Father's Day Gift Ideas for Darth Vader

"Dear Dad- This Father's Day, I want to take a moment to say that even though you tried to kill me,
and convert me to the Dark Side, and you blew up my sister's home planet..."

What do you get the Dark Lord who has everything? How can a Sith celebrate Father's Day in out-of-this-world style?

At Of Cabbages and Kings, we want to make it easy for you to give Dear Old Darthly Dad the gift that won't get anyone's feelings--or tracheas--crushed.

Consider these can't-miss gift ideas:

• Tickets to a Dark Side (of the Moon) laser light show
• A gift certificate to Sacks Sith Avenue, for the latest in designer black cloak fashion and robot hands
• New minions. Order 'em by the case, because you know he'll go through them.
• Palpatine Mist, asthma treatment, in bulk. (It shows you care.)
• A subscription to Evil Overlord Illustrated
• George Foreman's new Bantha Barbeque Grill-- fun and heart-healthy! (Unless you're the bantha.)
• Lightning protective gear
• A crocheted lightsaber cozy with "Dad" embroidered on it
• A box set of the long-running program, Space's Funniest Jedi Mind Tricks

And of course, the number one thing you can get your favorite Dark Lord for Father's Day is...

• The droids he's looking for

Thank you, we'll be here all week folks. Enjoy the bantha steak!

Warning: Mad Beeper is Loose

My normally-pasty face flushed the kind of rich red that tomatoes want in a hot summer fashion. A buzzer sounded with nasty, tattle-tale glee.

The store worker rushed over to confront the issue. Soon a puzzled frown creased his brow, as logic set in. Wasn't I entering, not leaving? People didn't shoplift before they came into a store, did they?

And as he stood, lips trying to mold the right question, I explained. Explained the way I had at Kohls.

And at Target.

And at Barnes and Noble.

(It was a busy day.)

I explained that I am The Mad Beeper. And (regrettably) I cannot be stopped.

See, this is my accessory to disruption. Or rather, something in it is, since my mysterious Beeptasticness has followed me through two entirely separate handbags.

Oh, I have turned this particular handbag inside out like a frog in seventh grade biology. I have examined its guts. I now know its polyester and vinyl soul.

I have brought in an elite team of trained security tag sniffing animals. (Okay, my cat Alice, but she's very thorough.)

And as far as I can tell, there is no special sensor lurking as a part of this bag.

Which means, I have stowaway object, plotting my perpetual, so public embarrassment. I just haven't pinned down the perp yet.

I look accusingly at my lipstick, and it pouts at the injustice.

I eye the remote control to the gate of my office, but it remains unmoved.

I try to push my cell phone's buttons, in hopes of a confession, but it drops my signals.

Somewhere, within the satin blend lining of Kathy VanZeeland pastel snickers the source of my continued humiliation. And I will find it.

Oh, I will root it out.

Until then, I can only ask that my innocent appearance continue to serve me well... that any frisking be fleeting... and if not, that the security guards be mightily cute.