I can't believe i'm about to write a fiction about Howie and pants. But here goes:

It was a long time ago in a galaxy somewhere north of where we live now. I hear it is cold there, and everyone is extremely polite. Anyway, Howlader Taldrya had just received a delightfully comfortable pair of pants from his best friend Mav. Howie and Mav had been best pals for almost 15 years. Their friendship was built on mutual trust and respect, and there was no better gift than such a wonderfully comfortable pair of pants.
Howie loved his pants. He wore them everywhere. The gym, the bar, work, sleep, even swimming; Howie never took those pants off!
And then, that fateful day in the last month of 33 ABY came.
Mav and Howie were outlining plans for a new type of warfare. This warfare would involve smaller battles that Mav referred to as bins. These combat bins would provide a small amount of resources to each of the clans. Howie liked this idea greatly, and he rubbed his pants in appreciation.
“Mav, you are such a great friend. I like your idea. Also, these pants are great.”
“Howie, you need to wash your pants.”
“No I don’t. They are more comfortable this way. I don’t like to change.”
“Please change your pants.”
“No. And I don’t appreciate that tone, Mav. Please, let us continue our friendship.”
And so Howie and Mav moved past this small dispute. Mav continued to discuss bin warfare, and Howie continued to be pleased with Mav’s plan. And of course, he was a big fan of his pants.
Then Mav decided to issue orders to the clans. He wanted to make certain that each set of orders clearly identified how the bin warfare would work. Specific percentages for each mission type.
Howie was concerned, but the comfort of his pants kept him from becoming too upset.
“Mav, I don’t think it’s completely necessary for us to put the same thing in each one of the orders. Maybe we just say it once, and then the clans can assume that the same information applies to all of them?
“No Howie. It’s important to me that we make it clear in each order how many resources the clans will receive.”
“You do realize that is going to create a great deal of work for me, don’t you? It seems excessive. I don’t think we should do this. I urge you to reconsider.”
“NO Howie, we will do this my way. Make the necessary adjustments.”
Howie was displeased.
“This is becoming close to jackassery, Mav. I demand that you only do it once.”
“No. Do as I say.”
“I am getting angry, friend Mav. Please do not make me do something I regret.”
“Are you threatening me?”
And with that, Howie lost his temper.
“MAV, YOU JACKASS! YOU DON’T NEED TO PUT THIS IN EVERY ORDER. JUST DO IT ONCE!”
And then Howie stood up and ripped his pants in anger. He ripped them completely in half, and threw the pieces of his torn pants at Mav, as though they were the torn pieces of his soul.
And from that day forward, Howie and Mav became bitter rivals, arguing over the smallest of details, but never as much as they would every time bin warfare reared its head.

The End.

Please note: this entry parodies the opening number of the hit play: Hamilton. Lyrics here: https://genius.com/Original-broadway-cast-of-hamilton-alexander-hamilton-lyrics

