A Hoth Realtor Addresses Some of the Concerns Being Raised Over His Decision to Turn Han Solo’s Deceased Tauntaun Into a Modest Studio Apartment.
BY JACK LOFTUS
That’s not decomposition you’re catching wind of out there, folks, that’s savings! And savings, I’m very happy to report, are but a taste of what the prestigious Tauntaun Terrace has to offer.
What I’m not happy about is all this talk about how this coveted studio apartment is unlivable and should be condemned simply because it happens to be the eviscerated carcass of a domesticated Hoth beast that I’ve expertly converted into one of the hottest rental properties on the planet.
Seriously, is this how Hoth real estate is going to work from now on? A guy like me shows a little entrepreneurial fortitude and for that he’s immediately cast into a metaphorical sarlacc pit to be slowly digested by an unforgiving barrage of name-calling and character assassination for what feels like the next 1,000 years? What gives?
The jealousy is palatable, folks, and must be addressed. Tauntaun Terrace will sell, damn you to the Outer Rim, and will do so despite the litany of baseless complaints levied against the property. I will address each in turn, right now.
“Little small for a human dwelling, don’t you think?”
What you call small I call well-insulated, eminently cozy and field-tested by a Jedi Knight. Let me say that again: A Jedi Knight! In a galaxy as far away as this one, that’s the top of the tenant pyramid! Luke-freaking-Skywalker called this venerable corpse dwelling his home for an entire day and night while a notorious smuggler toiled away on a fixer-upper project in the cold outside—the fruits of which are now on display as a rather welcoming patio/fire pit emergency addition that’s done nothing but increase the property value.
“Previous tenant is wanted by the Empire.”
“Wanted.” Right. Again, a Jedi Knight that went on to save the galaxy with the last-minute help of his half-robot, cape-wearing Sith Lord father used to live in this tauntaun’s welcoming, life-preserving abdomen. That’s a negative. Next?
The “gaping, unsightly wound.”
So let me get this straight: No one’s ever stayed in a luxury, avant-garde tent before? Because that’s exactly what it sounds like. Allow me to explain. At the front of Tauntaun Terrace is a custom entryway completed by our friend the aforementioned and intergalactically-known smuggler, Han Solo. This is Hoth, not Yavin, and greeting visitors in lieu of a predictable blast door is something casual and fun I’ve dubbed “lightsaber chic.” Those handy flaps of skin and fur were carved out by Solo himself using Skywalker’s handcrafted laser sword. The whole arrangement is a lavish, nomadic touch that will forever exude more exuberance than entrails, guaranteed. Are we going to get serious here, or what?
Hmm, I guess not, because this is laughable and borderline offensive to the great Jedi Order. First of all, Obi-Wan’s wandering Force ghost is not “noisy,” he is knowledgeable, wise and dabbles in mind control—so watch the fuck out. Second, the nearby Imperial garrison is best referred to as a local home security force and nothing more. Attempts to brand their courteous cold-weather safety teams as a “malicious occupying force of emotionless, murdering Stormtroopers” will no doubt result in a brief visit from recently-hired security agent TK421 and instant blaster death. Word to the wise: He’s still very sour about the whole Millennium Falcon secret floor compartment incident, so, yeah. Let’s just move on.
“Terrible location: Deadly ice planet.”
Quiet and quaint. Isolated. Reliable climate that never surprises. Great skiing and hunting. Unlimited free use of pleasure droids and confiscated Rebel Alliance snow speeder harpoon guns. Just minutes from a thrilling asteroid field excursion… sorry, what were you talking about again? The location? I guess I got sidetracked by all these amazing perks and winter sporting activities that are freely available to tenants of Tauntaun Terrace.
“Inevitably beset by rot and water damage.”
Look, let’s be honest with each other here. I cannot guarantee the studio apartment nestled within my tauntaun’s spacious, welcoming chest cavity will be livable forever. You got me! But, to be fair, can you claim that any home you might sell on Hoth will last forever? Or that your properties will peaceably fade into the landscape and not negatively impact the environment? Don’t answer. I’ve see your pre-fab cookie cutter cottages on the North Slope made from all manner of plastic tchotchkes and busted lead-filled AT-AT parts and I know the answer already.
“Scent attracts scavengers out of their caves and into the home, including snow monsters.”
You say, “deadly cold-blooded ice monsters,” and I say, “new acquaintances.” We’re engaging in another of those futile battles over semantics. Let’s compromise. I will admit that Tauntaun Terrace does in fact put forth a potent odor that attracts entities to the outskirts of the property, and you will concede that they’ll actually be new friendship opportunities and diverse wildlife viewing experiences delivered right to the doorstep. Deal? Because, you see, the scenic vistas come to you at Tauntaun Terrace! That stupid snow monster only has one arm left anyway (See: Skywalker; former tenant, epic hero, snow monster arm-taker).
But no more talk. Time for the automated property demo. If you’ll just hold onto this metal promotional display ball for a moment while I go get something out of my speeder… sorry, what’s that? A thermal detonator? Ha! Obviously not! How silly! Those devices are incredibly illegal! This is just a holographic mechanism that I use to showcase additional tidbits about the property. R2-D2 approved!
Just do me a solid and hit that little red button up top after I’m outside. The show will begin and I’ll be back quicker than you can say “Kessel Run.” Then we can continue to review the rest of these delightful little complaints.
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