Once there was a boy named Luke. He lived on a farm in the desert. One day, he met the Rebels who were fighting the Evil Empire. Wow, said Luke. I would like to join the Star Wars and fight for the good guys.
Alas for Luke! He had no relevant skills whatsoever. He knew how to “moisture farm” whatevs the fuck that was. He had no clue about wielding a light-sword or flying a cool space airplane. Sure his pop had been a great warrior. But the war don’t give out legacy spots. You bring the skill or you go home.
They considered sending Luke to Sir-Raspy-Green-Frog-Gnome’s Swamp School of Spaceship Lifting. But nah. There were a trillion eager young would-be warriors in the Galaxy. Why waste time on this yokel? Sorry, Luke. Go farm that moisture or whatever it is you do. We’ll let you know how it turns out.
Next week: why the guy with the wheezing gorilla-pal and his rattletrap spaceship are not much use to the Star War Effort. Also, we haven’t much need for ‘translator robots’ or trash-candroids. Sorry.