Stormtrooper Quotes

Thou truly art in jest. Art thou not small/Of stature, if thou art a stormtrooper? -Leia Organa

[Luke, holding stormtrooper helmet.] Alas, poor stormtrooper, I knew ye not,/ yet have I taken both uniform and life/ From thee. What manner of a man wert thou?/ A man of inf'nite jest or cruelty?/ A man with helpmate and with children too?/ A man who hath his Empire serv'd with pride?/ A man, perhaps, who wish'd for perfect peace?/ What'er thou wert, goodman, thy pardon grant/ Unto the one who took thy place: e'en me.

Once the god-squaddie supreme, she was now possessed of the zeal of the apostate and came on like an atheistic stormtrooper.

Finn stepped forward immediately. "Used to be a stormtrooper, but now I'm rebel scum," he said, pressing a fist over his heart. "Until the end." "My point," Poe said, turning back to Agoyo, "is that many of us have dubious beginnings, but it is how we end that counts." "My father was Darth Vader," Leia said, pitching her voice so that it rang out clearly through the room, "Is there anyone who wants to question my loyalty to the Resistance?

I'm just saying --' He pointed the way that Han appeared to be favoring. '--this doesn't feel right' 'Yeah, well, we're on a Star Destroyer being chased by the living dead. NONE of this feels right

LEIA Thou truly art in jest. Art thou not small Of stature, if thou art a stormtrooper? Does Empire shrink for want of taller troops? The Empire’s evil ways, I’ll grant, are grand, But must its soldiers want for fear of height?

Stormtroopers were literally supposed to be within the same range of height and weight in part because of exactly that—he wasn’t joking when he said he was too tall to be a stormtrooper.

LUKE Alas, poor stormtrooper, I knew ye not, Yet have I ta’en both uniform and life From thee. What manner of a man wert thou? A man of inf’nite jest or cruelty? A man with helpmate and with children too? A man who hath his Empire serv’d with pride?

A large number of people had already gathered in the city centre to demonstrate against the government. Seemingly it had occurred to no-one to opt for the most obvious solution – stormtroopers.

Trench fighting is the bloodiest, wildest, most brutal of all ... Of all the war's exciting moments none is so powerful as the meeting of two storm troop leaders between narrow trench walls. There's no mercy there, no going back, the blood speaks from a shrill cry of recognition that tears itself from one's breast like a nightmare.

Hearing his howls of outrage, a pair of stormtroopers crossing at the far end of the access hallway changed course to investigate. What they saw within the cell as bits and pieces of red-hot debris came flying out caused them to retreat the way they had come—fast.

I am going to read this terrible book with the boring title that does not contain stormtroopers,

Kylo Ren knew who was in the escape pod even before it opened with a hiss of vapor---her presence had been a steady pulse from the Force the moment his junk-heap freighter once again somehow heaved itself out of hyperspace without disintegrating. The stormtroopers behind him stood ready, but he just smiled at the sight of Rey crammed into the pod's tight confines.

It's entirely possible that the Great Sorting Hat at the End of Time won't give a damn which side we thought we were on - Rebel or stormtrooper, Red Pill or Blue - but only our intentions. Which flag we flew, which uniform we wore will yield to something much simpler. Were we coming from fear or love? Were we standing for all of us or only some of us? Were we playing Team Finite, or Team Infinite?

Jyn had been at the Empire’s mercy before. Sometimes she’d even deserved her troubles—she couldn’t blame some petty dictator for ordering her dragged off the street and slammed into holding when she really, truly was planning to blow up his ship and steal his guns. She’d had rifles pointed at her, felt stun prods deliver jolts to her spine, and generally suffered the worst a stormtrooper was authorized to deal out. What

The world has no shortage of people seeking lounge-chair, remote-control success—they want all that life has to offer—just as long as it comes in comfortable harmony. This young man striving to save his mother from poverty? He’s a force-packing Jedi Knight among a legion of soulless stormtroopers.

