So check it, ya'll. I'm gettin all sick an tizired of the way those fogies on the council're treatin me. I'm the Chosen One, yo! Notta mention what I gots to put up with at home, with Ob's "wrasslin", Windu's sob-fests, an Yodes' force-wedgies. I'm all feelin abused an spit.
So I went downta the Coruscant Department of Social Services to see what I could do bout it. The social worker was this bizottle-blonde chick who didn't seem like she wanted to be there. But, ya know, I don't wanna be a lot of places either, so whatev.
"So, Mister... Starkiller?"
"Ah, Skywalker. It says here you want to be emancipated from your guardians."
"Word. They all gettin up in my grill, girl. My Master's all white trash an the other dudes are all like a billion years old an spit."
"It also says that you're a Jedi Knight."
"The Chosen One, yo. The Chosen One."
"Riiight. Well, Mr. Skywalker... according to Coruscanti law, you're a legal adult. You can move out whenever you want. We don't have to get involved at all."
Oh, so that's how it was gonna be. She was all hatin on me jus like everybody else!
"But check it, I can't! They're all like "commitment, blah blah" an all that. I'm not playin, yo, I gots to get outta there!"
"Look, Mr. Skywalker, you're wasting my time. If you don't like it, just leave."
"Have you ever had a Force-wedgie? That's the kinda shizzy I gotta put up with every day."
"Force... wedgie? Listen, if you don't leave I'm going to call security."
An since I really wasn't about gettin arrested an spit, I decided to demonstrizzle a Force-wedgie an hightail it outta there.
So there goes my court-ordered separization from these haters. On to plan B!