Blaster Quotes

The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, the effect of which is like having your brains smashed out with a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.

(Nykyrian spun about at the sound, his blaster leveling at the body in the doorway.) Whoa. Friend! (He tapped his chest twice.) Really good guy. ‘Member me? (Syn)

Wait!” Alex yells up to the driver. “Stop! Stop the car!” Up close, it’s beautiful. Two stories tall. He can’t imagine how somebody was able to put together something like this so fast. It’s a mural of himself and Henry, facing each other, haloed by a bright yellow sun, depicted as Han and Leia. Henry in all white, starlight in his hair. Alex dressed as a scruffy smuggler, a blaster at his hip. A royal and a rebel, arms around each other. He snaps a photo on his phone, and fingers shaking, types out a tweet: Never tell me the odds.

A blaster against a knife isn’t fair. (a Partini) No shit…and so goes my incentive to fight fairly. You want fair, play with kids. You wanna come at me, make out a will. (Syn)

An atom-blaster is a good weapon, but it can point both ways.

Image of a girl holding a blaster to a twin’s temple. “Remember, bi***. You can’t spell ‘danger’ without DNA.” Blam.

That’s what I thought. When I looked that human in the face. I figured he was either a genius or crazy.” Artemis’s cool eyes glared at them from the screen. “So which is it?” asked Foaly. “A genius or crazy?” Root grabbed his tri-barreled blaster from the gun rack. “What’s the difference?

As Han once told me, "Stealth and subtlety work well, but for making lasting impressions, a blaster does just fine.

This is the weapon of a Jedi Knight. Not as clumsy or random as a blaster; an elegant weapon for a more civilized age.

Mom has never allowed video games in the house, except for the educational kind, like Math Blaster, and that wasn't so much to teach us that video games sucked.

Hocuspocus religions and archaic weapons are no substitute for a good blaster at your side,

A nuclear blaster is a good weapon, but it can point both ways.

I drew one of my blasters

Something we’ve been working on in R and D for a while.” He crossed to her, ran his fingers over the lining himself. “It’s body armor.” “Get out.” Her forehead creased as she examined it more closely. “It’s too thin and light. Plus it moves.” “Trust me, it’s been thoroughly tested. Leonardo was able to take the material and fashion it into the coat. It will block a stun on full, though you’ll feel the impact. It’ll protect from a blaster, though the leather would suffer. And it will block a blade—though again, pity about the leather.” “Seriously?” She pulled her weapon again, offered it. “Try it.” He had to laugh even as he thought: Typical. Just typical. “I will not.” “Not very confident in your research and development.” “I’m not firing a stunner at my wife in our bedroom.

HAN Ha, ha! Thy errant systems of belief— Thy weapons ancient, all thy mysteries, Thy robes and meditations o’er the air, Thy superstitions, e’en thy precious Force— Cannot compare to my religion true: A trusty blaster ever by my side. With thus I say my prayers and guard my soul.

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterwards.

He equates his worth with his penis, and also uses it as a weapon.” “Okay, now I see it wearing a gold chain and toting a blaster. Stop now.

What's the point in having a mentally ill aunt if she can't buy you a Nerf Super Soaker Electrostorm Blaster?

When I reached the bar, I ordered a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster from the female Klingon bartender and downed half of it.

It crossed her mind that she might be saving clone soldiers from death by biological agent so they could die from blaster and cannon round. It was a horrible thought.

Look, your gun is in my hands. Do pssshhew-pssshhew with your blaster!” The absurdity of this situation pushed Kuon’s self-control far beyond its limits. His head fell backward, and a loud laughter rocked his body.

REBO BAND [ sings:] A gangster, aye, a gangster, O! ’Tis well to be a gangster. A blaster ever by thy side, A stately barge in which to ride, A fair, young damsel to thee tied, ’Tis well to be a gangster. A gangster, aye, a gangster, O! ’Tis well to be a gangster. Full many servants lend thee aid, More guards than a Naboo brigade, And bounty hunters on parade— ’Tis well to be a gangster. A gangster, aye, a gangster, O! ’Tis well to be a gangster. The drinks all flowing fast and free, A sarlacc pit not far from thee, A rancor for thine enemy, ’Tis well to be a gangster. A gangster, aye, a gangster, O! ’Tis well to be a gangster.

