The Return of DaRTH THE once Mighty part One

The Return of Darth the Once Mighty ©

By Michael Casey

Now as I’ve mentioned Darth is a Warrior with a capital W. Well that’s almost true, apart from his weaknesses, mainly Mead, or Beer in today’s parlance. Darth is from Viking times, but he would not listen to anybody, Vikings are a bit like that, so he ended up sailing off the end of the world. The earth is flat after all. Darth screamed, may the gods help me, but they did not, but God did help him.

So, Darth found himself in 1987 alive and in pencil, on a dogeared piece of paper all bound with a shoe lace. Imagine the indignity of it all. Though he did discover that 1987 beer was ok, never as good as Mead, but he could not complain. Darth met the lads from StatsMR computer room and they super glued a red read/write ring to his left ear lobe, and for balance a blue read/write ring to his right ear lobe. They told him he looked so good, and Darth slurred one day Michael Casey will be a famous writer, but the lads just laughed and got another round in. Though Mark Alder drew a cartoon of Michael Casey in the style of William Shakespeare, as he was a comedian.

Now Darth did have a companion, a dwarf a very big dwarf, more like a Michelin Man size dwarf, who drank and belched and farted, but in tune to anything playing on the Jukebox in the Horse Trader bar. Falstaff was so talented that way, though when Falstaff drunk too much, more that 25 pints and 14 packets of crisps and 7 bags of scratchings something horrible happened. No not that. Falstaff would turn Plastic, just like a giant piece of garden furniture. So, the lads had to keep count, or plastic would happen.

So, as it was closing time the lads all scattered, the weekend beckoned, Darth was left to carry a plastic Falstaff away, if he could survive the subway near the small brook, it was said to be dangerous, the lads did warn him to watch out. But Fate came a calling, some other lads out for a weekend of 1987 drinking and wenching saw Darth in Viking gear carrying a giant plastic dwarf on his back, so naturally they laughed and mocked him in the subway next to the Asian food store. Debbie was there and she witnessed what happened and told the Statsy boys on the Monday. The yobs, let’s give them their true name, the yobs mocked Darth and his plastic Falstaff dwarf, it was too much for any Viking to accept. So, Darth dropped the plastic Falstaff and started singing Michael Bolton songs, he was very drunk after all. The yobs laughed and jostled him, Darth was outnumbered but on he sung, Can I Touch You there, Michael Bolton came to the rescue, then plastic Falstaff awoke farting and belching in time to Michael Bolton’s Can I touch You there. A dwarf fart is a mighty weapon, and the yobs were vanquished. Debbie smiled she recognised the read/write rings, and then as Darth outstretched his hand to help Falstaff off the floor, there was a flash, no not because of fart and cigarette combined, though Paul Flash might remember a story about that. No, it was the space time continuum, Darth disappeared into space and time, taking his dwarf friend Falstaff with him.

So, since 1987 Darth and his plastic dwarf friend Falstaff have been in the ether, waiting just waiting for the gods to call him back. Now it’s 2020 and the clock is ticking, the clock is ticking, I just changed the battery, maybe I should change it more often than every 33 years. My clock has chimed, and through the clouds Darth is falling to earth, not a spaceman, but a Viking and a Dwarf, not even a  Red Dwarf, just a grubby beer stained dwarf called Falstaff. May the gods help us screams Darth, again the gods do nothing, but God is listening. Darth and Falstaff fall through the roof of Saint Mary’s where thieves had stolen some lead and there was enough space for a Viking riding and gliding down through the sky sat on a plastic dwarf could fall. Splash landing, Darth and Falstaff land in the Baptismal font. They would get zero for technical merit, but 10 for level of difficulty if this were the Tokyo Olympics diving competition.

After all these years Darth was thirsty so he drunk the Baptismal Font dry as Falstaff awoke and wondered where the nearest pub might be. Climbing out the font, Darth spied the vicar, Quasimodo, it was not her real name but some bright spark had christened her that when she was spotted ringing the church bells, when she had first arrived.

Now the gods may have not listened to Darth, but God had been listening to Quasimodo over and over and over again, she was plain, but she had a heart of gold, if only she could find a man and have a child, one would be enough, somebody to love and be loved by. But who would have her? Darth was a strapping big man, so big he could be Ukrainian, though Darth did explain he was a Viking. Was God playing tricks on her, or was the altar wine too strong. She prayed for a man, and now there were two, both falling through the hole in the roof, she thought they were lead stealers at first, but she could tell they were not. She had done English and History at Queens before getting the call, the vocation, come follow me.

Quasimodo, was a great priest, she spent all her time reading, and not because she as so plain and nobody would ever want her. She was just so terrible shy too. God looked on, he had answered her prayers, twice over, now she could not make her mind up.