Who is Anakin's Father?

By Ben Heckendorn on April 23, 2005

In Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace Anakin’s mother Shmi says that the boy “has no father.” - leading the Jedi to believe he was conceived by Midi files or some such nonsense. Obviously this is complete horse crap which then begs the question: who IS responsible for the little twerp? After exhaustive research I have been able to compile a list of the most likely suspects along with the how, why and when for each alleged deed. So without further ado, let’s see if we can decide WHO IS ANAKIN’S FATHER?


Occupation: Ass-kicking robot trash can

Parental Likelyhood: 15%

Your first reaction to this is probably that R2D2 is a robot and thus can’t father a biological son. But try to keep a few things in mind:

  • It’s a movie with spaceships, the Force and lines like “I hate sand”
  • Darth Vader (who, SPOILER ALERT, used to be Anakin) IS mostly machine
  • R2D2 has that access probe thing he’s always whipping out for whatever reason.

Now that I’ve answered the question of could it be done we must next tackle the how, why, when and where. Consider if you will…

In her early years young Shmi Skywalker attended a public university on the planet Naboo. But her wild nights and hard-partying lifestyle made Paris Hilton look like Mary Poppins and it took a toll on Shmi’s studies. Failing in her classes she turned ever increasingly to alcohol, debauchery and deathsticks.

One night, staggering home after a bender, she came across an equally drunk R2D2. He beeped a wolf’s whistle her way and she couldn’t help but be aroused. See, she’d run into him a few times on campus (he was majoring in robo-ass-kicking 101) and figured “what the hell, he’s a good-looking guy” Jumping on top of his can, she caught a ride back to his place and they shared their passions well into the next morning.

Two months later Shmi was a girl in trouble and R2 - not wanting his future wages garnished - was nowhere to be found. The only thing he’d left behind was a note written with beeps she couldn’t understand. (R2 planned it that way) Her debts astronomical, the only remaining recourse was the Tatooine mail-order-bride racket, where a certain “Watto” was willing to pay off her tab in return for absolute slave-hood. Figuring she’d go back to school “someday” she accepted his offer, flew to Tatooine, popped out Anakin and pretended the whole college thing never happened.

Postscript: Upon seeing R2D2 come to her house in Episode I her blood ran cold, then she quickly dismissed it as “There must be a THOUSAND blue robots! Millions!”


Occupation: Wise green Muppet/CGI mentor

Parental Likelyhood: 15%

Chicks dig older men (like Sean Connery, Harrison Ford, Jack Elam) so when it comes to 800 year-old Yoda it’s usually “your place or mine” at first glance. Sure, he may have a diminutive stature and walk slower than a worm but the Force is Strong with him. Take that as you may…

Now that you’re convinced Yoda’s a complete and utter chick magnet let’s get down to the business of how HE got down to business… with Shmi!

“Who Wants To Be a Jedi?” was the top TV show back in the day and young twenty-something Shmi didn’t miss a single episode. Every week she’d watch it and com-link in her vote for the best contestant. One day, as luck would have it, a recruiter for the show happened into Watto’s shop on Tatooine…

“Gut te nola!” croaked Watto, counting money and drinking a Hamm’s “We a got what cha need!”

The recruiter, trained to act as if he likes anyone (despite how disgusting or blue they may look) promptly blurted out “What I need, and I totally think you’re perfect for this, is…. Drumroll folks… The Next Republic Jedi!”

“Next a WHAT? Jedi ehh…? Bums! I don’t a ta like ‘em Not one bit! I am an Italian Mobster caricature you know, so don’t a cross me either!” Watto grumbled, reaching for his trusty tire iron.

“Excuse me” said a shy Shmi walking into the room “but can I have a chance?”

“Like oh – my – GAWD! You’d be perfect honey!” the recruiter exclaimed, practically falling over himself to give Shmi an entry form “Just fill this out and you’ll be on your way!”

A month later on the show things weren’t going so great for the eager Shmi…

“I do not see how you expect to swing your lightsaber into an opponent when you can barely swing it through the air” Mace Windu dished out in bitter judgement. “You have the grace of a cardboard bulldozer driving over a field of greased bowling balls”

“But-“ Shmi insisted.