Here’s what the Encyclopedia Galáctica has to say about alcohol. It says that alcohol is a colorless volatile liquid formed by the fermentation of sugars and also notes its intoxicating effect on certain carbon-based life forms. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.

If someone is aiming a blaster at your ally, do you raise your ligthsaber to prevent it, or do you do nothing because a Jedi isn’t supposed to take aggressive action? I mean, where’s the line, Jacen? We’re in a war for survival , and defense sometimes means having to eliminate the opposition.” -Anakin Solo

Narcissa curled her lip. “Oh shut up, you sanctimonious whore. I’m sick of all your—” Hauk stunned her with his blaster. Narcissa cried out before she slumped to the floor. Hauk made no moves to break her fall. Instead, he holstered his weapon and met Desideria’s gaze unabashedly. “My mother always said that if you can’t improve the silence, you shouldn’t be speaking.” Fain let out a low whistle. “You stunned a girl, bro. Then let her hit the floor. Damn, and I thought I was callous.” Ignoring

That's what I thought. When I looked that human in the face, I figured he was either a genius or crazy.' Artemis's cool eyes glared at them from the screen. 'So which is it?' asked Foaly. 'A genius or crazy?' Root grabbed his tri-barreled blaster from the gun rack. 'What's the difference?' he snapped, strapping his trusty weapon to his hip.

Zzt motioned with the blaster barrel. 'Why don't you just walk out of here and have a nice crap.

Description: The EBF-25 Vulcan is an automatic blaster that holds twenty-five darts and fires an astonishing 3 darts per second.

You got an attitude problem? Let me get my blaster and straighten it out for you.

Ford had another Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, the drink which has been described as the alcoholic equivalent of a mugging – expensive and bad for the head.

There you have it. We go in General Celchu’s shuttle.” “Much as I personally want you to succeed in this, I sort of have to say no. Duty and officer’s oaths and all that. You understand.” “Oh, that’s right.” Luke turned to Wedge. “Could I trouble you to set your blaster on stun and point it at the other general?” “No, not really.” “Please?” Wedge sighed. “I’m not going to point a blaster at my best friend. Plus, his pilot will be obliged to jump in the way or do something equally noble and foolish. I’m not going to point a blaster at my little girl.” “Thank you, Daddy.

I'm the bathroom master I'm a real bowl blaster Don't mess with me 'Cause I can mess it up faster With just one flush I can make a toilet gush When my sister cleans it up I just turn her to mush!

When I reached the bar, I ordered a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster from the female Klingon bartender and downed half of it. Then I grinned as R2 cued up another classic ’80s tune. “ ‘Union of the Snake,

One helmeted cop is flung from his vehicle. The other crawls out onto the hood of his speeder, opening fire with a pair of blasters—just as a hunk of stone cracks him in the helmet, knocking him to the ground.

It wasn’t weapons that kept people obedient, despite what Motti, what Krennic, what Tarkin himself believed. Weapons riled people up, reminded them that they could fight. It was bureaucratic mediocrity that made them accept their fate. Show a man a blaster, and he looked for a way to take it for himself and turn it on you. Tell a man he can fight in court, and nine times out of ten he’ll disappear just to avoid the tediousness.

Deanna’s prime business was mining Lantillium, which was used to line blaster emitter barrels and the cores of warp engines (and to a lesser degree, to line the special coffee cups and jugs used to serve Hot Stuff Blend).

The gremlin mob turned on Root, and when they saw the triple-barreled blaster on his hip, they kept right on turning. Root grabbed the microphone from behind the desk, and hauled it out to the extent of its cable. “Now hear this,” he growled, his gravelly tones echoing around the terminal. “This is Commander Root of the LEP. We have a serious situation above ground, and I would appreciate cooperation from all you civilians. First, I would like you all to stop your yapping so I can hear myself think!” Root paused to make certain his wishes were being respected. They were. “Secondly, I would like every single one of you, including those squawling infants, to sit down on the courtesy benches until I have gone on my way. Then you can get back to griping or stuffing your faces. Or whatever else it is civilians do.” No one had ever accused Root of political correctness. No one was ever likely to either.