He curled up, twitching and spasming, the pain stormtrooping through his entire body in agonizing, dizzying, pounding waves. He vomited, but it wasn’t the contents of his stomach. It was his stomach, hanging inside-out from a slimy loop of esophagus, spilling out the precious blood he’d been digesting. Even with everything going on, the smell of blood activated his biting reflex, and he chomped down on his own regurgitated organs, screaming as he chewed.

Even without his helmet, the man was a symphony in red.

Namir snorted. “What is it with you people and Vader?” he asked. “It can’t be the helmet that scares people. Stormtroopers have helmets.

Bazine Netal. You will retrieve a steel case last possessed by Imperial stormtrooper TK-1472. Human name: Jor Tribulus.

Wham. She glommed onto him like white plastic on a Stormtrooper, shamelessly pressing against his body, groping and kissing.

Kidpool: Seems like we spend a lot of time bashing flunkies. There's no end to them. Lady Deadpool: They belong to the same union as Stormtroopers and red shirts.

And these blast points, too accurate for Sand People. Only Imperial stormtroopers are so precise.

Very few times had Cal ever seen stormtroopers have good aim, and even then it was when they were accidentally aiming at each other.

In Namir's experience, what the Galactic Empire didn't name to inspire terror - its stormtrooper legions, its Star Destroyer battleships - it tried to render as drab as possible.

Most bad guys can’t shoot for spit. They’re about as accurate as the stormtroopers in Star Wars.

Lando went on: “First Order went after us—the leaders from the old wars. They took our kids.” His gaze grew distant. “My girl wasn’t even old enough to walk. Far as I know, she’s a stormtrooper now.

Be patient. Be strong. Fight back where you can. The Imperial war machine falls apart one gear, one gun, one stormtrooper at a time. The New Republic is coming. And we want your help to finish the fight.

But Imperial stormtroopers were something else entirely. He and the others had survived a couple of brief encounters with them aboard the Death Star, but even at the time he’d had the feeling the Imperials had been taken by surprise and weren’t operating at full efficiency. Now, of course, he knew that Tarkin and Vader had deliberately allowed the Falcon and its crew to escape so they could track it to Yavin 4.

I'm not the first one to point out that George Lucas used plastic helmets to cover the faces of the storm troopers in Star Wars, in order to make them more inhuman, as their eyes and faces were not visible. In our times, we are getting a more modern version of Lucas's Stormtroopers, thanks to the popular nerve toxin Botox. This is something more and more people who are past their middle age are happily injecting into themselves - more specifically, into their faces. Botox causes local paralysis (it is a nerve toxin, after all), which smoothes out wrinkles. Unfortunately, it also means you can no longer use some of your facial muscles, as you are paralyzed. This means you're not only getting the skin of a Barbie doll, you're getting its range of facial expressions too.

Giants of literature, philosophy, and the arts have influenced my life, but what have I done with this life? I remain a speck in a tumultuous universe that has little concern for me. I am no more than dust, a mote - dust to dust. I am a blade of grass upon which the stormtrooper's boot stomps.

Definitely this man was not now and never had been a stormtrooper or anything like it. What he had been, maybe, was someone not unlike herself. A bit of a businessman, a bit of a con man, a bit of an adventurer. And since he was older, it was only reasonable to assume that he had been a bit more of all of those things than herself.

A few weeks ago, a pimp had fired a bullet into the mouth of a young SA Führer who had liberated one of his ‘girls’. On Sunday the Stormtrooper had died, and Goebbels’s newspaper Der Angriff had made a saint of the youth who had fallen in love with a whore and paid for it with his life, a martyr for the movement, or Blutzeuge as the Nazis called it.

When she marched—Miss Trunchbull never walked, she always marched like a storm-trooper with long strides and arms aswinging—when she marched along a corridor you could actually hear her snorting as she went, and if a group of children happened to be in her path, she ploughed right on through them like a tank, with small people bouncing off her to left and right.

No one would believe that in this howling waste there could still be men; but steel helmets now appear on all sides out of the trench, and fifty yards from us a machine-gun is already in position and barking. The wire entanglements are torn to pieces. Yet they offer some obstacle. We see the storm-troops coming. Our artillery opens fire. Machine-guns rattle, rifles crack.

