Monday, 1 July 2013


This week's FIGHT is written by James Clayton.

The multiverse is full of bastards. Bastards. Bastards bastards bastards.

We should kill 'em. Even better, we should make the bastards kill each other. Yes, that'll be more fun. Bastard-on-bastard murder-death-kill is a brilliant spectacle to behold. 

You don't have to wrestle with ethical doubts when the two combatants going in to kill each other are bastards. 

You can boo everyone! 

You don't have to suffer disappointment when the bastard kills the non-bastard because there is no non-bastard!

Really, these bastards deserve it. For their bastardry they should be compelled to perform in perilous conditions tending towards extreme violence for the perverse vicarious pleasures of spectators. And then they kill each other and everyone on the non-bastard side of the equation gets a kick out of it.

It's their own fault, the bastards. They had the audacity to try and screw over Harrison Ford. They're asking to be killed. Bastards.

These two particular bastards are one-note insignificant little bastards who burn brightly for a moment in a miniature explosion of bastardy but then they splutter out. 

This happens because they are bastards and bastards should be bested and, yes, killed.

Time these bastards got killed.

It's time for one mother-bastard of 
bastard-on-bastard edition of 





Greedo is a Rodian bounty hunter and C-list thug who spends most of his time hanging around on the desert planet of Tatooine. A green-skinned alien punk looking mean in distressed dull leather, Greedo's main interest is in the pursuit of wanted fugitives in a grim corner of a galaxy far, far away.

He is not as cool as Boba Fett.

Subsequent spin-offs have retconned Young Greedo into The Phantom Menace (he taunts Anakin Skywalker in a deleted scene, the nasty bastard) and episodes of The Clone Wars cartoon but the character's main moment comes in a single scene near the beginning of the first Star Wars film. That scene has a great soundtrack provided by Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes, which is probably what everyone remembers it for.

Satipo is a male human from Peru played by Alfred Molina (actor) in his first screen appearance. Claiming knowledge of the Amazon rainforest and the tribes, cultural heritage and treasures within its lush depths, Satipo earns a living as a local guide. In hope of acquiring immense riches he shows adventuring archaeologists and other travelling academics around the South American wilderness though, in truth, he doesn't appear to be much good at it. In fact, he's incredibly ignorant and careless and is only escorting them so he can double-cross those with a superior skillset and steal the rare artefacts they claim on their expeditions. His true speciality is treachery and you can see a sample of it in his only scene, right at the beginning of the first Indiana Jones movie, Raiders of the Lost Ark.


As a bounty hunter plying his trade in the Outer Rim territories it's essential that Greedo wields weapons. Being inconspicuous is crucial for anyone who frequents the worst dives in the wretched hives of scum and villainy on Tatooine. This means we can't be completely sure of all his death-dealing devices - he's probably secretly packing a few thermal detonators - but we do know that the Rodian gun-for-hire totes a DT-12 heavy blaster pistol as his weapon of choice. Personality-wise, Greedo is a grabbity, bastardly, self-interested mean streak of alien spinelessness lacking in wit and intelligence. In combat, he's relying on his blaster and greed rather than on his cunning.

Satipo doesn't appear to be the kind of guy who'd be comfortable holding a gun or any kind of personal weapon. He's a craven coward with no backbone or courage so the threat of violence makes him squirm and scream like a little baby llama. All it takes is the crack of a bullwhip and a hard stare to send him blanching and backing down into submission.

All this man has in his arsenal is a laundry list of unappealing personality aspects and he's a perfect paragon of perfidy and parasitic self-preservation. That said, he's short-sighted and stupid which cancels out all the survivalist advantages and leaves him sweating in hopeless helplessness, hiding behind his hands screeching, "'ho Señor, pleeeease don’t hurt me!"

With the help of a handy blaster and a thick skin, Greedo wins this round.