Captain Phasma. Remember me?” He moved his weapon slightly. “Here’s my blaster, ya still wanna inspect it?” Phasma held on to her dignity. “Yes, I remember you. FN-2187.” Finn shook his head curtly. “Not anymore. My name is Finn. A real name for a real person. And I’m in charge now.

I have to say, it was quite difficult because, you know, it’s important to get just the right tone. Here they are: Farty McFart Pants Stinky McFarter Captain Fart-a-lot The Fartinator The Vominator The Snotinator (he has a gun called the Booger Blaster) Captain Poop-a-lot Captain Booger Butt

They raise their blasters as she lowers hers. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she says. Then, to her backup: “Arrest him. Take him to detention level—No. Wait.” She snaps her fingers. “Have him shackled and taken to my shuttle. Have a medical droid in attendance.” With a stiff smile she says (as if for his approval): “We are not animals.

Darman was expert at his craft, too, but there was a sense of hard-won skill, and there was no randomness or mystery to that. She liked him for being so pragmatic. It crossed her mind that she might be saving clone soldiers from death by biological agent so they could die from blaster and cannon round. It was a horrible thought.

Mon Mothma walks among the wreckage, attendants on each side of her: Hostis Ij to her left, and Auxi Kray Korbin on her right. Each serving the role of angel and demon on her shoulder (though the role is never fixed and one becomes the other depending on the situation). Behind them, four New Republic soldiers walking with blaster rifles at the ready. This

Ishaan froze, his gaze flicking from her to the muzzle of the blaster and back again. “You wouldn’t… women don’t have the—” She pulled the trigger. The bolt slammed into his forehead, right between the eyes. Eyes that retained their look of surprise even as the light faded from them. “Women don’t have the balls?” she asked the body before her, eyebrow raised. “Mate, mine are cast fucking iron.

It’s where my knife is going to land if you don’t let her go and put your weapon down.” “And let you shoot me?” Arast laughed sadistically. “I’m not stupid.” “About as smart as my boots,” Nykyrian muttered, doubting his own intelligence for letting the imbecile get the drop on him. “Send me your blaster or I’ll kill her right now!” Arast really was an idiot. Did he think a blaster was needed? Or that he only had one?

Did you spend the entire Rebellion in the company of smugglers and lowlifes?” He probably meant this to be a cutting remark. Instead Leia found herself thinking of the first time she’d really seen Han’s face—in a garbage compactor aboard the Death Star, moments before he fired his blaster at the magnetically sealed walls and nearly killed them all. Leia couldn’t help smiling. “Almost, Senator Casterfo. In fact, I wound up married to one.” Out

Must be twenty-five pickers sat round the tables yacking, snacking, smoking, drinking, flirting and playing cards, and although there’s no telly someone’s got a paint-spattered ghetto-blaster and a Siouxsie and the Banshees tape. Outside, the fields of Black Elm Farm slope down to the sea, and lights dot-to-dot the coast past Faversham, past Whitstable and further. You’d never believe it’s a world where people get murdered or mugged or kicked out by their mothers.

Raping a planet involves considerable expense. Enormous blasters and slicers and sluicers and refiners are required to reduce a world back almost to a state of primal chaos, and then to extract from it its essential (i.e., commercially viable) ingredients. The history books may tell you of strip-mining on the mother planet, back in ancient times. Well, the crude processes employed then were similar in emphasis and results, but the operations were considerably smaller in size.

That is war. It is the placement of ships. It is the advantages and disadvantages of those placements. It’s about how you move, how you fire, what weapons you bring. Every piece fits into the larger whole: ammunition in a blaster, blaster in a pilot’s hand, pilot inside a starfighter or frigate. Everything is a resource. How do you expend them? In what direction? At a distance, war is a game, however deadly—usher this ship there, that ship here, converge, fire, dominate, defend. But

The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterwards.