I used to have this fantasy that in some distant Star Wars sequel, we’d finally stop all the shooting and screaming at each other and would go to a shopping-and-beauty planet, where the stormtroopers would have to get facials, and Chewbacca would have to get pedicures and bikini and eyebrow waxes. I felt at some point that I should get—okay, fine, maybe not equal time—but just a few scenes where we all did a lot of girly things. Imagine the shopping we might have done on Tatooine! Or a little Death Star souvenir shop where you could get T-shirts that said “My parents got the force and jumped to light speed and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!” or “My boyfriend blew Jabba the Hutt and all I got” . . . etc., etc. You get the gist of my drift.

The hardiest sons of the war, the men who lead the storm-troop, and manipulate the tank, the aeroplane, and the submarine, are preeminent in technical accomplishment; and it is these picked examples of dare-devil courage that represent the modern state i battle. These men of first-rate qualities with real blood in their veins, courageous, intelligent, accustomed to serve the machine, and yet its superior at the same time, are the men, too, who show up best in the trench and among the shell-holes.

It did not take National Socialism long to rally workers, most of whom were either unemployed or still very young, into the SA [Sturmangriff, Stormtroopers, "brown shirts"]. To a large extent, however, these workers were revolutionary in a dull sort of way and still maintained an authoritarian attitude. For this reason National Socialist propaganda was contradictory; it's content was determined by the class for which it was intended. Only in its manipulation of the mystical feelings of the masses was it clear and consistent. In talks with followers of the National Socialist party and especially with members of the SA, it was clearly brought out that the revolutionary phraseology of National Socialism was the decisive factor in the winning over of these masses. One heard National Socialists deny that Hitler represented capital. One heard SA men warn Hitler that he must not betray the cause of the "revolution." One heard SA men say that Hitler was the German Lenin. Those who went over to National Socialism from Social Democracy and the liberal central parties were, without exception, revolutionary minded masses who were either nonpolitical or politically undecided prior to this. Those who went over from the Communist party were often revolutionary elements who simply could not make any sense of many of the German Communist party's contradictory political slogans. In part they were men upon whom the external features of Hitler's party, it's military character, its assertiveness, etc., made a big impression. To begin with, it is the symbol of the flag that stands out among the symbols used for purposes of propaganda.

My right mind is just another name for my fears! My right mind is simply that inheritance of terror that I bring with me out of my ridiculous past! That tyrant, my superego, he should be strung up, that son of a bitch, hung by his fucking storm-trooper’s boots till he’s dead!

One of the local children had begun jeering at the Bodach’i. “That’s what you get! You think you can push the Emperor around? Showed you!” One of the stormtroopers nodded in approval, then patted the child’s head. That boy could be no more than seven or eight years old—the age Thane was when he’d decided to join the Imperial fleet. That was how evil magnified itself: it took root in the young and grew along with them. Each generation provided the next level of abuse. We’re teaching children to approve of slavery. We’re teaching them cruelty is a virtue. But

Sometimes, just for fun, I type some random, silly word in front of the word porn and google it. Just to see if it exists. Because that means people out there are getting off on it. So I googled Nazi porn. Yupp. It exists. Then I googled goldfish porn. Yupp. Found it. Someone out there finds sex with goldfish arousing. Fart porn. Yes, that's a thing too, and it brings someone somewhere great pleasure. Stormtrooper porn. Yes, the force is strong with that one. And it's not even a Saturday Night Live parody. It's literally hardcore porn, featuring men dressed in Stormtrooper outfits. With surprisingly high production values.

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.

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.

Nothing is working. Nothing in my life is working. Giants of literature, philosophy, and the arts have influenced my life, but what have I done with this life? I remain a speck in a tumultuous universe that has little concern for me. I am no more than dust, a mote—dust to dust. I am a blade of grass upon which the stormtrooper’s boot stomps. I had dreams, and they were not about ending up a speck. I didn’t dream of becoming a star, but I thought I might have a small nonspeaking role in a grand epic, an epic with a touch of artistic credentials. I didn’t dream of becoming a giant—I wasn’t that delusional or arrogant—but I wanted to be more than a speck, maybe a midget. I could have been a midget. All our dreams of glory are but manure in the end.

