Poll: Which is better, Warhammer or Star Wars?

Sorry if this has been posted somewhere already. But this is a joke)))
Cosmic-scale madness
At night, the Pioneers sang songs.
Loudly and, as a rule, in chorus.
The bulkheads of the Death Star groaned from their coordinated roar, and the insomnia-suffering Emperor wanted to howl. He would crawl deep under the covers, plug his ears with clawed fingers, and mutter half-forgotten Jedi mantras in powerless rage.
The mantras didn't help. Soon, the spirited Pioneer songs would break through the nasal imperial mumbling with renewed force.
"On the dusty! Trails! Of distant! Planets! — the captives chanted exaltedly, accompanying themselves on soup vats. — Our! Footprints! Will remain!"
Here the little brats were clearly being modest. They had managed to leave footprints everywhere. Even in the torture chamber, where their whole gang had been poked with cyclobarbital for an hour, there was an inscription: "Misha plus Katya equals love."
The chamber made no impression on the Pioneers. They'd seen worse at the dentist's.
The injections didn't help either. At one glance at the scars left by the school nurse's needles, the experienced crew executioner felt faint, and the hired staff cowardice-strickenly hid in the prep room. But even after a specially summoned Vader, joints creaking, injected three cubes of haloperidol into every pest, the hysterical Pioneer zest did not diminish by a single gram.
Now, in the cold cosmic night, this zest hammered the Emperor's temple with the enthusiasm of a jackhammer.
"Forward, toward the dawn, comrades in struggle! With bayonets and canister shot..."
At the word "dawn," the Emperor gnashed his teeth. "Zarya" (Dawn) was the name of the Pioneer starship, an ancient vacuum-tube tin can, compared to which the space scoundrel Solo's "Millennium Falcon" seemed a marvel of technology. Vader's foragers stumbled upon this tin can in the immediate vicinity of the rebel base and, rightly considering it non-ferrous scrap metal, dragged it to the Death Star.
Hearing the name of the starship, the Emperor leaned back in his chair and kicked his legs for a long time. The latest fashion, including modern science fiction writers, is well aware that normal starships are called "Devastators," "Devourers," or, as a last resort, "Star System Smashers." The Emperor intended to categorize the Smashers into a separate class, equip them with hyper-plasma bubblers, and bubble the rebels until the complete victory of galactic imperialism.
And they, the Pioneers, intended to prevent this.
"Ah, it's good to live in the Soviet country! Ah, it's good to be useful to the country!"
By the third verse, the Emperor couldn't take it. He leaped from bed, blindly shoved his feet into slippers, and, tangling in his robe, rushed to the prison deck. The guards, soulless thick-headed clones, politely stepped aside for him.
"If something... I forget..." — as if sensing the approach of the boss, the Pioneers wailed. They performed this song particularly often and so inspiredly that by the end, the Emperor was ready to forget his own mother. So, in the cell, they weren't surprised at all when he kicked the armored door with all the Force of his slipper and screamed:
- ENOUGH!
The soup vats clinked, and behind the door — oh, happiness! — a fragile silence reigned.
- Give back the starship, fascists, — they demanded loudly from within.
- And let them return the ties!
- And the badges!
The Emperor sighed gloomily. The starship had long since been sent for smelting, and all the attributes had been confiscated by Vader. He had welded the badges to the chest plate of his armor, and wore the ties around his neck, changing them every other day. According to security reports, Vader had been behaving quite inadequately lately. Once, he was caught in the corridor with his hand stuck in the position of a Pioneer salute.
- You're silent, you vermin, — they said mockingly from behind the door, interpreting this sigh in their own way. — Ashamed?
- Look at this "enlightened monarchy"...
- You didn't get slapped enough in seventeen!
- Why bother with him, the bourgeois. Detach-me-e-ent! Start sing-ing!
- Stop! Wait! — the Emperor pleaded, sliding down the wall. — What is it with you and these ties! Fine, if you want, I'll give you my shuttle? Leather interior! All amenities! — after a moment's thought, he made a full-fledged fig sign in his pocket. — Emperor's honor, alright?
Behind the armored door, they couldn't see the imperial fig and paused to think. The silence didn't last long. They bargained for the shuttle, a couple of damaged badges (the Emperor hoped to file them off Vader), and a ship's ration for seven.
Already in his quarters, in a pleasant half-slumber, the Emperor remembered that he was, actually, a negative character. So what if they are children. Komsomol spawn! Throw them overboard, and that's that...
In the morning, the Pioneers were gone.
Vader had let them out. Two hours before wake-up, he descended to the prison deck, personally escorted the prisoners to the imperial shuttle, and, bashfully, asked to pass a letter to some Alice Selezneva.
They left him the ties as a souvenir.