DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Obi-Wan’s cheek slides against your face, and he holds your head tenderly. “I don’t want to…to hurt you….after—“
“You won’t,” you say. “You couldn’t.”
You are startled suddenly by a loud banging on the door. Obi-Wan puts his arm around you protectively as the door sudden flies open, and a short man dressed in a trench coat and hat enters the room.
“Who are you?” Obi-Wan says. “And what are you doing here?”
The man flips out a badge. Upon closer inspection it resembles a drama mask with a downturned face. “Sargeant McLeod. Angst Police.”
“Excuse me?” you say.
“Angst police, ma’am. I’m afraid I’m going to have to issue you folks a citation.”
“For what?” Obi-Wan says
“Aiding and abetting,” Sargeant McLeod says.
“Aiding and abetting who?” you ask.
“The Angst Side, ma’am. You’ve got your Light Side, your Dark Side, your Smut Side, and your Angst Side. Unfortunately, the two of you have apparently been in collusion with the Lord of the Angst…”
“Oh!” Obi-Wan spits. “I can’t STAND that guy. That hair! Those ridiculous leather pants! And that incessant tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!”
“’Scuse me, sir,” Sargeant McLeod says. “I say Lord of the ANGST, not Lord of the DANCE.”
“Oh,” Obi-Wan says.
“The Angst Lord perpetuates self-centered anguish and brooding throughout the galaxy,” Sargeant McLeod explains. “I’m sure you’re familiar with his minions….Eddie Vedder, Nicolas Cage, the entire cast of Dawson’s Creek. All these and more are agents of the Angst Side. And the two of you have been turned.”
“Angst Side? What-- Listen here, I am a Jedi, and there are only TWO sides of the Force, Light and Dark….” Obi-Wan, flustered, continues. “Alright, so perhaps there is a Smut Side as well…but I know for certain that there is no such thing as an Angst Side, and I resent the implication that we have committed some crime.”
Sargeant McLeod pulls out his radio, “Yeah, we have a McGraw situation here. I repeat, McGraw situation. I need immediate assistance.”
You shake your head. “This is beyond bizarre. I mean, I’ve seen bizarre living at the JH Temple, but this is WAY beyond that. Now, I don’t know who the hell you are, but I want you out of my room this instant!”
“Sorry, ma’am. But we have a classic McGraw situation at the moment. I’m afraid I cannot leave until the situation has been resolved.”
“McGraw situation??”
A tall, beefy man with a balding head suddenly enters the room.
“Hey, thanks for coming, Doc,” Sargeant McLeod says. “This here’s Doctor Phil McGraw.”
“Oh crap,” you say.
“Who?” Obi-Wan asks with a confused expression.
You sigh and say with exaggeration, “Hello, McFly! Phil McGraw. Doctor Phil. Oprah’s friend…you know ‘tell-it-like-it-is-Phil’?”
“He’ll be handling this investigation while I search for evidence,” Sargeant McLeod says.
“Evidence? What evidence?” you say.
“Have a seat, sweet cheeks,” Phil says, pushing the two of you to the bed.
You and Obi-Wan sit on the bed, your backs resting against the headboard, and your arms crossed in front of you.
“OK now,” Dr. Phil says as he looks at you. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been lusting after this man for several months, writing dirty little stories about him, and all of a sudden, you decide you just wanna be friends.”
“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan says. “I think we’re already past that part.”
“Quiet, boy! I’m the one doin’ the talking here,” Dr. Phil says.
“Yes sir,” Obi-Wan says.
“Here’s the deal,” you say. “Things were moving happily along, and then Terri—“
“Ooooohhh!” Dr. Phil says, mocking you. “Terri, Terri, Terri. That’s all you can talk about.”
“Hey,” you say. “If you want to get to the bottom of this, I suggest you bring her in here!”
Dr. Phil snorts. “She’s already been McGrawed. She didn’t even last five minutes!”
“Where is she?” Obi-Wan asks.
“Iyanla’s got her now,” Dr. Phil says.
Obi-Wan shudders
“So, little lady,” Dr. Phil says. “You’ve been moping around and playing all thinky winky while this man would have dropped his drawers in an instant to get in on your good stuff.”
“Hey!” Obi-Wan says. “It’s not like that at all. And I would ask you to speak to her with a little more respect!”
“They don’t call me tell-it-like-it-is Phil for nuthin’, Jedi Boy!”
“Fine,” you say. “But our relationship required a lot of consideration. Should we stay friends? Should we take the relationship further? And what kind of damage could be caused to our friendship if that didn’t work out? I care about him very much, and I didn’t want to risk losing him as a friend.”
“That is true,” Obi-Wan says. “We needed time to be sure of our true feelings.”
“And besides, I’ve had PMS. And this weather…I’m seriously light deprived.” You look quickly over at Obi-Wan. “But I don’t know what his excuse is. I suppose he has issues or emotional blocks or something.”