You look at the history of any sentient species and what do you find but tableaux of violence and slaughter. It’s finger-painted on the ceilings of caves and engraved into the walls of temples. Dig a hole deep enough on any world and you’ll find the skulls and bones of adults and children fractured by crude weapons. All of us were fighting long before we were farming and raising livestock.” He held up a hand before anyone could voice an objection. “All of you are exceedingly well educated, and you’re going to start rattling off the names of species and societies where that isn’t the case. And my answer is that those aren’t the beings or the star systems we need to worry about. It’s the rest of them. Violence is hardwired into most of us and there’s no eliminating the impulse—not with an army of stormtroopers or a fleet of Star Destroyers. That’s why we’ve embarked on a path to a different solution. We have a chance to forge a peace that will endure for longer than the Republic was in existence.” “Peace through fear,” Reeva said. “Yes,” Krennic told her, and let it go at that.

Seems Commander 110 finally came to his senses too, because then he says: "We don't need to see his identification." "Bless!" I almost yelled, but I kept it contained. "These are not the droids you're looking for," Old Guy says. And he was right. He was so right. It was like, of course they're not! 110 agreed and then Old Guy says he can go about his business, and I'm like Yes! Yes, Old Guy! Say that! And 110 agrees again! Word for word in fact! "Move along," this remarkable little geezer says. Commander 110 nods. "Move along." And then, because he's 110 and he can't help himself, he repeats it for good measure.

These are the figures of steel whose eagle eyes dart between whirling propellers to pierce the cloud; who dare the hellish crossing through fields of roaring craters, gripped in the chaos of tank engines ... men relentlessly saturated with the spirit of battle, men whose urgent wanting discharges itself in a single concentrated and determined release of energy. As I watch them noiselessly slicing alleyways into barbed wire, digging steps to storm outward, synchronizing luminous watches, finding the North by the stars, the recognition flashes: this is the new man. The pioneers of storm, the elect of central Europe. A whole new race, intelligent, strong, men of will ... supple predators straining with energy. They will be architects building on the ruined foundations of the world.

The unreal is the illogical. And this age seems to have a capacity for surpassing even the acme of illogicality, of anti-logicality: it is as if the monstrous reality of the war had blotted out the reality of the world. Fantasy has become logical reality, but reality evolves the most a-logical phantasmagoria. An age that is softer and more cowardly than any preceding age suffocates in waves of blood and poison-gas; nations of bank clerks and profiteers hurl themselves upon barbed wire; a well-organized humanitarianism avails to hinder nothing, but calls itself the Red Cross and prepares artificial limbs for the victims; towns starve and coin money out of their own hunger; spectacled school-teachers lead storm-troops; city dwellers live in caves; factory hands and other civilians crawl out on their artificial limbs once more to the making of profits. Amid a blurring of all forms, in a twilight of apathetic uncertainty brooding over a ghostly world, man like a lost child gropes his way by the help of a small frail thread of logic through a dream landscape that he calls reality and that is nothing but a nightmare to him. The melodramatic revulsion which characterizes this age as insane, the melodramatic enthusiasm which calls it great, are both justified by the swollen incomprehensibility and illogicality of the events that apparently make up its reality. Apparently! For insane or great are terms that can never be applied to an age, but only to an individual destiny. Our individual destinies, however, are as normal as they ever were. Our common destiny is the sum of our single lives, and each of these single lives is developing quite normally, in accordance, as it were, with its private logicality. We feel the totality to be insane, but for each single life we can easily discover logical guiding motives. Are we, then, insane because we have not gone mad?

All over Prussia Göring was replacing police chiefs with Nazis, and the Stormtroopers were now attending political meetings in force, stopping those in which the government was criticized.

I have personally never bought this over-simplistic portrait of the industry, made of Rebel Alliance’s ewoks (small startups) fighting evil stormtroopers (established companies) with bare hands and rocks.

To her horror, Starstone realized she was suddenly alone with Vader, who immediately signaled his stormtroopers to leave her to him, and to devote themselves to slaughtering the few Wookiees who remained on the tier.