Kah Manet
8343

Liar Liar, Pants on Fire

The inky black of night embraced the trees of the forest, a soft whisper of wind tickling the necks of the group that sat around the glowing flames of their campfire. The team of younglings gazed upon their leader, a grizzled Gungan that had vanished but returned to the ranks of the light, and they listened in awe as he regaled them with stories. Some had taken sticks and were roasting treats on the fire to assemble tasty snacks, while others were enamored with what their older friend was saying.
“Havesa youin’ heard of da tale of de Pantsless one?” asked Kah.
The younglings looked amongst themselves and they shook their heads, having heard that the Gungan usually only told stories with lessons in them. Had the jawa juice he had been sipping made him stray from that path? The younglings hoped so.
“Not so long ago, mesa had heard dissin’ tale. The Dark Brotherhood’s Masta at Ahms, Howlader, was inna battle againstin’ a boombad dat wasa his equal in every way. The two clashed for what seemed like hours, neida givin’ da odda an inch in da battle. Saber clashed saber, powers crashed against powers, and it seemin’ as though de immovable object had met it’s unstoppable force.”
Kah sipped from his canteen for a moment and wiped his bill, capping it back up and leaning forward. He gazed into the youngling’s eyes and smiled.
“But, as wesa knows, Howie’s mind is far from da steel trap it used to be. And, as dis opponent knew, the Mastah at Ahms was finally feeling de kiss of fatigue. His enemy didin’ a lunge fohwahd, and with a powerful strike caused Howlader ta stumble backward. An insidious chortle rattled from da throat of his enemy, the sound slithering into Howlader’s elderly ears. Howie’s enemy lunged again and struck, and den struck again. And den he spoke,
“‘Whassa madda Sith?’ asked da hooded figure, his azure blade bearing down on da crimson saber of da Mastah at Ahms. Howie glared, and replied wit venom ‘Nothing.’ and the insidious chortle came forth once more, and da enemy snapped his fingers once. ‘Liar, liar...pants on fire.’ And when da words left his mouth, Howie looked down and gazed upon hisa legs and saw dat his pants had burst into flames.”
With those last words, Kah began to pantomime patting out invisible flames and
continued to explain to the younglings how Howie’s fatigue allowed his mind to slip and his defense dropped enough to allow illusions to spring forth like bats from a cave. He then leaned back, took a sip from his canteen once more, and then ended the story. He explained how Howlader, with a new found fury from being fooled, lifted his hand and released a torrent of dark energy that wracked the opponent’s body with electricity. Howlader had been playing possum, to test his opponent and had grown tired of their duel.
“Da result of dat battle was dat Howlader, ta ensure dat dat particular trick could never be played onna himsa again, decided hesa would never wear pants again. Some tink hesa be crazy, others tink his refusal to wearin’ his pants be a tad much, but yousa have ta admit dat it be effective.” said Kah, “So, whaddya tink da lesson here is?”
“Always prepare for the unexpected?”
“Good thought but nosah.” said Kah, taking another swig from his canteen.
“Try and lull your opponent into an overconfidence so they’ll make an error?”
“Again, good but nuh uh.” said Kah, again drinking from his canteen, enjoying the bitterness of the alcohol in it. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to partake in this particular vice.
“Remove a weakness to not have it be exploited?” asked a youngling.
“In a way, yessah, but in truth da lesson be dat sometime, da crazy works.” replied Kah with a boisterous laugh.
The younglings nodded and looked at each other, exchanging glances to one another that clearly said “This is what Odan-Urr considers a good chaperone?”

I stole lyrics from a couple of songs...

They are Shia LaBeouf by Rob Cantor
Never Gonna Give you Up by Rick Astley
Also included some memes.
Please don't CoJ me, Panda boy. :(

It started as all tales do, with a man and his struggle for the all ever consuming that is the greed for more. More control, more stability, more … power. What began as a simple conquest of those who would oppose him, simple enough but that too became nothing but a little burden upon his shoulders. It wasn’t until he started to crave the excitement for the reflex of those who even set a gaze upon him. Let us begin from the start of the descent into the madness that is, Darth Howie the pantsless!

With begging an ace pilot in his early years, it was almost natural for those to never see below his waist, as it was almost relieving to be spinning in the void of space with no pants on. This only gave him comfort and the start of his descent.

After the death of his panda friend, he soon sought comfort, only to find it in the solidarity relief of casting away medals and denying any such gratification to others, especially those of an enemy disposition to him. If he couldn’t be free, no one could. This eventually made him look inward to seek the answer for his lack of gratification. Destroying planets, setting up wars, and even orchestrating a few coups to seek such gratification to fill the void that left him empty.

It began with him seeking out an enemy outpost of the Collective and glassing the planet into oblivion. Leaving nothing but ashe and dust looking for the outpost that may or may not have been there. Thus this yielded no satisfaction to the Dark Lord, he then began work on forcing the galaxy into another civil war, and even helped plan a Great Jedi War to rid the galaxy of the Jedi once and for all. Alas they survived, though the damage had been done and soon made him question if it was even power he craved, or was it simply just freedom.

As such, the coup of the panda lord rose up and claimed the right to demand the freedom to do as he pleased. Though this was short lived as even then he still felt the cage of what would later be known as the dark realization of the pantening. This realization that he had only ever felt free when he was back in his piloting days where he wore no pants at all. As such he began to wear no pants and realized this was what he had been looking for all along. Several planets, many hours of hard work, and even the destruction of a government did he find that what he wanted all along was the freedom of the swinging breeze.

Though this may not be a grand story, it is a story of finding one’s self and embracing what others may deem uncivilized or odd. Let it be known what Darth Howie the pantsless has done for us and embrace our inner desires to be free.

A black mane with streaks of grey was tidily combed back and an Officer uniform was worn with straight seams and polished buttons. The man known as Howlader was the image of perfection and refinement until a yawn severed his focus.

"Do I bore you Sergeant?" His superior spoke with grit and discontent. "Perhaps you'll wake up in the mines of Kessel?"

The Sergeant merely shrugged his shoulders and stared blankly. "Nah, probably not."

For a long time he felt special and placed himself on a pedestal. Something stirred within, his reflexes, despite his burdening fatigue, were sharp.

"What did you say to me?"