It was Art3mis. She wore a suit of scaled gunmetal-blue armor that looked more sci-fi than fantasy. Twin blaster pistols were slung low on her hips in quickdraw holsters, and there was a long, curved elvish sword in a scabbard across her back. She wore fingerless Road Warrior–style racing gloves and a pair of classic Ray-Ban shades. Overall, she seemed to be going for a sort of mid-’80s postapocalyptic cyberpunk girl-next-door look. And it was working for me, in a big way. In a word: hot.

I bet you both are familiar with the purpose of a blast door and what it does to laser rounds? If I fire a laser round in here on an angle and then close this door that sucker is going to bounce around in there with you. Might even go through you a few times, make some holes. It’s called fire-boarding by pirates and slavers, they use it to torture their victims. Sometimes they actually bet on how long a man will survive. I heard rumor the longest was about a day and a half for one fellow before the round finally ripped through his heart and finished him off. The cold helps keep the blood thick so you don’t bleed out as fast. I’m willing to bet if I adjust this blaster a bit I can get it so you live longer than that. Nice radiation burns, loss of a few appendages, and who knows? Maybe you’ll get a lucky bounce that will hit you in the heart or the head or maybe you’ll just be praying that that next bounce is the one that will end it all. So who wants to avoid all that unpleasantness and tell me where my Sergeant is being taken?” - Reilly Campbell

loud knock pounded on the door. Kiara jumped and bit back a scream as Syn leveled his blaster at the door faster than she could blink. “You wonder why I drink,” Syn muttered. “Stay down.” He moved to the bar and flicked on the video console that showed Darling on the other side of the door, looking bored. Syn holstered his blaster. Crossing the room, he opened the door and hauled Darling into the apartment by the front of his shirt. “Hey!” Darling snapped, shoving him back. “What the hell are you doing?” Syn locked the door. “Aksel’s after us. You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you while you were jacking off in the hallway.

He staggers through the forest. The burning forest. Bits of brush smoldering. A stormtrooper helmet nearby, charred and half melted. A small fire burns nearby. In the distance, the skeleton of an AT-AT walker. Its top blown open in the blast, peeled open like a metal flower. That burns, too. Bodies all around. Some of them are faceless, nameless. To him, at least. But others, he knows. Or knew. There—the fresh-faced officer, Cerk Lormin. Good kid. Eager to please. Joined the Empire because it’s what you did. Not a true believer, not by a long stretch. Not far from him: Captain Blevins. Definitely a true believer. A froth-mouthed braggart and bully, too. His face is a mask of blood. Sinjir is glad that one is dead. Nearby, a young woman: He knows her face from the mess, but not her name, and the insignia rank on her chest has been covered in blood. Whoever she was, she’s nobody now. Mulch for the forest. Food for the native Ewoks. Just stardust and nothing. We’re all stardust and nothing, he thinks. An absurd thought. But no less absurd than the one that follows: We did this to ourselves. He should blame them. The rebels. Even now he can hear them applauding. Firing blasters into the air. Hicks and yokels. Farm boy warriors and pipe-fitter pilots. Good for them. They deserve their celebration. Just as we deserve our graves.

He's on the way back to the airstrip when he sees it, emblazoned on the side of a brick building, a shock of color against a gray street. "Wait!" Alex yells up to the driver. "Stop! Stop the car!" Up close, it's beautiful. Two stories tall. He can't imagine how somebody was able to put together something like this so fast. It's a mural of himself and Henry, facing each other, haloed by a bright yellow sun, depicted as Han and Leia. Henry in all white, starlight in his hair. Alex dressed as a scruffy smuggler, a blaster at his hip. A royal and a rebel, arms around each other. He snaps a photo on his phone, and fingers shaking, types out a tweet: Never tell me the odds.