Yet here I am, Zahara thought now, queen of her own miniature kingdom, after all, duchess of the empty bunks, and our lady of the perpetual stomachache. Involuntary lust-object of a hundred emotionally frustrated prison guards and deprived stormtroopers. Dispenser of medicine, charged with keeping the inmates of the Imperial Prison Barge Purge alive long enough to be permanently detained on some remote prison moon.

You were directly responsible for the deaths of four stormtroopers and thirty-two Imperial army troops," Thrawn continued. "Also for the destruction of two Chariot command speeders and their crews. I am not the Lord Darth Vader, Ferrier -- I do not spend my men recklessly. Nor do I take their deaths lightly.

You heard his storm-troopers shout their "Juda verrecke!" You heard him denounce us Jews, threaten us, revile us.' 'Yes, I did. But will you believe me, Herr Klaar, that I and thousands like me, didn't take all that seriously? After what I saw today I know that I was wrong. But believe me, I thought all that anti-Jewish propaganda was just rabble-rousing, something for that drunken SA mob. I ignored it and thought it unimportant. I felt certain all that would be forgotten once Hitler came to power, that ...' 'And the Nuremberg laws?' Father interrupted her. She thought a little while before replying. 'Yes,' she said, 'you're right to ask me that question. What shall I say? Of course, I know about them., but I also know now that I pushed that knowledge away from me. It won't be as bad as it sounds, I thought, and that injustice, I persuaded myself, had to be put on the scales and weighed against Hitler's achievements. Nearly six million unemployed were found jobs. Germany was strong and respected again, the same of Versailles was wiped out. Yes, I looked for the good things and was intentionally blind to the bad. I am sorry, Stella, I wanted so much to believe.

If Star Wars had been made in Bollywood, Darth Vader and Obi-Wan would have paused their lightsaber battle to break into an epic song and dance routine, accompanied by a hundred synchronized Stormtroopers. Actually, I would pay good money to see that.

The problem had to be with him, FN-2187 thought. That was the only explanation. It was what everyone had been saying all along, after all. He was different. Maybe he was so different he was broken. So he would work to fix it, to be a real stormtrooper, to be one of them. That was, he thought, what he wanted most of all. Not to be alone.

FN-2187,” Phasma said, “has the potential to be one of the finest stormtroopers I have ever seen.” “From what I just observed, Captain, I agree.” “But his decision to split the fire-team and return for FN-2003 is problematic. It speaks to a potentially…dangerous level of empathy. You heard him.” “‘You’re one of us’?” “Yes, sir. While I am entirely in support of unit cohesion, General, a stormtrooper’s loyalty must be higher, as you know. It must be to the First Order, not to one’s comrades.

Even though Leia had already expressed her mistrust for Lando, and heard his talk of deals that would keep the Empire out of Cloud City, it was only upon seeing Lobot with the stormtroopers that she realized…Lando set us up! She looked at Lando, as did Han and Chewbacca. Lando looked Han square in the eye and said grimly, “I had no choice. They arrived right before you did. I’m sorry.

I’m not a hero. I’m not Resistance. I’m a stormtrooper.

Nothing,” declared the first stormtrooper, standing at attention. Poe winked up at the trooper who had used his hands. “Good job.

I’ve heard that the regular officers hate him, but the Stormtrooper Corps almost worships him.

Kanan sometimes wondered how the stormtrooper uniform suppliers kept up with the demand. When the Imperials reached the fringe of the galaxy, what would they be wearing?

A real stormtrooper is the extension of the First Order, of Supreme Leader Snoke’s will, nothing less.

The two stormtroopers might not have been tactically sophisticated, but they had been good shots.

DEC 18 MAYBE WE REALLY are alone in the galaxy. The heroes and villains of Star Wars: The Force Awakens sure seem to be. Although we’ve only seen flashes of actual footage from next December’s journey into that other universe, it’s interesting to note that director J.J. Abrams chose to introduce the first new characters in moments of isolation and desperation. Consider John Boyega as Finn, the scared, sweaty stormtrooper trying to make an escape in the desert. Or Daisy Ridley’s Rey, riding solo (no pun intended) in her Taser-shaped speeder across a similarly blighted

So he was FN-2187, well on his way to becoming the ideal First Order stormtrooper. That was what everyone thought, at least. Except FN-2187 himself.

