyond the fluid, and the plasteel he had felt before, perceiving the smooth white flooring, ceiling and tables that scattered about. The chairs were particularly interesting, hanging from the ceiling like spoons ready to scoop up and kidnap any fool foolish enough to rest their bottom upon it. Turning about completely B2-K4 saw that his tank was hugging the back wall with chairs and tables littered with equipment to the east and a sliding door beyond it on the east wall. Two more tanks stationed to his immediate left, with one more by the west wall. Across the room (north) resided another door with cabinets to the immediate right and left and a computer in the northwest corner. Finally, a femur belonging to a now deceased Kaminoan scientist lay on the floor near the east door. No doubt, this was the femur the bear-like creature forgot to eat on his rampage. “This is all quite disturbing, yet oddly satisfying.” Thought B2-K4 “and I can’t help feel that I’ve seen this all before when I am being entertained by the pictures in my mind. Flash learning, yes that’s what it’s called. And by this point, I estimate I have learned the equivalent of the 8th year curriculum of a civilian child, in complete military application of course. Well it sure beats public schools anyway. ”    B2-K4 was growing by the hour, and with his genes being experimental, his life course would be unpredictable. Would he serve as a commander in the clone army, or die in a week, or become incredibly intelligent, or maybe escape the bung hole that was Kamino and become a rugged and charming warlord with nothing better to do than steal a finely knit sweater, and the owners dignity with it? Perhaps, Perhaps. Only time would tell. However, time was not on this little clone’s side. For a mistaken Kaminoan nurse had given B2-K4, along with five other clones, a week to live based on her judgment of a broken healthometer, which read for B2-K4: “Minor heart explosions in patient may occur if your first name starts with ‘Jarm’”. Unfortunately, the nurse’s name was Jarmy Fe and so she had decided to mercifully end the young clones’ lives today and save the time. Jarmy’s reading for five of the other clones were equally as tragic. Therefore, with these vital truths hidden from the mind of this clone and five of his brothers, B2-K4 wisely decided it was time to escape, time for adventure, time to get a nice pair of pants and a snug fitting helmet. But how, considering he was only as developed as an average 1 year old (these prototype clones were kept in tanks longer to observe physical development),and the fact that an inch of plasteel separated him from his destination? “Hmm, I wonder what that thing is brushing past my foot,” Thought B2-K4. “Gaa” He shrieked as he turned his attention toward the nutrient tank’s floor where there lay a mechanical menace shaped like a cylinder but with a pointy stick protruding out of one end, and a handle out of the side. B2-K4, now in a mix of blinding rage (that he had not noticed this before) and fear (of the machine) attacked the device with the intent to kill, the way that a child assaults an insect. Gripping the monstrosity in a chokehold, B2-K4 fumbled upon a button, which he accidently pressed, causing a shriek of pain to erupt from the device, as well as a furious spin from its small, pointy arm. Feeling a rush of victory, the baby slammed the mechanical menace into the plasteel wall, surprisingly, causing the wall to rip open. The milky blue solution spilled out as the opening grew. As B2-K2 continued to move the metal object around the wall, the hole in the plasteel continued to grow, causing much rejoicing on the clone’s part. In retrospect the clone looked fondly back on this incident with the self-powered drill, mainly because the machine was so incredibly shiny, but also because it was so stupidly convenient (the best kind) that the solution to his problem was just right there, like the way bumbling authors just give their characters utterly unrealistic solutions to their problems, scratch-free, usually. (Why was there a self-powered drill lying on the floor of the clone’s tank you ask? Well I can’t tell you.) Satisfied in his rampage of doominess, B2-K4 then released the power drill, watching it float hopelessly down, as he wallowed in the triumph one can only feel after conquering a common tool in battle. “Hmm would you look at that.” thought B2-K4 “The beast’s unhinged jaw tore a wonderfully large, and equally round hole in the plasteel. Now I, a 9 month old baby, can make my escape from this blue, stinky and blue (did I mention I detest blue) home to live life free in this new world that I’m sure will be quite exciting and not blue in the least bit. But how do I get out? I’m guessing these stubby sticks protruding from my torso should allow me to travel….

“Raindrops keep falling on my head. Just like the clone whose helmet’s too big for his head. (Wait that’s not right, head doesn’t rhyme with head.) Raindrops keep falling on my head. Just like the Kaminoan who’s too long for his bed. Nothing seems to fit. Those raindrops keep falling on my head they keep falling. Apparently because I’m free! I’d much prefer slavery. ” Sung the Kaminoan nurse Jarmy Fe as she blissfully strode down an utterly plain hallway. “Hey Jarmy! Free bagels in the lobby!” shouted Jarmy’s cousin and co-worker, Shui Fe. “What’s a bagel?” replied Jarmy as she slowed her pace to a stop. “Uh, I don’t know really.” Shui Fe said. “It’s like one of those foods our authors give us when they’re too lazy to invent a new food that would fit properly in our universe. You know like coffee, hamburgers, beer, wine, steak, stew, pastries, milk, cheese, butter, pizza, pop, tea, cake, beans, nuts, cookies-” “Alright I get the picture… We really have all those things?”said Jarmy Fe. “Sure either those exact foods or variants of them like nerfburgers instead of hamburgers. But the laziness isn’t limited to food, it permeates our galaxy like a little fat kid’s fingers in a jar of synthetic sugar syrup, and yes sugar is canon too. For example, have you ever wondered why Humans are the dominant species of the galaxy, outnumbering any other individual species 10 to 1? Hmm? Or have you thought ‘Why was the clone template we chose Human’? Or why are so many of the species, individuals, worlds and events of our galaxy just so stupid? With the galaxy’s worlds why do planets like Hoth (ice), Endor (forest), Tatooine (desert) and Coruscant (city) have such a lack in their variety of ecosystems and why would our entire planet be covered in water, how original is that, a whole stinking planet covered in water? A better question is ‘How did we build a city on this planet?’, no one ever told me that, or if we’re supposed to be native to this bung hole ‘Why do we have two legs if we have no land to walk on here?’. I’ll tell you why, it’s because our creator(s) were too stinking lazy to think before they scribbled over the once good sci-fi that was Star Wars. Its times like this that I wish I was a Star Trek character. ‘Sigh’” explained Shui Fe. “I like pie!” shouted a passerby. “Hmmm. Well I for one refuse to believe that I’m a fictitious character from an idiot’s imagination, so that pretty much throws your whole argument out the window. And for your sakes, don’t talk to anyone else about this. You’d be surgically persuaded from your opinion if Lama Su found out about this. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m needed in the gene lab to help oversee the execution of the six ill clone prototypes, and no, I do not want a bagel. Good day to you.” said Jarmy Fe and she swiftly trotted off. Little time had passed before Jarmy once again began humming to herself as she continued her stroll towards the gene lab: a small four-room complex, three of which contained all twelve prototypes, four to a room. In approximately 15 minutes, the Prime Minister would arrive to watch the execution. The procedure would begin by raising cloning tank temperatures to 3000 degrees C leaving the clones to become a thick meaty stew fit for a Hutt (they’ll eat anything so that’s not saying much). Indeed Prime Minister Lama Su intended to sell the liquefied clone vats to a top-notch Coruscant restaurant for the upwards of 5000 credits. Delicacies like these were usually not consumed by Humans, usually….