For a long minute he gazed at her, his eyes searching the features of that face he'd grown to love so deeply over the years, his memory bringing up images of the past as he did so. The young determination in her face as, in the middle of a blazing firefight, she'd grabbed Luke's blaster rifle away from him and shot them an escape route into the Death Star's detention-level garbage chute. The sound of her voice in the middle of deadly danger at Jabba's, helping him through the blindness and tremor and disorientation of hibernation sickness. The wiser, more mature determination visible through the pain in her eyes as, lying wounded outside the Endor bunker, she had nevertheless summoned the skill and control to coolly shoot two stormtroopers off Han's back. And he remembered, too, the wrenching realization he'd had at that same time: that no matter how much he tried, he would never be able to totally protect her from the dangers and risks of the universe. Because no matter how much he might love her--no matter how much he might give of himself to her--she could never be content with that alone. Her vision extended beyond him, just as it extended beyond herself, to all the beings of the galaxy. And to take that away from her, whether by force or even by persuasion, would be to diminish her soul. And to take away part of what he'd fallen in love with in the first place.

But none of them compared to the dangerous stranger in her room. While the men she was used to were hotter than hell, what they lacked was the fierce aura of power that emanated from this man and his stern, steely features. It was as if he were the deadliest of predators. Feral. That was the only word to do him justice. Surely there wasn’t another soldier in the entire universe who could match him in terms of raw beauty or lethal demeanor. His blond hair was snow white and his features sharp and icy. He wore a pair of black shades that annoyed her since she couldn’t see the upper part of his face or the color of his eyes. Not that it mattered. She saw enough to know that in the land of gorgeous men, he had no competition. As a stark contrast to his white hair, his clothes were a black so deep they seemed to absorb all light, and they were trimmed in silver … No, not silver. Those were weapons tucked into the sleeves and lapels of his ankle-length coat. The left side of it was pulled back, exposing a holstered blaster that was strapped to his left hip. The tall flight boots had silver buckles going up the sides that were fashioned into the image of skulls. At least that’s what she saw at first glance, but as he moved closer she realized those could come off and double as weapons, too. Wow, he was either extremely paranoid or more lethal than a team of League assassins. And that said something.

AND A FEW THAT WEREN’T THE BEST IDEA. NO ONE THOUGHT THE ABILITY RESTRICTOR WOULD WORK—BUT IT DID. EXCEPT THE COUNCIL RUINED IT BY ORDERING SOPHIE TO WEAR IT AND… YEAH. I WISH I’D NEVER MADE IT. I DESTROYED IT, THOUGH—AND I’LL NEVER MAKE ANOTHER! I MADE THESE BLOCKER BANDS TO HELP SOPHIE WITH HER ENHANCING—AND THEY DEFINITELY DID THEIR JOB. BUT USING CRUSH CUFFS KINDA GOT ME STUCK IN THE MOST AWKWARD CONVERSATION EVER.… THE WARDEN ALSO WORKED PERFECTLY AND MONITORED ALVAR’S EVERY MOVE. BUT I WISH I’D MADE SURE IT WAS RESISTANT TO NULLS… FOR THE RECORD, THESE SENSE BLASTERS WERE ACTUALLY WORKING REALLY WELL UNTIL COUNCILLOR ZARINA FRIED ONE WITH LIGHTNING. STILL, I SHOULD’VE PUT AN OVERRIDE BECAUSE FITZ ALMOST GOT KILLED.

Soon it would be his turn. Kaine wondered how he would meet Death. His ship was a mess, in every sense of the word. Systems were in disarray, damaged equipment malfunctioning, and control panels shattered by blaster-fire littered the decks. In the fighting, severe hull damage had caused parts of the ship to be sealed off. Dead bodies – or raw red chunks of them – lay everywhere. The corridors were dark where the lights had failed. His footsteps echoed eerily as he ran down them. He’d been on the run for what felt like days. He felt naked, his tattered, sweat-drenched tunic clinging to his body, especially under his breastplate. Fatigue had caused him to discard his body amour. It was of no realistic use anyway, and just made him hotter and sweatier, made stealthy movement more difficult – and weighed him down.