The key word for Greedo is 'solo'. He operates alone and only seems to enjoy engaging in social niceties with critters he's set on killing. As a bounty hunter Greedo has no friends - just clients and the paying patron he associates with most frequently is Jabba the Hutt. This is a business relationship though and the Hutts care little about the numerous mercenary scum meandering around the Outer Rim. Likewise, the cantina owners, small traders and other bounty hunters of Tatooine probably wouldn't give a womprat's ass if harder times hit Greedo, so really the Rodian is alone.

'Please, allow me to make love to you with me eyes.'

Satipo is a slimy sonofabitch whose questionable character is not conducive to the keeping of many long-lasting friendships. His social life is pretty poor and, thus, he devotes himself to working assignments guiding foreigners around the jungle. Even so, his travelling companions always come to treat him with contempt once they realise he offers a pretty shit service. Furthermore, the Hovito tribe and other various indigenous peoples of the region don't respect those who bring rapacious outsiders into their sacred home territories. They're more likely to spear Satipo or use him as curate blow-dart practise than support him in his own inconsequential conflicts so, in summary, Satipo can only rely on himself, and himself is unreliable.

Altogether they're two loathsome figures and no one likes them. People only associate with them when they require their services and we guess that the Hutt crimelords have more clout than a few eccentric archaeologists and cultural anthropologists. Greedo edges this round.


If Harrison Ford enters the frame you know that neither of the protagonists are going to walk out of this scene alive.

We're not sure of Greedo's personal phobias but we can tell you that Satipo is afraid of large spiders, heights, skeletons, poison and surprise booby traps.

Neither protagonists have ever succeeded in their attempts to take out a life insurance policy which is understandable considering their chosen profession as an easily expendable minor characters in a major action-adventure franchise.

The following events may be re-edited in subsequent re-releases for home entertainment formats purely to piss off fangirls and fanboys. Don't get too upset about it because George Lucas doesn't care about your quibbles.


This is the point where we run all the above information through our highly sophisticated computer system to establish the ultimate victor. She may not look like much but she's got it where it counts, kid. I've made a lot of special modifications myself.

Mos Eisley. The Cantina Bar. Happy hour. Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes took the stage 25 minutes ago and they're just starting to get into the swing.

The band is playing but the mood is ugly. The clientele are even uglier. The gathered detritus are either lost in their exceptionally intoxicating drinks or engaged in whispered conversations about contraband goods, smuggling opportunities, rumours about Star Wars Episode VII casting or other secretive suchlikes. The air-con is playing up so it's hot in here and hot temperatures heat up hot tempers and there are too many hot tempers hanging around Mos Eisley. It is, in fact, bastard hot.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, Satipo enters the scene.

The Peruvian guide is lost, several parsecs off the beaten track. He stumbles into the bar and a few of the Cantina regulars regard him with a suspicious glance before returning to space booze and business. Satipo, we suppose, isn't enough of an oddity or intimidating entity to be worthy of attention or anxiety.

The man moves shiftily across the room, fails to summon up the courage to order himself a drink and curls up in corner booth. On the way he accidentally kicks the half-dead carcass of a busted mouse droid and treads on something that looks a bit like an amputated arm.

Satipo doesn't dwell on these things though because his mind is occupied with more troubling issues. He rubs himself anxiously and his eyes rove around the room as he tries to gather some composure. After seven solid minutes of sweating he decides that no information is worth sitting in the Cantina. He resolves to return out into the Dune Sea to keep away from those that would do him harm, in hope that he may attain the lost ancient relic buried somewhere in the beyond.

He leaps up and strides across the room, wriggling with a new forced self-confidence. He's going to go out there, overcome his fear of unknown dangers and get himself something golden.

No he isn't. Satipo, in fact, is only going to get halfway to the exit archway. He's stopped in his tracks mid-stride. The barrel of a blaster pistol pokes his chest and brings him to an abrupt halt.

"Going somewhere, Satipo?" comes the question in coarse Huttese that Satipo somehow seems to understand fluently.

"Ah, Señor Greedo!" utters the wretched human with a broken smile but the Rodian bounty hunter prods him again with his firearm and puts an end to any hope of exchanging polite social niceties.