"Sorry, I meant to say, probably not. Sir?" He grinned as his yawn faded. He had little respect for the man barking orders. For his 'superior' was merely a pawn without any combat experience. He was a wet noodle, a green-horn with good academic scores.

"If it wasn't for your piloting skills and sharp dress, you'd be out of here!" He knew that Howlader was held in high regard and viewed as an asset. In essence, he was becoming untouchable.

"What about now?" Howlader smirked, dropped his pants and tussled his hair. "Pants don't make the man, nor does ass kissing your way into leadership roles. A role you're currently just playing at."

The men in line shifted their attention to their comrade and their jaws dropped.

"Maybe I'll take that position from you, sir." He added, delivering a sarcastic salute that caused his superior's blood to boil.

Even as starships departed their designated pads and the world around them proceeded without a flicker, the world of the ranking Officer slowed to a crawl as he forced the lump in his throat down with a gulp.

"Stand down, Sergeant!"

"Stand up, Commander. Be a man!" Shouted the pantsless one. "Were at war and you want to run drills from that brand new datapad of yours?!"

"I, I-"

"I'll fight this whole war, as I stand." Howlader yawned again. "But you have to give me those bars." He growled, jabbing the Commander in the chest with his index finger.

"How dare y-"

"Eh, shut up." Howlader continued as the men surrounding him became riled with rebellion and flocked to the man they wanted to fly with, fight with, die with.

Shouts and jeering filled the courtyard as the men grabbed the Commander and forced him to his knees.

"This is my armada now." Spoke Howlader as that familiar energy lifted his soul with torrents of energy.

With two fingers, Howlader plucked the bars from the sniveling Commander's breast coat and pinned it to his own disheveled uniform.

"Send him to Kessel." Howlader sneered and threw his arms into the air. "To war!"

"But sir, your pants." One of the men pointed.

Howlader burst out into laughter before shifting into a steely gaze.

"A promise is a promise, ensign."

Newfound loyalty was found that day and Howlader stayed true to his word. His men would follow him to hell and back. Not because he was an Officer. But because he was one of them. It didn't matter what one looked like, only that they had the balls to stand up and face off with the status quo.

I hope you enjoy my little story! I imagine it being told to a group of younglings.

5 ABY
Prophet Howlader “Howie” Taldrya
Imperial Star Destroyer Indomitable

“This is getting out of hand.” Howlader muttered to himself as he exited the cockpit of his Tie Interceptor. Removing his helmet with a sigh of frustration, the human began to briskly walk towards his quarters. The ace pilot had a lot on his mind; the destruction of the second Death Star and death of The Emperor had the remnants of the Imperial Military scrambling to restore order. The Rebel Alliance was putting up an even greater resistance than usual, something which bothered Howlader greatly. Those accursed rebels, they brought the war to Endor and death to his tribe, his beloved pandas. It was long past time for Howlader to show them where they belonged; groveling on the ground with the Empire’s boot resting on their neck.

Arriving at his quarters the human locked the door behind him. Taking off his Tie flight suit, the human stepped into the fresher for a quick cleaning. Leave it to his commanders to schedule a strategy meeting almost immediately after his deployment. Howlader barely had enough time to freshen up for the meeting much less grab a bite to eat or get some much needed shut-eye. “Perhaps I should not be so surprised. Command can not seem to implement proper tactics to allow us a victory against the New Republic so why should I expect them to be able to competently create a schedule?”

Finished with his cleansing the human quickly put on his military dress uniform before racing out the door. He moved swiftly through the hallways of the Star Destroyer, intent on making it to the meeting in time. So focused on moving swiftly he missed a crewman carrying a pot of stew. Crashing into him, Howlader fell to the floor. The crewman lost his balance and dumped the pot of stew all over Howlader’s pants. The human gave an exclamation of pain and surprise, having not seen the crewman and undoubtedly not expecting to have hot stew poured onto him.

Howlader hissed in pain and got to his feet. He then grabbed the crewman by his collar and pulled him upwards. “You absolute fool! Do you have any idea what you have just done?! The strategy meeting called by command starts any minute. And now I do not have the time to change.”

The crewman muttered a string of apologies as Howlader released his grasp with a sigh of disgust. With another sigh of frustration Howlader entered the meeting.

As he entered the meeting all of the officers who had been speaking immediately stopped talking. The admiral in charge of this remnant of the Empire looked directly at Howlader and raised an eyebrow. “Normally I would ask for the reason for your tardiness but the answer is plainly evident to any who gaze upon your pants.”

An officer failed to contain his chuckles and began outright laughing. The laughter spread amongst all the officers gathered.
Howlader’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and a single thought dominated within his head. “I. Hate. Pants.”