Eat a lot of ham & retain a lot of water, Swell until your clothes tear; Go on like this and swell some more, Till you split out the seams of your skin, Itself & don't stop there; But pop all the buttons on your inner self, As well, then for the hard part, Swell & burst out of whatever comes next; Whatever final metaphysical envelope or dark, Is left so you can emerge at last wriggling, & dripping like a shrimp on a fork. --Traditional Sea Chanty

Here’s what the Encyclopedia Galactica has to say about alcohol. It says that alcohol is a colorless volatile liquid formed by the fermentation of sugars and also notes its intoxicating effect on certain carbon-based life forms. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of drinking a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick. The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterward. The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself. Take the juice from one bottle of the Ol’ Janx Spirit, it says. Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V—Oh, that Santraginean seawater, it says. Oh, those Santraginean fish! Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must be properly iced or the benzine is lost). Allow four liters of Fallian marsh gas to bubble through it, in memory of all those happy bikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Pallia. Over the back of a silver spoon float a measure of Qualactin Hypermint extract, redolent of all the heady odors of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle, sweet and mystic. Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading the fires of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink. Sprinkle Zamphuor. Add an olive. Drink…but…very carefully… The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy sells rather better than the Encyclopedia Galactica.

Hokey religions and ancient weapons are not match for a good blaster at your side, kid

Hey,” Han said, “Jabba’s a friend of mine. You kill me, he won’t take it kindly.” The Priest laughed wheezily. “Hutts do not have friends,” he said. “Farewell, Solo.” Pointing the blaster at Han, the Priest’s small, stubby finger began to tighten on the trigger.

He brought his own blaster up and held it under Pitala’s jaw. “Listen to me, you bastard. I’m only going to say this once and I will speak slowly so that even you can understand. Kiara is under the protection of The Sentella and I’m getting really tired of seeing your face around her. If you harm her, threaten her, even look at her again … even a fucking picture of her, you’re going to have a visit from Nemesis. And when he gets through with you, your own mother will have to run what’s left of you through a DNA sift to identify your remains.

Description: Launch a long-range attack with the state of the art Centurion blaster! This N-Strike Elite blaster shoots MEGA darts for when the battle calls for heavy artillery. They're crafted to fire farther than ever, and the Mega Whistler Darts scream as they fly! Attach the bipod stand for even added precision and fill the MEGA Clip with your darts. With an astonishing range of 100 feet and 6 MEGA darts, you can push the boundaries of your shooting abilities. Raise the stakes and snipe out the competition with the Centurion blaster!

Hillbilly stepped closer. Now the barrel of his arrow blaster was touching my chest. I couldn't stop my heart from racing. "You're the golden ticket," he replied. "Mr. President don't care about your friends." "No," I said, "he put the bounty on everyone." "Those kids are nothing without you. Orwell wants to lock you up in The Nether. He blames you for everything." SwineBrine appeared behind Captain Hillbilly and the others. He had a laser sword

Fine.” Syn glanced at her. “By the way, if he ever looks like he’s sleeping, don’t touch him or make any sudden moves. He’s been known to bite.” She pulled the tape off the top shelf. “I’m not worried.” Syn lifted a questioning brow. “What, no fear?” She shrugged and plopped her bundle of wrapping supplies on the floor. “I’m the daughter of a soldier. My father comes awake with a blaster aimed at your head if you disturb him from his sleep.” Syn gave Nykyrian a knowing smile. “And I thought it was just you and your idiosyncrasies.” Nykyrian shrugged and sat in the other chair across from the couch. “I’ve told you not to think. It’s just a waste of your time.” Kiara was startled by the barb. There was a tiny lifting of the corners of Nykyrian’s mouth that might actually have been a smile. She glanced at Syn who took the words in stride.

Turn yourself over to Aksel, and I might let her go.” “Yeah, right,” Nykyrian muttered, resetting his blaster for a stronger and smaller shot. “And I’m a one-legged dung dealer.

same with him again. The door opened. Nykyrian spun about at the sound, his blaster leveling at the body in the doorway. Syn held up his hands as the red dot lay steady on his forehead. “Whoa. Friend!” He tapped his chest twice. “Really good guy. ’Member me?

I swung my legs out of bed, pulled jeans and a sweatshirt over my pyjamas, jammed my feet into trainers, and had a quick look at what he’d left me. Night visor, blaster, handgun, stun gun. It would seem something fairly dangerous threatened. Jehovah’s Witnesses, perhaps.