The title is “I am not the sexist pig you are looking for”. He is merely attempting to state that he is not a sexist pig right? Until one understands the cultural reference to Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. Then his insidious plan is revealed! Muahahaha! Just kidding. But it does resemble a striking similarity to a scene on Tatooine. The scene where Master Obi-wan “Ben” Kenobi uses the force and tells the Stormtroopers “these are the not the droids you are looking for” The odd thing in this scene is that they were the droids that the Empire was looking for. After the comments Mr. Harris made and the obvious lack of scientific credibility in his statements, the writers are betting he wished he had the force and mind trick.

There is an affinity between Makis Voridis – former LAOS now New Democracy MP – and Samaras. Voridis was a notorious fascist stormtrooper in his younger days. There’s a famous photograph circulating of him wielding an axe on his way to confront left-wing law students. Samaras may not have personally wielded an axe. But his entire political line over the last five years has been to reach deep into the collective memory of the Right, dredging up every filthy anti-Communist smear and innuendo of the Civil War years.

By force-marching his exhausted men through the unknown, rain-swept wilderness of the German-infested Teutoburg Forest, this guy had just made a brain-explodingly boneheaded mistake so amazing in its incompetence that it makes the Roman consuls at Cannae look like a conjoined triplet made out of Napoleon Bonaparte, Alexander the Great, and that dude from Total Recall who had the baby coming out of his stomach. In terms of career moves, marching three legions into the Teutoberg was the Classical Age equivalent of coauthoring an academic paper with the Unabomber or asking Charles Manson to write you a letter of recommendation for law school. Unsurprisingly, this came back to bite him in the ass. We don’t know exactly how many Germans were hiding in the woods, watching the column of imperial invaders trudge past. The Germans didn’t bother to write anything down more detailed than “killed sum d00ds 2day lulz,” and the only Romans who managed to run screaming out of this forest alive were the ones who knew better than to sit there and try to count how many GWAR fans were currently trying to brutally dismember them with axes. Let’s just say it was probably a crapload, and that when these long-haired death metal freaks unleashed a bloodcurdling shout and started charging through the forest like a bunch of gigantic mutant Ewok-Wookies ambushing the Imperial Stormtroopers on the Forest Moon of Endor it wasn’t exactly the sort of hilarious laugh riot you might see in an animated GIF involving unicorns, rainbows, and cartoon kitties with Pop-Tarts where their bodies are supposed to be. Bellowing like madmen, these balls-out, frothing-at-the-mouth, beer-swilling sausage fiends went Leeroy Jenkins toward the enemy, blitzkrieging out of the woods from every side seemingly at the same time, their ferociousness magnified not only by their savage blood rage, but by the fact that some of the dudes had taken to painting their entire bodies black with mud to help them hide in the dark forest like how Schwarzenegger hid from the Predator’s infrared vision. It was so damned terrifying that it took every ounce of Roman discipline to not simply spontaneously combust into blood vapor on the spot.

Aren't you a little short for a stormtrooper?

like the bastard offspring of a road drill and an Imperial Stormtrooper from the Star Wars trilogy–all white ceramic and smooth, sculpted curves. But

When the stormtroopers parted, Hera saw Gord crawling back toward Moonglow’s gate. She blinked away a tear of anger. Yes, she needed to see these things, to remind her what she was fighting for.

She saw stormtroopers running down the metal steps to the main floor. And now she looked directly into the terrifying eyes of Count Vidian.

Spun about, she saw the moon outside the windows. She saw stormtroopers running down the metal steps to the main floor. And now she looked directly into the terrifying eyes of Count Vidian.

The Empire had recruited him straight out of school. His detention record for bullying had supposedly put him at the top of their list. In fact, the Imperial recruiter had told him that bullies made some of the best stormtroopers. Bullies

Twilight Company is fighting a battle for the heart of the galaxy.” His voice softened to a whisper, as if he were sharing a secret. “For the spirit of every ordinary man and woman and Imperial stormtrooper. Stealing food won’t help us win. Killing enemies won’t, either. Against might on the scale of the Empire, conventional victory is impossible—when our objectives become purely military, we’ve already lost the larger fight.