"Save it, Satipo," Greedo spits in Huttese which is here transcribed as English because the word processor software won't let me write in the glyphs of distant galaxies. "I've been looking for you. I didn't have to look hard. I could smell your foul stench when I arrived in town."

Satipo nods and silently apologises with wet tauntaun puppy. "Oh... h'okay Greedo, h'okay leesten, Señor..."

"It's too late. Back you go," interrupts the alien ushering his quarry towards the corner booth. "If you insist, Señor," Satipo acquiesces. The South American reverses into his seat again and squirms as Greedo coolly takes his position opposite across the table. The blaster remains trained on Satipo's torso and every time the target glances at it he wets himself all over again.

Greedo smells the offensive ammonia of fear and slaps his prey. Satipo blubs.

The Rodian predator-for-profit doesn't want to hear whimpering so he starts with the powertrip speechifying.

"They're through with you. You made a lot of promises but you should have delivered when you had the chance."

Satipo shuffles uncomfortably, scratching around in the upholstery, his shaking fingers stumbling over loose change and the miscellaneous paraphernalia that's fallen from the pockets of past Cantina customers. "Leesten, Greedo... I know where the idol is... h'you can tell them... I was h'ust on my h'way to..."

The green meanie cuts in, "Too late. A price has been put on your head and it's pretty large. Soon more bounty hunters will be looking for you. He he he he. I'm lucky I found you first."

Satipo continues to move his hands around beneath the table in nervous desperation. Reflected spotlights dance menacingly in Greedo's black bulbous void eyes.

The South American moves to beg a bit more but once again Greedo leaps in, the blaster buying him the air time. "He he. If you tell me where the idol is, I might forget I found you."

The Rodian's sneaky audacity amuses Satipo and he lets out a mocking chortle which consequently earns him another backhander across his left cheek. As he lets out a sorry squeal he begins to internally acknowledge that his situation is one of abject hopelessness. He looks into the pistol and perceives his own sorry demise, ignominious and imminent.

"Okay, Satipo, now I'm through with you too." Greedo states with malevolent mirth. "I'll have your dead body. I've been waiting for this moment for a fair amount of time."

Satipo feels a new hope and with a defiant last gasp curtly retorts, "H'yeeeess, I bet'chu have..."

Greedo's sinews tense, impulses spread through nerves and he twitches to the trigger pull. All of a sudden, quick movement. A plasma bolt flashes. There's a startling shock of light and the loud "PTTTYYYUUU" sound of a blaster firing.

Satipo shot first.

Across multiverses, pocket dimensions, mirror realms and campfire stories, Greedo never, ever shoots first. Never.

The Rodian's smouldering blasted body drops and his heads hits the table top with a thud. Smoke rises from the blackened corpse. Greedo is a goner.

Satipo lets out a little laugh and cracks a cocksure smile. He relaxes for the first time in a fortnight and gazes down at his morbid handiwork with smug pride. Raising his hands, the victorious scoundrel rubs his forefingers and thumbs together, subconsciously feeling out his fortune.

Snapping out of the reverie, Satipo says "Adios Señor" to the Rodian's charred remains and slides across the Cantina. The other denizens of this down-at-the-heel dive appear not to have been disturbed by the spasm of violence and have already returned to their personal business. Satipo passes by the indifferent crowd unperturbed, turns to wink at Firgin D'an and his Modal Nodes and then struts out into the double-sunlight of Tatooine outdoors.

He is the bastard who leaves this ugly barroom encounter alive. He then proceeds to recklessly walk straight into a Bantha horn, the sharp spiral piercing his skull and giving the inhabitants of Mos Eisley a gloriously gory piece of street art to ponder on.

Satipo then, fatally speared by hubris. Someone else - probably a Nazi - will get the idol.





FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! will return in:

"Over My Dead Body, Over Your Dead Body, Everybody's Over Some Dead Body”

If you have any suggestions for who you'd like to see square go each other in future FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! articles, please mention them below.

If you wish to take issue with our verdict, please post a well-informed and reasoned explanation as to why below, as is the style of the internet.

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