"Scone you switched off your thermo-lazarmagadjet, what's wrong"
Nothing. I'm all right.
Use the force Luke, visualize that missile plunging into the tight quivering thermal exhaust port of the Death Star as it braces itself in anticipation.
Sweat beads up on Vader's brow as you slide your X-Wing gently up the Maridian Trench inching ever closer to the vulerable exhaust port, your missile throbbing as you grip the control stick.
Come on Obi Wan, your messing with me, this is serious.
To Obi Wan you must listen, Deep into the exhaust port you must ram your missile.
Come On Obe Wan, that doesn't even Sound like Yoda.