What's the difference between a AT-AT and a stormtrooper on foot? One is a Imperial Walker and one is a walking Imperial.

The fact of the matter is that you hate America; hate it with all the unrepentant, unreasoning fury of a Nazi stormtrooper or a southern slaveowner or a Syrian suicide bomber; have hated it since you were a sniveling schoolgirl in a shriveled up Irish backwater in Queens, since you were a spoiled college girl spitting in soldier's faces, since you first learned the awful truth that America has no use for pitiful imposters like you. You're not an aristocrat, Marian dear. You're an Irish potato farmer in a plumed hat, fighting for a white-columned mansion you never had and never will.

Maybe they’ll be like Empire Stormtroopers, and just miss with every shot,

if you look at an American all kitted-up for war, we look astonishingly like the stormtroopers from Star Wars, and those might not be the best people to go try and win hearts and minds,

Leia opened her eyes and lifted her head. She had an uncomprehending look on her face as she said, “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper?” “Huh?” Luke replied. “Oh…the uniform.” He reached up to pull off the helmet. Shaking his hair free, he said, “I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.

The proudly gun-free Peoples Republic. Yeah, the PR hates armed citizens, but if you’re a criminal you’re good to go. Or if you’re one of their PBI stormtroopers. Or guarding the rich folks. Then guns are great.

And why isn’t his stormtrooper invading my territory right now?

Considering their propensity for using street violence to shut down opponents, Hitler and his SA Stormtroopers might be considered as the ultimate social justice warriors of their era. From the very start, Hitler made it plain that social justice was an important attribute to a healthy state. In one of his 1920 speeches, Hitler proclaimed to thousands of Nazi party followers: ‘[W]e do not believe that there could ever exist a state with lasting inner health if it is not built on internal social justice…

The way Luke, Yoda and Obi Wan kept banging on about their religion, it's obvious they saw it as a holy war.' 'Yeah, but those space teddy bears were cute.' 'Ewoks? Ewoks cook their prisoners and use the helmets of dead Stormtroopers as drums. You call them space teddy bears, I call them war criminals. And another thing. Even though he can backflip and lightsaber duel, Yoda claims he needs to use a walking stick. What's that all about? Apart from

If she scraped her elbows and fell asleep against me, it’d be embalming fluid soaking into my shirt while the Ewoks help thwart the imperial Stormtroopers, the stench of formaldehyde making the last of the popcorn inedible.

And the sort of people who would crash in like stormtroopers when they thought they had a cause weren't worthy of any respect at all.

In his former life as stormtrooper FN-2187,

AH, THE FOREST MOON OF ENDOR! At last! Think what it’s been like for our heroes…. That endless desert on Tatooine, then the stinking lair of Jabba. For Luke there was a brief visit to a swamp: all mud and muck, no sunlight. And the rest of the time has been spent on various rebel spaceships, and let’s face it, the rebels can barely keep those things flying. There is no time or money to spend on interior decorating. And that Imperial shuttle may look nice from the outside, but inside it has been trashed by the countless sweaty stormtroopers it has hauled around. It reeks of stale sweat and every surface is covered in TK numbers1 scratched by bored troopers. So think how wonderful it is for our heroes to tumble out of that junker and breathe in the air of Endor’s moon, air purified by a hundred billion trees. It’s hard for residents of developed worlds to wrap their heads around a planet covered in trees.

But these First Order troopers were more than just ordinary soldiers in terrifying costumes. It was their skill in combat that set them apart. They had been selected to join the ranks in childhood. The stormtrooper corps had become their family. Their alphanumeric call signs had become their names. Their training was so thorough, so disciplined that nothing frightened them. They would sacrifice their lives without hesitation. They would commit the unspeakable if commanded. Guilt never troubled them. The First Order was always right. Having recently been commissioned as a full stormtrooper, FN-2187 was eager to do his duty.

stormtrooper