dunaddict wrote:Could have been worse though: Sandworms of Dune, last scene:
Paul Atreides wakes up in his bed on Caladan, bathing in sweat. It was all just a nightmare. The End.
Speaking of Nightmares. Who would have thought back in 1999, when the first prequel was published, that they would fuck up so BADLY.
I mean, it's kind of mind-boggling how someone can write in the Duniverse for ten years and still make mistakes even a casual reader can spot.
I didn't expect FH's prose and would even have tolerated bad writing if their stories had stuck to FH's themes.
As far as nightmares go, this is worse than being in high school naked. Much, much worse.
Paul of Dune was so bad it gave me a seizure that dislocated both of my shoulders and prolapsed my anus. ~Pink Snowman
He came in. A man in a black stillsuit with black robes and a black mask that resembled old Arabian dress. He had the blue-within-blue eyes of spice addiction, but that didn't necessarily mean he was a Fremen. He had apparently ridden a worm into 'Keen, but nobody really cared. He kept his mouth filter on at all times. Until he walked into a bar.
He was the Sloe Desert Rider.
It was a dim bar, with several men around the main counter, and smoke in the air. The stranger ignored the others and walked straight to the bar and ordered a spice whiskey. Two or three of the other men kept staring at him.
The bartender brought him his drink, and he removed his mouth filter. The man looked down at the drink for a long moment, then picked it up and drained it in a single gulp.
"Another," he said, so the bartender filled his glass again.
"Haaaaaaaah," the man let out a long rasping sigh after downing the second drink.
"Stranger, you OK?" the bartender asked him. "Something happen to ya?"
"Man...," the man said. "It was amazing. ... I just had my first blowjob."
All the men in earshot thought about that for a minute, then nodded their understanding. The bartender smiled as he poured the man another drink.
"Here, son, this one's on the house," he said. "It'll take more than two to wash the taste away."
SandChigger wrote:He came in. A man in a black stillsuit with black robes and a black mask that resembled old Arabian dress. He had the blue-within-blue eyes of spice addiction, but that didn't necessarily mean he was a Fremen. He had apparently ridden a worm into 'Keen, but nobody really cared. He kept his mouth filter on at all times. Until he walked into a bar.
He was the Sloe Desert Rider.
It was a dim bar, with several men around the main counter, and smoke in the air. The stranger ignored the others and walked straight to the bar and ordered a spice whiskey. Two or three of the other men kept staring at him.
The bartender brought him his drink, and he removed his mouth filter. The man looked down at the drink for a long moment, then picked it up and drained it in a single gulp.
"Another," he said, so the bartender filled his glass again.
"Haaaaaaaah," the man let out a long rasping sigh after downing the second drink.
"Stranger, you OK?" the bartender asked him. "Something happen to ya?"
"Man...," the man said. "It was amazing. ... I just had my first blowjob."
All the men in earshot thought about that for a minute, then nodded their understanding. The bartender smiled as he poured the man another drink.
"Here, son, this one's on the house," he said. "It'll take more than two to wash the taste away."
Good One!
"The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something we do not understand." - Frank Herbert
“This tutoring is dialectical. Literature makes us better noticers of life; we get to practice on life itself; which in turn makes us better readers of detail in literature; which in turn makes us better readers of life. And so on and on.” - James Wood
Now, back on topic. I'm not sure if he would even bother with them, except that, well, everyone needs a little downtime- even a God Emperor, I'm sure. I think that a while into reading one of their books, he would go ape-shit. I mean, he would totally worm-out and start squishing people left and right. Even if there were no people around, can you imagine the destruction? The repair bills? This would keep happening every time he thought of their books- Yes, he would read more than one. Why? Well, just to be sure. Anyway, the memory of their writing would drive him to murder. Long story short, he would burn them amongst their own books. Use your imagination. The End.
Force them to read to the end of Dune, which they probably haven't done so far.
Squeeze Combover's manboobs painfully into one of Rebecca's high tensile support bras.
"You and your buddies and that b*tch Mandy are nothing but a gang of lying, socially maladjusted losers." - St Hypatia of Arrakeen.