Dr. Phil puts his hands on his hips, “Do I look like John Gray to you?”
“No,” you say.
“Do I?”
“No, Doctor Phil,” you say.
“That little touchy feely wimp wouldn’t last thirty seconds where I come from! I aint no wussy boy! I’m Doctor Phil McGraw. Tell-it-like-it-is Phil!”
“Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan says. “And I do not have issues.”
“Oh really?” Dr. Phil says. “So we’ve got the little lady figured out. She’s got the hots for you, but she’s too skittish and thinky or whatever. So you, Jedi Boy, what’s your story?”
“Well… I….”
“Here you are, big, strong Jedi Boy,” Dr. Phil says. “Probably very popular with that cutesy smile of yours. Son, you’ve got a building full of women ready and willing to drop their knickers for you. What the hell you doin’ hangin’ around a girl who don’t put out?”
“Well…she…uh….” Obi-Wan gives you a nervous grin as you glare at him. “She…she makes me laugh.”
Dr. Phil nods. “She makes you laugh…she makes you laugh…I see.” Then a scowl forms on his face. “Sitting up in the middle of the night discussing life’s big picture makes you laugh…. What is wrong with you, boy? You mean to tell me that a little yippy-ki-yay doesn’t make you laugh? What are you, some kind of swishy pretty boy??”
“I most certainly am not!” Obi-Wan says defiantly.
“Uh-huh,” Dr. Phil says, and then he turns back to you. “Why didn’t you stay in the phone booth?”
“What?”
He says louder, “Why didn’t you stay in the phone booth?”
“Well…I was trying to get out of there…away from—“
“Hold it right there,” Dr. Phil says. “Let’s back up a little bit. Why didn’t you call a cab?”
“Ummm….”
“From the multi-service center! Why didn’t you call a cab? Or do you just make a habit of wandering around strange neighborhoods after dark?”
You begin to get flustered. “I can’t believe you are going to try and blame me for that whole experience!”
“Why didn’t you stay in the phone booth?” Dr. Phil asks again. “You could have called the police.”
“I tried that! They put me on hold,” you say.
“And you couldn’t wait? You know what I think?” Dr. Phil leans in and says, “I think you have Damsel Scully complex.”
“A what?”
“Damsel Scully! It’s basic psychology!” Dr. Phil huffs at your ignorance. “You want to be tough. You want to kick a little ass. Hence, the brave run from the phone booth. On the other hand, you also want to be the damsel in distress and get saved by your knight here.” Dr. Phil’s eyes narrow, and he asks, “Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate.”
“Pop or iced tea”
“Iced tea”
“Chicken or egg”
“Chicken”
“Angel or Spike?”
“Uh….”
“C’mon, c’mon…. Angel or Spike?”
You rub your chin. “Well….that’s a tough call, really. I mean Angel has that tall, dark, and handsome, sensitive, brooding, I’ll-pine-for-you-forever bit that really gets to a girl, especially when she’s feelin’ bloated or crampy or something. And he looks mighty fine wearing nothing but a towel.”
“Sure, sure….” Dr. Phil says.
“What in the name of the Force is going on here?” Obi-Wan asks, completely bewildered.
“Quiet, Jedi Boy. Your turn is coming,” Dr. Phil says. “Please, go on.”
You smile. “But Spike…I mean, Spike is all attitude…cocky, gets the best lines, a bad boy to the bone. Really revs my engines. So Angel is all ‘aaawww, sigh’ but Spike is more like ‘rrrrooowwwrrrr’ if you know what I mean.
“Mmm-hmm…very interesting.”
“What do you mean, ‘rrrrooowwwrrrr’?” Obi-Wan asks, giving you the eye. “Don’t I make you go ‘rrrrooowwwrrrr’?”
“Sure you do,” Dr. Phil says to Obi-Wan. “But this girl here is all talk, no action. Now you’re real to her, so she’s actin’ all foolish instead of doing what she should have done the moment she meant you.”
“Which is….” Obi-Wan says.
“Jumping your bones, boy! Hell, haven’t you been paying attention?”
“Of course I have, sir, but—“
“Alright, Jedi Boy, now it’s your turn,” Dr. Phil says. “Chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate.”
“Beer or Bourbon?”
“Beer”
“Beef jerky or Slim Jim?”
“Beef jerky.”
“Wait,” you interject. “Why are his questions different from mine?”
“Well, aren’t you little Miss Smarty Pants? Decades of scientific research have gone into forming these questions, but all of a sudden you know better?”
“No, Doctor Phil, just curious,” you say.
“I’m Doctor Phil McGraw!”
“Yes, sir,” you say.
“Now,” Dr. Phil says. “Where was I? Oh. Porsche or Pick-Up?”
“Porsche.”
“Buffy or Willow?”
“Buffy.”
“HA!” you shout.
“What?” Obi-Wan asks.
