Jar Jar is all ready to fight. He’s in the ring with his dopey ear dragging on the floor. He doesn’t have thumbs, so he can’t twiddle them. Where is Jack? Oh here he is, zipping up his pants. He must have been…never mind.
The whistle sounds and Jar Jar does some round-house-fly-through-the-air-kick thing. Jack dodges the attack and spits at Jar Jar. Real cool, Jack. Real cool. Jar Jar shrieks something followed by an “oky-day.” Jack is pissed. He hates that word. The vein in his neck bulges and he cries out, fists flailing. He lands a couple punches, but due to the fact that he’s a complete sissy and worn out from his other…activities, Jar Jar thinks he’s being tickled.
“Mesa lika.” Go figure.
The two lock arms (not lips…Jar Jar isn’t that type of guy…fish…fuy…gish) and tussle. In their overly boring confrontation, they break a water pipe. Water gushes into the arena. Jack looks for something to hold onto. Look, a piece of drift wood.
“Wesa goin’ under water, oky-day?” Jar swims in the new fight-pool. Jack flails about and realizes he doesn’t know how to fight. In his kicking, he lands a shot to the groin, only to find out Jar Jar didn’t have anything there except a Jar Jar solar plexus. Jar Jar passes out and sinks to the bottom of the arena. Jack is getting cold. Jar Jar is still passed out. Jack is colder. The arena finally collapse, the water rushing out like a flash flood (how’s that for a cheesy cliche simile!). The drift wood Jack was hanging onto impales Jar Jar through the skull. As he falls, Jack tries to grab a chandelier, forgetting he’s wet. Jack never was good for brains. The water on his hands conducts a perfect electric symphony and zap Jack into 40 pieces.
Shoot. They’re both dead. I’ll have to figure something out for a replacement.