“Agree do I” agreed Yoda “Skill have you not. But have you do is a smokin’ booty!”

“I wanna be a Jedi not a bimbo!” Shmi said, starting to cry.

“Unlikely to happen it is.” Yoda said, then gravely continued “As of now no Jedi in you do have.”

A lengthy pause…

“Would a little Jedi in you like to have?”

Shmi’s initial reaction was disgust – this wrinkled old green guy was actually hitting on her! Sadly it was her only hope if she truly wanted to become a Jedi. Begrudgedly she followed Yoda back to his swank apartment.

“Your daddy who is!” the green horn-bag said, popping a few Levitra (ask your doctor) Suddenly, Shmi didn’t think he looked so bad after all… No, he’s actually quite cute… So cute, why, he wouldn’t have to play a Jedi mind trick to get me in the sack. Nah! Never! Yeah he’s…. wait – it’s already the next morning and he’s gone! Where are my pants?

The scandal shook the Jedi council to its very foundations. Yoda’s sexual escapades were well known yet this latest shagging of a commoner - especially one from the Jedi’s own reality show - was a bombshell. Disgraced and hounded by paparazzi Shmi crawled back to Tatooine and didn’t tell Watto a thing.

Two months later Shmi’s a girl in trouble but all Watto cares about is the new free help he’ll have in the shop. “As long as I’M a not the father, I a don’t a care!” he cackled upon seeing her emerge from the bathroom with a purple-hued stick “Heh heh heh… Hope he can clean switches and say Yippee!”

Jabba the Hut

Occupation: Eats

Parental Likelyhood: 20%

Jabba the Hut is to Tatooine as Bill Gates is to computers: He rules it all - whether you like it or not. Granted it may seem unlikely that a character as gruesome and fat as Jabba could father a child (much less find his own equipment) but think about it – baby Jabbas have to come from SOMEWHERE, as it sure as hell ain’t a stork! Let’s explore the possibilities:

“Ju-tu moolia churm!” Jabba bellowed one morning upon waking up in a pool of his own vomit “Goosh neena plurb known-yah!”

Translations by Google: “God I’m hungover!” “What the hell happened last night?”

A jittery protocol droid ambled forth. “Oh mighty carriage-endowed Jabba! Last night you accidentally ate… oh dear… your dancing metal bikini slave girl!”

“Bantha-podo!” Jabba blurted, smacking the droid with a flabby hand “Jippo dun tanna mass torga DU tuppa doie-yah!”

Translations by Google: “Horse-crap!” “I fully intended to eat that saucy wench – AND her metal bikini!”

The droid picked himself off the floor “A trillion apologies oh cellulose one. Might I suggest you find a new slave girl to drag around?”

“Jaaaaaa…. Meen toya!” Jabba pondered “Goosh yuppa je joppa!”

Translations by Google: “Ahhhhh! Good idea!” “I shall hit the bars!”

The Cantina was one of the most happening bars on the planet - everybody went there on a Friday night to have a good time (and buy power convertors) Some nights they’d have live bands, other times they’d fire up the old karaoke machine, but young Shmi Skywalker didn’t much care either way - if there was a gaggle of horny moisture farm-boys around she’d be happy.

Mulling over her third blue milk-colored drink Shmi felt the presence of someone slide up behind her. Maybe it’s the hunk I made eyes with earlier, she wondered, unconsciously sniffing her armpits. Armpits OK she turned and saw:


“Muh cha dunno de banka?” he blurbed out, a stream of phlegm tricking down his chin and onto Shmi’s miniskirt.

Jabba’s droid waddled up. “Excuse me. The mighty artery-clogged one asks if he may buy you a drink.”

“Ask him what kind of car he drives” Shmi snapped. The droid relayed the question to Jabba, who immediately laughed.

“Har har har ho! Chon dunno konk je nobba bonko – chon bonko muh hassa duh chon!”

“Jabba states that he doesn’t have to drive a car – his private chauffeur drives for him!”

