One of the oft-overlooked aspects of the Galactic Empire -- but one just as evil as blowing up planets, if you ask us -- is the goddamn bureaucracy that must have been required to run the Death Star. Sure, it doesn't get discussed much, but think about it. We're talking about a ship the size of a small town. There are thousands of people working there, yet somehow, everything runs relatively smooth. That doesn't happen without a silent group of supply clerks and HR generalists micromanaging every cog in the machine.
If Grand Moff Tarkin wants to reduce the Death Star's exhaust port size to "Not Torpedo-able," we're sure he has weeks of IG-99 forms to fill out before they even order the parts. Not even Darth Vader would be exempt. Sure, he probably got a visceral thrill choking Admiral Ozzel with the Force, but then here come the HR buzzkills with their paperwork to make the whole thing "official."
We bet the Rebels never had to deal with this sort of Bantha shit.