I will say this for being a tyrannical dark overlord: you get great service at restaurants.
Getting some "me time." Mood: melancholy.
On a more banal note something has gone wrong with my left leg. For the time being I have avoided limping by overriding the control circuitry with the power of the force, but this is needlessly draining. I have called for a repair droid, but it has been over an hour and there is still no sign. Later, I will find the man responsible for dispatching the repair droids and crush his trachea with my mind.
Do you want to know what the worst part is? My left leg is still on the fritz. Whose trachea do you have to crush with your mind to get a little service around here?
Big day. Storming the rebel ice fortress. Took a nap first so I would be peppy. Leg feels pretty good. Admiral Ozzol took the fleet out of hyerspace too close to Hoth, and the Rebel Alliance were -- you guessed it -- alerted to our approach.
One of these days, one of these days, Ozzel: bang, pow! Straight to the moon.
The administrator of the facility was a quaking fool in expensive fabrics, introduced as Lando Calrissian. I took one look at his satin shirt and disco hair and I knew he was a weak specimen...