“You are so not a Buffy man,” you say.
“I am, too,” Obi-Wan says.
“She’d kick your ass,” you say. “Leave you in a ragged heap whining and sobbing, she would.”
“She would not!”
“She would!
“Would not!”
“Would!”
Obi-Wan breaks and looks down at his hands, “OK…she would.”
“But you see what’s going on here?” Dr. Phil says. “This boy likes abuse. Why the hell else is he hanging around with you?”
“Which is EXACTLY why you two are under arrest!” Sargeant McLeod says as he appears again from nowhere.
“What’s the charge?” Obi-Wan asks.
“You two are agents of the Angst Side!”
“We are not!” you yell.
“Check this out, Doc,” Sargeant McLeod says, handing Dr. Phil a stack of your CD’s.
Dr. Phil shuffles through them. “Mmm-hmm…yep….oh boy….just as I suspected.”
“May I just make the point that those are HER CD’s,” Obi-Wan says.
“What?” you ask indignantly. “What’s wrong with my CD’s?”
“What’s wrong with them?” Dr. Phil says mockingly. “Did you hear that, Sargeant McLeod? She wants to know what’s wrong with them.”
“Indeed,” Sargeant McLeod says.
“What?!” you ask again.
Dr. Phil selects a few of the CD’s. “How’s this, little lady? Sarah McLachlan? The soundtrack from Ally McBeal??”
“But…I….” you stammer.
“And this!” Dr. Phil exclaims waving one around. “Celine Dion??”
“Now, wait a minute!” you yell. “I didn’t buy that one! My aunt gave it to me! You can’t hold that one against me!”
“Actually,” Obi-Wan says. “I rather like Celine Dion.”
Dr. Phil’s eyes burn into Obi-Wan. “What did you say, Jedi Boy? You ‘rather like’ Celine Dion.”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan says with an innocent grin.
Dr. Phil whacks Obi-Wan over the head with the Celine CD. “Do you know who listens to Celine Dion? Do you?”
“No, sir.”
“John Gray, that’s who! That little sissy twit! Only sissy twit men listen to Celine Dion, Jedi Boy! Are you a sissy twit man?”
“No, sir,” Obi-Wan says.
Dr. Phil sighs. “Sargeant McLeod, I think we’d better take these two down to the station. Book ‘em on First-Degree Angst and resisting the authority of me, Doctor Phil McGraw.” Dr. Phil’s beeper suddenly goes off, and he looks down to check it. “Gotta run. Oprah calls.”
“Wait!” you yell. “Doctor Phil! Please! Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“Oh, I can’t get arrested. I can’t,” Obi-Wan whines. “I’m a Jedi! I can’t get arrested for angst.”
“Happens all the time, son,” Dr. Phil says.
You move forward and kneel on the bed. “Please, Doctor Phil, please! Can’t you just let us off with a warning? I promise, we can have fun and be light-hearted! Really!”
Dr. Phil gives you a sideways glance and walks back toward the bed. “Get up, Jedi Boy. Stand over here by me.” Obi-Wan obliges and stands ready for Dr. Phil’s instructions. “Now, take your clothes off.”
“Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan says.
Dr. Phil looks at you. “You see how easy that is, little lady?”
Your mouth drops open in shock as Obi-Wan diligently removes layer after layer of clothing. “Yeah,” you say with awe, staring at the topless padawan as he begins to unfasten his pants.
Dr. Phil points at both you and Obi-Wan as he speaks. “Now, you two promise me you’ll get down to some serious bucking and writhing. I have had enough of your making nice-nice and batting eyelashes. I’m talkin’ hot monkey love! Can you do that for Doctor Phil? Can you?”
“Oh yes, sir,” Obi-Wan says with an enthusiastic nod, standing only in his underwear and his pants around his knees. “Most assuredly, sir.”
“That’s the spirit,” Dr. Phil says, swatting Obi-Wan on the back. “You kids have fun now. C’mon, Sarge, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Sounds good, Doc,” Sargeant McLeod says, following Dr. Phil out the door. “But what about Oprah?”
“Ah, she’ll be fine for now,” Dr. Phil says. “Besides, it’s Iyanla’s shift now.”
“Iyanla?” Obi-Wan asks. “NOOOOOO!!!!”
You gasp and awaken with a jump. Your eyes dart to either side of the bed. No one. You slowly sit up and shake the grogginess off. You look at the clock. Only an hour or so has passed since you fell asleep. No sign of Obi-Wan…or Dr. Phil. “Whoa,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “Strangeness.”
You can hear the party still going on downstairs. And then you hear a distant voice in your head. It’s a man’s voice laced with a southern drawl….”I’m talkin’ hot monkey love.”
You fling the covers off your body and march over to your closet. You stop suddenly at the mirror and say to your reflection, “You’ve been a total, freakin’ gooberhead!” Then you dive into your closet in search of the perfect party dress.