My name is C3-P0. Human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over six million forms of communication. Well, thanks for that Threepio. In case you hadnt noticed, however, it appears the entire Star Wars galaxy is fluent in every last sodding one of those methods of discourse which renders your existence totally irrelevant. Seriously though, the basically dopey Han Solo understood Greedos jabbering perfectly well just before he blew his head off; R2-D2s morse code-esque form of conversation is bafflingly recognised by everyone he comes into contact with, and lets not forget Chewie: whenever he opens his gob, the exact same noise comes out every single time yet every character knows precisely what it is hes braying on about. So as well as being a terminally irritating, self-defeating conformist, C3-P0s general purpose is to provide a service that no one requires. Get in the bin, you gold-plated git.
Chris James Peet says hello. His interests include hoping for the best and sitting in chairs. He much prefers moaning to counting his blessings and suffers fools gladly. He also likes to look out of the window and check what's in the fridge but he hates standing up, dripping taps and reality.
