Another one of those weird poem ideas
That makes me wonder what muses do all day.
Since writers gave Jabba the Hutt a son,
There must be a Lady Hutt.
There must be a Grampa and Gramma Hutt
And maternal Hutts for the runt.
The Grammas and Grampas had parents too
And Hutts that are older still.
The thought of so many just makes me ill,
But there had to be more than a few.
A family reunion would be disgusting –
At least, to you and me.
There's too many things I'd rather not see
In that family of gluttons and lusting…
I don't understand why the heroes in Star Wars
Found it so hard to get rid of that Jabba.
To get rid of him – and his family – a gobba
Salt could be spread in the dark on the slug's floors.
And then, with the ease of a kid crushing bug nests,
Both good guys and bad could be done with the Slugfest.