. . . it was then he realized no one understood him unless he spoke Yodanese, but his sensibility wouldn't allow him to do that since whenever most people try to speak like Yoda, they sound like Ernest T. Bass. Crestfallen, Memphisvol climbed back into his Prius and puttered away, but as he left the driveway, he was broadsided by a latecomer to the party driving an El Camino with bad rims and fuzzy dice. It was . . .