Shmi, always a sucker for money, was impressed. “Rich, huh?”

“Gujeppa…. Chuin buine com passa duh gubba-jeeb.” Jabba whispered into her ear, careful to only get a little drool on her blouse “Chum passa du tuppa doie-yah yuppa je onna”

The droid looked somewhat flushed, then said “Jabba asks if you would accompany him back to his palace-“

“Palace?” Shmi jolted out.

“Yes, his palace,” the droid continued “He’s got a... metal bikini he’d like you to try on.”

“Lemme get my purse” Shmi cooed softly. She was sold – sure he was disgusting, but he was RICH and disgusting.

After a couple of weeks she grew tired of being drug around by a chain (the appeal wears off) but enjoyed the otherwise lavish lifestyle enough to stick around. Then one night after a nasty domestic dispute Jabba tried to eat her and it pretty much ended right there. Enraged by her not-wanting-to-be-digested insolence Jabba sold her to Watto for a pittance, dooming her to a life of slave-dom. Little did Shmi know that because of her time with Jabba she now carried inside her the seed of a man who would become… [SPOILER ALERT] Darth Vader!

Jar Jar Binks

Occupation: Screws things up, babbles, accepts “moui macho” responsibilities

Parental Likelyhood: 20%

“My afraid mine been banished!” Jar Jar cryptically told the Jedi in Episode I. Upon further questioning he revealed it was because of his clumsiness. A likely excuse to be sure! Here’s a more logical one…

Young and comely Shmi Skywalker always enjoyed her yearly summer trips with Watto to the resorts on Naboo. But as the years passed she found the excursions to be ever increasingly boring. Maybe she was just getting older, approaching womanhood, and outgrowing such a thing. Maybe it was Watto’s smell. Or maybe it was something else…

Summer came and she found herself once again at the Nubian resort. Watto was off having a Swedish massage (“Ahhh….. A that’s a what I like-a!”) so Shmi decided to take a walk through the woods. From over a ridge she thought her heard a sound… no, not a sound, but music. Yes, a jumpin’ rhythm… a salsa-like beat! Intrigued she wandered towards it…

The valley before her was filled with Gungans, all dancing and whooping it up. One young strapping Gungan in particular caught her eye. Though he couldn’t really dance worth a shit his seizure-like flailing had a certain machismo that aroused Shmi’s inner beast. In a trance-like state she ambled up and asked his name.

“Mesa Jar-Jar Binks!” hesa said, grabbing her into his dance “Yousa pitty hot!”

Smitten, Shmi fell helplessly into his allure. Number after number, dance after dance, drink after drink she felt more and more one with the Gungan until later that night, back in his bachelor pad, she really DID become one with him! Screams of “Yousa! Mesa!” were heard throughout the land.

The summer continued on. Watto spent all his time at the massage palor/whorehouse and barely cared where Shmi went wandering off every day. Little did he know that a certain Nubian native was railing on his slave with a reckless abandon he could only dream of.

August came and it was time to go home. Watto eyed up Shmi as she packed her bags.

“Shmi? Are you a gettin’ FAT?” He quizzed, noting a difference in her girth.

Shmi felt her stomach “Um… well… no… but…”

“Wait! You’ve a been knocked a up!” her blue master growled.

“No! It can’t be! I mean… oh no!” she cried, flailing herself onto the bed.

“No problem!” Watto consoled “It means a free slave for a me! Heh heh heh… So! Just a be tellin’ me whose the father…”

“It was…” she stammered, “it was…” Her mind raced. She couldn’t betray her beloved Jar-Jar. It might mean his death – or worse! Desperate, she thought of anyone else on Naboo she could blame it on…

“Panaka! It was Panaka!” she cried out “A royal guard in the Nubian court!”

Little did Shmi know that Panaka - who she’d run across in the past but thought nothing of - was, despite being a horrible actor, quite wealthy and could afford the best lawyers Republic credits could buy. The patronage trial began with a cross-delegation of Gungans and Humans, judged by Boss Nass, leader of the Gungans himself.

“ Mesa havin’ been weighed all the evidence. And mesa also know who the REAL father is” Boss Nass said. He then turned to the nervous Panaka, who gulped along with his lawyer.

