The TASTY-ATs poured on the flavor, rendering the rebel ice cream useless. General Manager Beers, supervising the withering assault-emphasis on salt-spoke to Executive Vice President Vader via that microphone they always speak into when passing order information to team members. The sound was as low quality as your imagination expects... "Yes, Executive Vice-"
"I told you to stop calling me that!"
"You should be a little happier, what with that being a promotion-"
"It's not a promotion! It was the same job with the word 'Executive' added to the title! Didn't you hear about it?"
"No, actually. Everyone who did kind of...died with the KFC Star, sir. Except you. Funny coincidence that you were the sole survivor of that-and were miraculously unharmed. Tell me, how many days of your life have you been sick?"
"I...I don't know. I haven't been sick this year, I know that." Vader turned to the side, speaking to an unseen person. "Yeah, I'm sorry, Padme-it's work, again. Hey, can I ask you something? Do you remember me getting sick?"
Padme's voice replied in his ear. "What?"
"Padme, do you ever remember me getting sick?"
"Well...not in the past few years, I know that."
"What about...when we were in the apartment, when we moved to the palace, do you ever remember me getting sick?"
"Not really...what's this all about, Annie?"
"Don't you think that's strange, not being able to remember a fever, or a cold, or a sore throat? What do you think it means?"
"It means I'm too tired to remember."
"Hmm. Can we get away with this scene?"
"Maybe. But only if M. Night Shyamalan is busy making Lady in the Water 2: Swimfest or something."
"Listen, I need to look into this, Padme. I'll talk to you later."
"Alright, Annie. Bye."
"Love you."
"You, too."
"Bye." Vader looked at the hologram of General Manager Beers. "Can you hang on for a sec?"
"Uh, of course, my lord."
Vader spoke in a neutral tone. "Call Palpatine."
Dooooooooot. Doooooooot. "KFC Emperor Palpatine, the Chicken Master. May I help you?"
"My master."
"Ah, Executive Vice President Vader. What can I do for you?"
"Could you-and this might seem unusual-could you tell me how many sick days I've ever taken in the 23 years I've worked here?"
"What??"
"I know, I know...it's a little weird to be asking this."
"Oh, I get it, Lord Vader. Twenty-three years, no sick days-you want a raise! Smart way to make your point."
"No, I-"
Dooooooooooo....the dial tone greeted Vader. "Dang it! Beers, why did you have to ask me that?"
"Because I've studied your miraculous survival. Since then, I've come to believe that a strange possibility, however unbelievable it may seem, is now a probability."
"This parody has clearly gone too far. Please...get on with the ham show!"
"Of course. I've reached the meal generators. The meals will be down in moments." Beers ate another spoonful of chicken pot pie. "You may start your landing," he said while chewing.

"Coke Two, are you alright?"
"Yeah. I'm with you, Coke Liter!" Zev unwrapped a napkin. "Just gotta wipe this ketchup off my face!"
"Well, set pepperoni, I'll cover for you!"
"Did you not just hear what I said? I've got to wipe this ham ketchup off my face! If I try to set pepperoni-which, if I recall correctly, was originally pineapple-it'll be a case of distracted driving. Do you want to be liable if my negligence leads to accidental death?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Oh, no! Don't backtrack now, Luke! You said it, so I'm gonna go ahead and set pepperoni while wiping my face off! Coming around, Coke Liter! Set for pizza 3, steady!"
"Use Sweet N' Low! This is it!"
B-DOW! "AAAH!" Zev exploded in a blinding flash of cole slaw.
Luke sustained a few hits from the ketchup being fired. "Hobbie! I've been hit! On the bright side, if I die now, Zev's family will collect damages from my estate only after I'm dead!" His pizza box slammed into the ice cream. He struggled to free himself from the cheesy restraints, but they just kept stretching and sticking to him! The gigantic drumsticks of the TASTY-AT got closer and closer! "No! NOOO!" Luke struggled free and grabbed the drumstick that once belonged to his father. He dived out of the pizza box just in time to avoid the splash of tomato sauce as the drumstick smashed into it.

Han dodged the falling ice cream and hurried to the manager's office. He looked at Leia, who was busy issuing orders. "You alright?"
Leia glared at him. "Why are you still here? Stealing recipes?"
"Uh, no, actually. I heard the manager's office had been hit already, so I figured the recipes were already gone."
"Oh, real cute. You got your clearance to leave!"
"Don't worry, I'll leave! First let me get you an order of fish and chips!"

Meanwhile...sneaking through the corridors of the Dairy Queen on Hoth...

Indiana Cones followed the darkened corridors carefully, holding up a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone for extra light. "There's supposed to be a map room here somewhere in these caves, a map that leads to the lost Park of the Carnival. And in that park, it's believed that Baskin and Robbins left the recipes and frozen samples of the Thirty-Second and Thirty-Third Flavors, inside this...this box that they carried ice cream in."
Marion Rockyroad followed him closely. "Then that would make us a parody of..."
"Yeah. I know. Indiana Cones and the Flavors of the Lost Park." He handed Marion a page and pointed at the dialogue. "It's in the script, right there."
Marion looked at him. "This is crazy, Indy. Why can't we be satisfied with 31 flavors?"
"Because, Marion, those flavors belong in a museum, not...frozen in history, never to be revealed."
Dr. Cones entered the manager's office carefully. He gestured to Marion. "Stay back."
As he entered, what he saw made him drop his ice cream. It plopped onto the floor.
"Indy? What's wrong-AAAH!" Marion did a double-take. "It's-it's you, Indy!"
Han Solo stared at Indiana Cones. "Well...this is awkward..."
Indiana grabbed Han by the collar. "Who the shell are you?"
"Isn't it obvious? We're the same person. Linked, somehow. My success is your success, pal."
"What are you talkin' about? I'm just here for the map."
"The KFC troops are gonna be here any minute. Maybe this map of yours ain't worth your life!"
"Yeah? And maybe it is. So you gonna give it to me? Or are we gonna find out at last who would win?"
Han held up the map with a smug smirk, then dropped it and stepped on it. "Maybe next time, Fraulein."

"Imperial troops have entered the base! Imperial troops have-guh! Cole sl--"
Han strode over and grabbed Leia. "Alright, that's it. Your order's gonna be 'to go'."
"Give the evacuation menu. And get to your trans fats!"
Indiana glared at Han. Han turned and smiled again, then threw a cake at Dr. Cones. Indiana threw an arm up, and the cake splattered on him. "Ha ha ha!" Han sneered.
"I HATE CAKES, HAN! I HATE 'EM!" Indiana shouted, wiping the frosting off his sleeves.
"Come on, put it in a waffle cone! Just call it an ice cream cake!" Han ran out of the manager's office.
Indiana raced behind them, grabbing Marion. "I don't know how we get written out of this one, Marion, but I don't think I want to find out!"