Remember Zam Wesell? She was the bounty hunter that Jango Fett was with in Episode II, this was how she was named… or at least me and my friend joked about this and I said "hey why don't I write a comedy one shot about it.

The wonderful and incredibly talented dialogue writer George Lucas could be found today missing golf balls with his golf club on some golf course in the vicinity of Skywalker Ranch. Rick McClellan, producer of the film Star Wars: Episode I stood next to him, rolling his eyes in irritation every time George missed the ball. They had to finish the script for Episode II immediately! They had started this game of golf at about eight in the morning, it was not five in the afternoon and George was still on hole one, he had not even come close to making contact with the ball.

"George?" Rick asked just as Lucas was about to swing the club for the umpteenth time. At this Lucas turned to face his partner, while simultaneously swinging the club. It contacted with the man's groin and Rick doubled over in pain.

"Whoops, sorry Rick." George said. "I'm not very good at golf."

"Damn it!" Rick muttered under his breath.

"What was that Rick?"

"Nothing!" Rick cried, standing up straight and ignoring the throbbing pain he felt.

"Now what did you want to say to me?"

"You really need to finish the Episode II script George! Come on, we can just look in the phone book for the name of the bounty hunter that works with Jango Fett."

"No, I decided to change his name to Uranus Maximus!"

"What?!" Rick cried incredulously. "George, the ratings of TPM were bad enough because of the cheesy dialogue. How the hell do you think the critics will react to that name?!"

"Shut up Rick!" George cried like a madman, slapping the producer on the side of the face, he returned to swinging his golf club at the ball, this time it actually made contact; however Rick soon discovered Lucas's aim was horrible as the golf ball somehow flew to the side, ricocheted off the golf cart and his Rick dead center in the groin.

"You okay Rick?" George Lucas asked. Rick was now on the ground, grunting and groaning in agony.

"I'm fine." Rick spat, standing up.

"Excellent," George replied. "I think I should get a few more practice hits in."

"You got any extra storm trooper armor?" Rick asked, fearing another unfortunate accident.

"Nope."

"What happened to it all?! I heard it was great protection!"

"Oh, well all the suits were too big for me and a really wanted to wear them, so I got mad and burned them."

"Damn it George." Rick muttered.

"What was that Rick?" George asked turning to face the unfortunate producer with the golf club pulled back.

"Nothing!" Rick replied quickly. "Well what about the name for the bounty hunter?"

"Stop putting so much pressure on me!" Lucas snapped. "God, it's bad enough I already had to make four movies! Now I need to make two more, what the hell was I thinking back in 1977?"

"Hey, we got through TPM didn't we?"

"Only because Natalie Portman was a good actress!"

Rick rolled his eyes at this; he knew what the critics said.

"So George, what were you thinking of naming the bounty hunter?"

"Well I guess I should keep the name Jango Fett. Maybe I should name her Uranus Huginess and we'll higher an actress with a really big—"

"George, get a hold of yourself! Why don't we call the bounty hunter… Cindy… gol… club… Cindygeorge Sucksatgolf?"

"Absolutely not!" George cried, spinning fast to face Rick and consequentially hitting him in the head with the golf club.

Rick fell over to the ground once more, this time massaging his throbbing left temple.

"Are you okay Rick?" George asked with concern.

"I never should've become the producer for those stupid special additions!" the unfortunate man mumbled to himself.

"What was that Rick?" George asked menacingly, raising the gold club in a threatening manner.

"Nothing!" Rick replied quickly, getting to his feet. It was then that he saw some rodent; with an incredibly huge butt steal the little golf ball from the tee on which it sat.

"Holy crap George!" Rick cried, pointing to the rodent which was now scampering away with the prized golf ball. "What the hell was that?!"

"I think it was a freaking weasel!" George shouted with realization.

"Get real George, we don't have weasels around here! That was a gofer."

"Shut up Rick!" George snapped, promptly slapping the producer in the face. "If I say it's a weasel, it's a weasel! Damn weasel! Give me back my ball now!"

"George you've got about twenty other balls in the bag."

"Yeah but that one was given to me in Chechnya by a really fat shop owner!"

"George, you've never been to Chechnya! I doubt you even know where it is."

"Shut up Rick." George commanded, once again slapping him, this time upside the head. "Now think, how will we get that ball back from that damn weasel?!"

"George, what you should really be thinking about is the name for the bounty hunter."

"Perhaps you're right… hmm… what about Zam Wesell?! It rhymes with damn weasel! Then I can kill her off to get revenge on that stupid rodent."

"George…" Rick said, slapping his own forehead. "That's the worst name yet. Come on, I though Ask Aak was bad enough, and Senator Palpatine was just plain horrible, but Zam Wesell?!"

"Shut up Rick! That is what I will call the bounty hunter. Now about that weasel, I'm going to buy this golf course and then I am going to higher several really strong looking men with large shotguns to kill that weasel!"

"Why don't you just tell the owners of the golf course about it?"

"Because my way is more fun you idiot!"

"Whatever," Rick said, exasperated. "Why don't we just leave now? You haven't even come close to the hole, and you've got a name, I think it's time to call it a day."

"Yeah… you're right. I need to write out how to kill that Da… Zam Wesell person, I was thinking we could have her horribly mutilated by a rancor."

"George, come on, we're looking for a PG rating! Why don't we kill her with a poison dart or something?"

"What?! Then you don't get to see her in pain! What the hell is wrong with you Rick?!"

"Okay, how about Obi-Wan chops her arm off or something and then she gets killed with a dart?"

"Now you're talking, but maybe an arm, a leg, an ear, a finger, no all ten fingers!"

"We'll see George." Rick replied, ignoring the fact that it did not make any sense for someone to get an arm cut off, and then all ten of their fingers.

"That we will, now it's time to kill that damn weasel… or Zam Weasel, or sorry Zam Uranus, what am I thinking?! It is time to kill of Zam Wesell."

"Finally," Rick breathed, rolling his eyes which then grew wide as George swung around to put his golf club away, it once again hit poor Rick right smack in the temple… these next few years were going to be very, very, very, extremely, unbearably, unspeakably, horrifically, odiously, dreadfully, horrendously, horribly, terribly, intolerably, insufferably long. They were going to be really, really, really, really, really, really long, especially if George decided to golf again. Rick vowed he would not even be in the country when that happened.