Guide Note: Zaphod Beeblebrox’s two heads and three arms have become as much a part of Galaxy lore as the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast’s cranial spigot, or Eccentrica Gallumbits’s third breast. And though Zaphod claims to have had his third arm fitted to improve his chances at ski-boxing, many media pundits believe that the arm was actually fitted so that the President could simultaneously fondle all of Eccentrica’s mammaries. This attention to erotic detail resulted in Miss Gallumbits referring to Zaphod in Street Walkie-Talkie Weekly as the “best bang since the Big One.” A quote which was worth at least half a billion votes in the presidential election and twice as many daily hits on the private members section of the Zaphod Confidential Sub-Etha site. The origin of Zaphod’s second head is shrouded in mystery and seems to be the one thing the President is reluctant to discuss with the media, other than claim that two heads are better than none. A comment which was taken as a direct jibe by Councillor Spinalé Trunco of the Headless Horsemen tribe of Jaglan Beta. Zaphod’s response to this accusation was “Of course it’s a jibe, baby. Dude’s got zero heads. Come on!” Early images do represent Zaphod with two heads, but in many shots they do not appear to be identical. In fact, in one vidcap, which has famously come to be known as the “I’m With Stupid” shot, Zaphod’s left head appears to be that of a sallow female, attempting to bite the right head’s ear. A Betelgeusean woman later surfaced claiming to be the original owner of the “sallow female” head. Loolu Softhands told Beebelblog that “Zaphod wanted us to be together, like all the time, so we conjoined. After a couple of months he found out that he liked the two-headed thing more than he liked me. So we went out for a few Blasters one night and I woke up back on my own body. Bastard.” Zaphod has never refuted Miss Softhands’s story, leading to speculation that his second head is a narcissistic affectation, an allegation President Beeblebrox claims not to understand. Related

Bring me another gargle blaster.

After all, it was Hardin who said: ‘A nuclear blaster is a good weapon, but it can point both ways.

Living off borrowed time, the clock tick faster That'd be the hour they knock the slick blaster

Takes a pretty confident person to think he can beat modern turbolasers with blaster cannons, though." Thrawn shrugged. "I could." "Right, but you're on our side," Eli said drily.

charged forward with a blaster to reclaim her planet from Nute Gunray, yet here was breathing heavily with wide eyes and a hand across her chest. “I’m so sorry,” Anakin started, “are you okay? Was that too much? Was I—

This was Padmé Amidala, who’d stared down certain death on Geonosis and charged forward with a blaster to reclaim her planet from Nute Gunray, yet here was breathing heavily with wide eyes and a hand across her chest. “I’m so sorry,” Anakin started, “are you okay? Was that too much? Was I—

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really do know this station better than the rebels know the death planet blaster.

Everyone who has ever seen you has underestimated you, haven’t they?” he said. It was the most direct thing he had said to her all week, but she was expecting it. “I encourage them to,” she replied. “I am small. I carry only a single blaster. And I’m usually wearing something much less practical-looking than these.” She gestured at her tunic and leggings.

This is Cloud City-around here, a smile beats a blaster every single time.

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He was struggling also, against her newly discovered ability, as well as the wound inflicted by Chewbacca’s bowcaster. Gritting his teeth, he flung his arm sideways in a single, powerful gesture—and the blaster went flying out of her hand.

Kiara rubbed her bruised throat and slid from the table. She jumped in reflex as Pitala moved his weapon toward the pair standing in the doorway. Before he could aim it at either man, two blasters came out of nowhere to balance their sights on his body. Two red targeting lasers hovered without shaking-one between his eyes and one over his grain. "Think," Nykyrian said ominously, clicking back the release of his blaster with his thumb. Pitala gave a nervous laugh, and held up his hands. "I wouldn't actually try to shoot you. I just wanted to see if you were as good as they say." "Better." Syn moved forward to pull Pitala's blaster from his hand. "And that's with me drunk off my ass. Imagine what I'd do to you sober." It was only after he was disarmed and Syn stood between her and Pitala that Nykyrian's red light vanished from Pitala's forehead. With an amazing nonchalance, Nykyrian holstered his weapon. "Apologize to Tara Zamir for ruining her night and you can leave." Angry black eyes focused on Kiara with an unspoken promise he would be back. "My apologies, princess," he rasped. "It was nothing personal." Cold sweat beaded on her body as Pitala bent and slapped his partner awake. Within seconds, the pair of assassins were gone. Her relief at their departure gave way to suspicion over the two of them and their intentions. "What are you doing here?" "Saving you," Nykyrian said absently, looking down the corridor with his back to them. -Nykyrian, Pitala, Syn, & Kiara