“Meesa knowa you notta the one done got Shmi in trouble!” mumbled Boss Nass “When meesa wrong meesa SAY I’m wrong. BRRRRRRWRAAAHHHH!” He then turned solemnly to Jar Jar, who gulped upon his gaze. Nass knew Jar-Jar to be a screw-up, and a horny one at that.

“Binksssssssssss! Yousa havin’ affair with this herein bonko?”

Jar Jar turned white as a sheet “Uh…. Uh huh!”

“BRRRRRRWRAAAHHHH! Yousa to being pewnunished! Meesa banisha yousa outaa bonko theesa kingdomesa!”

Translations by Google: “???”

“NOOOOOSA!” Jar Jar cried “Giva meesa another chance-a!”

“Be gone with heem!” Boss Nass exclaimed, waving a flabby hand. Jar Jar was then escorted out of the kingdom to become an exile, a Gungan without a home, a country, or a hope. He sustained himself by tripping over things in the forest and then eating them. His life of hermit-like solitude made him become celibate and regret his earlier gigolo-esque days…

Later in Episode I Jar-Jar was adamantly against wandering around Mos Espa - not because he might get “robba-ed and crunched!’ but for fear of running into Shmi and being forced to cough up child support. When he did run across her in Anakin’s home he remained silent as did she, a kind of silent pact of acceptance. Though when he started grabbing apples Shmi couldn’t help but think back to all the wonderful memories of that tongue… Alas, she decided not to tell Jar-Jar that he was really the father of her son, who would one day become [SPOILER ALERT!] Darth Vader!

Count Dooku

Occupation: Starts trouble, aligns himself with Dark Lords, commands thousands of Orcs/robots with a wave of his hand.

Parental Likelyhood: 30%

“I have a problem, Darth Sidious my Master” Count Dooku confessed one night in the Sith bordello he and other evil Jedi often visited.

“What is it, my young apprentice?” croaked Sidious, who was really [SPOILER ALERT] Senator Palpatine but with a hood over his eyes so no one (but the audience) could tell.

“It is in the sack. Using my Jedi Mind tricks (and charisma) I have no trouble getting the ladies home, but once there… Ug. It just falls apart.”

“I understand my evil Padawan learner. The Dark Side has many advantages, but also many side effects - including nausea, headache and impotence. You should have asked your doctor first.” Sidious snarled in an ambiguous manner.

“Guide me, oh master.”

“There is a young slave by the name of Shmi Skywalker who works in this very bordello. She would make an excellent host for a new evil Jedi.”

“Why don’t you sire the child yourself, oh not-so-mysterious one?”

“I have often tried. However, when I lower my hood I also become quite ugly, so even with my mind control she always just throws a drink in my face.” Sidious admitted, a look of despair over the visible part of his face. “I therefore pass the task onto you.”

“But… what about my problem?” Dooku stammered hopelessly.

“Get her into the bedroom my young apprentice; I will help you from there.” Sidious said, an evil grin smearing over his face.

Later that night Dooku led the young slave Shmi under a red light, through a doorway and into a smelly room consisting of a bed, B&W TV and an old 70’s style VCR. One thing led to another and then it was time to go for it.

Dooku however wasn’t up for the task. Literally. Shmi grew impatient and checked her watch - Dooku’s 30 minutes were almost up and she was booked solid for the rest of the night. Suddenly a voice boomed through the darkness… It was Darth Sidious!

“Lord Dooku?” he asked.

Dooku was a bit taken aback, and then realized who it was. “Yes master?”


The rest of Dooku and Shmi’s time went as planned and Sidious watched on, cackling evilly. A few months later Shmi was a girl in trouble and the bordello sold her to a certain blue junkyard owner on Tatooine. Later on she bore a young, innocent son named Anakin, who would one day become [SPOILER ALERT] Darth Vader!


So there you have it. All the possible fathers for Anakin to kill. Granted some are more likely than others but come next month, upon the release of Episode III, we’ll see which one of these really turns out to be… ANAKIN’S FATHER!

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