Han Solo eased the Millenium Falcon out of lightspeed near the desert planet of Tatooine, with Chewbacca sitting right next to him in the cockpit. His wookie co-pilot initiated the atmospheric penetration sequence.
"Grrrrowr," Chewie muttered.
"Yeah, I can't wait to get to the cantina either. They got the best cocktails in the Outer Rim . . . and the best hookers, too."
"Ggggwarrrhhwwww."
"I know you're lonely too, ya big galoof. We'll fly over to Kashyyyk tomorrow, and get you a nice hot Wookie whore to go medieval on."
Chewie laughed in his weird dog/lion/dinosaur-esque way. The Falcon landed on a concrete pad on the outskirts of the Mos Eisley spaceport, on the edge of a vast desert full of savage Sand People. (Political correctness was far, far away from that galaxy.) The twin suns of Tatooine blazed down on the interstellar duo as they exited the Falcon. They were soon approached by two Imperial stormtroopers in white body armor.
"Ah,
you
again," one of them muttered through a voice distorter that masked his identity. Just like his head honcho, Darth Vader. "You better not start any trouble this time, Solo."
"No trouble at all, officer. This place is a wretched hive of scum and villainy . . . but I'm supporting the legitimate economy."
"Yeah, whatever. Move along, move along."
"Heil Vader!" Han replied sarcastically. He took Chewie down the sandy main street of Mos Eisley, full of sleazy humans, aliens, and droids with artificial "intelligence." They entered Chalmun's Cantina, a squat mushroom-shaped building filled with outlaw Outer Rim mavericks. A cricket-like Arcona with creepy orange eyes looked up at them suspiciously through a haze of glitterstim smoke, playing a game of sabacc with an even creepier praying mantis-like Yam'rii.
Han ordered a Tatooine Sunset cocktail from a human bartender named Wuher, and Chewie ordered a Hutt's Delight, both heavy on the alcohol. They sat down at a booth near a bandstand. A sexy green-skinned female Twi'lek danced in front of Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes. That space jazz quartet of gray-skinned Biths played a very familiar tune.
"Damn, those bug-eyed beatniks play the same fucking songs every time I come here," Han groaned. "Don't they know anything besides 'Mad About Me,' 'Dune Sea Special,' and 'The Sequential Passage of Chronological Intervals'?"
"Aaararrrgwwwh," Chewie muttered.
"You're right, buddy. After a few Hutt's Delights, nobody gives a shit. Not even Jabba himself."
They hung around the cantina for an hour, getting buzzed on fruity booze and winning a hundred more credit chips at sabacc from a dim-witted Mon Calamari.
"Three of a kind
and
The Idiot!" Han beamed, showing his hand of cards.
"Some idiots have all the luck," muttered Tanko Crumbar, giving him ten more chips. "Anyway, the whores should be coming in soon. There's a great new redhead with amazing tits, and her ass is better than you can possibly imagine."
"I can
imagine
quite a bit."
The twin suns drifted below the desert horizon, and twelve prostitutes shuffled into that wretched hive, wearing skimpy leather bikinis with metal frills. Six human and six alien hookers. An orange-skinned Togruta had a gray striped head cape and big tits, and a purple-skinned Melkudo had cute little horns and bigger tits.
"Aarrwwwrragggg."
"No way, Chewie. Those extraterrestrial bitches are hot, but my Kiljian faith forbids interspecies fornication. I got my eye on that flaming redhead
homo sapien.
"
His eyes were locked on the sexiest twenty-something ginger he ever saw. Her big blue eyes and pale white skin clashed nicely with her copper hair, and the rest of her bod was totally bangin'. Han Solo strutted toward her like a 1970's porn star. She batted her eyelashes, tossed her hair, and wobbled her hips in his direction. Chewie followed close behind, like his own private bodyguard.
"Hey there, Slutty Red Riding Hood. Are you looking for a Big Bad Wolf?"
"You're not so bad, Mister Solo."
"How do you know my name?"
"I've seen you around Mos Eisley, and heard about your wild parties across the galaxy."
"I'm a real ladies' man."
"Oh
really?
Something tells me you're a closet cocksucker."
He gave her a dirty look, and Chewie growled softly.
"I'm not a faggot, bitch."
"Then you must be a douchebag wanker who can only get laid by call girls."
Chewie growled louder.
"Han Solo? More like
Hand
Solo," she remarked, jerking her right hand up and down on her nonexistent penis. "Wandering through outer space with nothing but a hairy wookie."
Chewbacca growled louder, baring his fangs threateningly.
"Easy, Chewie, easy. She's just teasing me. That's what hookers do, to get their johns in the mood."
"Yeah, you love how I tease you. I know you have a thing for feisty redheads."
"You got that right, ginger. Let's cut the chit-chat and find out how 'feisty' you
really
are."
"Only if you got twenty credit chips burning a hole in those tight pants."
"I got way more than money in my pants, Miss . . ."
"Katvana. But you can just call me Kat."
"I
will
call you Kat. Come on, let's get out of this lousy two-bit watering hole."
Han grabbed her left wrist and led her away from the bar. Meanwhile, an argument near the door got real heated.
"Rebel scum!" shouted a long-bearded human.
"Fascist fucking Vader-lover!" shouted a clean-shaven Advozse.
Punches were thrown, and it quickly escalated to a massive brawl. Ten humans and twelve aliens duked it out, like a Wild West sci-fi saloon. Even the Modal Nodes got involved, using their wind instruments as weapons. Han, Chewie and Kat bobbed and weaved toward the exit.
A buffed-up squid-like sullustan punched Solo in the stomach, and he slugged that rubbery alien right in the mouth. Chewie grabbed its left arm and twisted it around its back, making it howl in pain. It reached into a pocket and pulled out a small laser blaster, pointing it at Chewie's furry head at point blank range. Han pulled out his own laser gun and blew off the entire left side of the sullustan's squid-head.