I'll kill her, freak," Pitala snarled in warning as he clicked off the blaster's release. Nykyrian appeared unaffected by the insult and threat-and why wouldn't he be? It wasn't like the blaster was pressing against his temple. He released a bored sigh. "Then I'll kill you and laugh while I do it. Either way it's no real sweat off my balls. Release her and you can at least walk away alive. But that's not a standing offer. Make up your mind quick before I kill you just for getting me out on a night when I'd rather be at home doing needlework." -Pitala & Nykyrian (& Kiara)

He tightened his arm around her and reveled in the heat of her body against his. "You keep this up and I'm going to think you were worried about me or something." "I was worried about you, asshole. Don't do that again." He sputtered. "Excuse me, but I didn't do this. You need to leave that blaster in its holster. I mean, damn, woman, I now know where Caillen gets his impulsiveness from." -Syn & Shahara

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I don’t get to treat many lightsaber wounds. It’s such an old weapon. People today prefer to fight with rifles and blasters, from long range.” She shrugged. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Death is death, no matter the mechanism that is employed to beget it.

Carl shook his inert blaster at them. “Pew, pew, pew,” he shouted at them, startling the guard enough to spoil his first shot.

- C’est une arme à énergie, expliqua l’homme qui avait perçu son intérêt. En avez-vous déjà vu, jeune homme ? - Non, avoua l’épieur d’ombre. - Un seul rayon vous troue l’harnois d’un chevalier comme du papier, précisa l’homme d’un ton docte.

Caillen stood on the other side with a perplexed frown. “What are you doing?” He motioned to the blaster in Syn’s hand. “Going to war?” Syn lowered his blaster. “I didn’t know who was scratching around outside my door. It sounded like someone I might want to shoot.

There were two problems as far as Australia was concerned. The first was Sachin Tendulkar and the second was Sachin Tendulkar in Chennai. Although

Bharat Khel Ratna award from the then President of India, KR Narayanan. This is India’s most prestigious award for sports

Sachin and teammate Kambli made a historical partnership of 664 in a Harris Shield game.

his father was

She ran her hands along the bandage and felt the knot forming where one of her attackers had brought the butt of his blaster down on her head. She hoped he woke up with an equal amount of pain. I should have kicked him so hard he’d need a testicle retrieval. But

You think I don’t know that, Cai?” Maris asked. “I live with him. He jumps at any sudden sound. Pulls a blaster on you if you so much as sneeze unexpectedly. And if that’s not bad enough, he’s walking around wired with enough explosives to take out half the capital city.” Maris’s

Ture put the safety strap over the toy blaster. “I will do my best for you. Now, what exactly are we doing?” “The impossible.” “Good.” He wrinkled his nose. “I haven’t done that in a while. I can definitely use an exercise in futility. How considerate of you to think of me.” She let out an amused “heh” at him. “By the way, if we live through this, there’s someone I have to introduce you to.” Ture cocked one haughty eyebrow. “If he’s your delicious, but highly insane lover, I think I’ll pass. I so don’t want to deal with that kind of drama. Thank you very much.” “Not Darling. You would like him though, I promise.” He made a noise of profound disagreement. Biting

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It’s invisible because it’s a color beyond our range of sight. It must have stayed in here all these years. And it kills—it must—when its curiosity is satisfied.” Swiftly she described the scene in the cabin and the strange behavior of the gem pile which had betrayed the creature to her. Cliff did not return his blaster to its holder. “Any more of them on board, d’you think?” He didn’t look pleased at the prospect.

Farty McFart Pants Stinky McFarter Captain Fart-a-lot The Fartinator The Vominator The Snotinator (he has a gun called the Booger Blaster) Captain Poop-a-lot Captain Booger Butt