Hello, fellow Cast-Out! Another Talifan here, reporting for duty!
As an aside, would the forum be a good place to find a Dune fan fiction proof reader? I know, I know, fan fiction has horrible connotations, like "My Immortal" and "Sandworms of Dune", but it'd really be helpful if someone could look over a story for me. I can post pieces here or something, as long as that's OK with the mighty Admin Triumvirate. Otherwise, I could just email it to you.
and this is a free board, post what-ever the hell you want ...
{exception : farm porn. PM me that stuff ...}
now, if your writing is stupid, you'll get called on it,
but if you're honest and sincere in your attempt, I'm
sure you'll find support & encouragement ....
& as was said, there ain't no way you can do worse that Keith ...
................ I exist only to amuse myself ................
I personally feel that this message board, Jacurutu, is full of hateful folks who don't know
how to fully interact with people. ~ "Spice Grandson" (Bryon Merrit) 08 June 2008
Heck can start a line story here, I say a sentence and the next person fill in what ever ya feel, it will be better than what dipshits one and two scrawl.
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert....
Next person run with it.
"Long Live the Fighters", "Dragon.....the other white meat."
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert. Great gods below, that's a helluva lot of sand, he thought.He decided to go hiking and record his tales via distrans. In the future, he thought, there will be those who will twist my life for their own purposes. There should be a true record.
He unlatched the stillsuit's mouthflap, took a deep breath and said:
"I was born a poor black child. On Caladan."
................ I exist only to amuse myself ................
I personally feel that this message board, Jacurutu, is full of hateful folks who don't know
how to fully interact with people. ~ "Spice Grandson" (Bryon Merrit) 08 June 2008
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert. Great gods below, that's a helluva lot of sand, he thought.He decided to go hiking and record his tales via distrans. In the future, he thought, there will be those who will twist my life for their own purposes. There should be a true record.
He unlatched the stillsuit's mouthflap, took a deep breath and said:
"I was born a poor black child. On Caladan."
It was a good day to hike over the dunes. He'd have to make it a short hike, only 10-15 miles today since he'd left his itchy stillsuit back in the palace and hadn't bothered to carry a bulky literjon of water. It would only slow him down anyway. Spice Predictions told him in his mind that he would survive, regardless of how unreliable and hazy his predictions were. He squeezed the distrans Bat twice to tell it to stop recording and fed it a raisin. Raisins were popular on Dune. Sun-dried food was very common. It was Hot. Dune was a Desert Planet. He squeezed the bat to start it recording again. Distrans Bats were made for recording messages. They were encoded into the Bat's digestive tract and when the bat flew home and made a poo-poo, specially trained Fremen Sages entered it into a computer and laser radio to send it to the city for editing. Paul disagreed with all of this rigmarole; he felt his bat's shit was better unedited. Lucklly, as Emperor of the Known Galaxy, he was sure to win all the important Literary awards. After all, he'd had all the "Critical Darlings" executed. It was good to be the king!
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert. Great gods below, that's a helluva lot of sand, he thought. He decided to go hiking and record his tales via distrans. In the future, he thought, there will be those who will twist my life for their own purposes. There should be a true record.
He unlatched the stillsuit's mouthflap, took a deep breath and said:
"I was born a poor black child. On Caladan."
It was a good day to hike over the dunes. He'd have to make it a short hike, only 10-15 miles today since he'd left his itchy stillsuit back in the palace and hadn't bothered to carry a bulky literjon of water. It would only slow him down anyway. Spice Predictions told him in his mind that he would survive, regardless of how unreliable and hazy his predictions were. He squeezed the distrans Bat twice to tell it to stop recording and fed it a raisin. Raisins were popular on Dune. Sun-dried food was very common. It was Hot. Dune was a Desert Planet. He squeezed the bat to start it recording again. Distrans Bats were made for recording messages. They were encoded into the Bat's digestive tract and when the bat flew home and made a poo-poo, specially trained Fremen Sages entered it into a computer and laser radio to send it to the city for editing. Paul disagreed with all of this rigmarole; he felt his bat's shit was better unedited. Lucklly, as Emperor of the Known Galaxy, he was sure to win all the important Literary awards. After all, he'd had all the "Critical Darlings" executed. It was good to be the king!
As he crested a particularly large dune, he was reminded of Chani, waiting for him back at the Keep. Holy Maker, she's let herself go these last few years! When she jumped on me there the other night, I thought for a minute she'd broken my back. Maybe I should ask Irulan to recommend some sort of diet supplement?
Suddenly he noticed movement on the far horizon where the palely washed-out sky of Dune met the burning sands....
"Let the dead give water to the dead. As for me, it's NO MORE FUCKING TEARS!"
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert. Great gods below, that's a helluva lot of sand, he thought. He decided to go hiking and record his tales via distrans. In the future, he thought, there will be those who will twist my life for their own purposes. There should be a true record.
He unlatched the stillsuit's mouthflap, took a deep breath and said:
"I was born a poor black child. On Caladan."
It was a good day to hike over the dunes. He'd have to make it a short hike, only 10-15 miles today since he'd left his itchy stillsuit back in the palace and hadn't bothered to carry a bulky literjon of water. It would only slow him down anyway. Spice Predictions told him in his mind that he would survive, regardless of how unreliable and hazy his predictions were. He squeezed the distrans Bat twice to tell it to stop recording and fed it a raisin. Raisins were popular on Dune. Sun-dried food was very common. It was Hot. Dune was a Desert Planet. He squeezed the bat to start it recording again. Distrans Bats were made for recording messages. They were encoded into the Bat's digestive tract and when the bat flew home and made a poo-poo, specially trained Fremen Sages entered it into a computer and laser radio to send it to the city for editing. Paul disagreed with all of this rigmarole; he felt his bat's shit was better unedited. Lucklly, as Emperor of the Known Galaxy, he was sure to win all the important Literary awards. After all, he'd had all the "Critical Darlings" executed. It was good to be the king!
As he crested a particularly large dune, he was reminded of Chani, waiting for him back at the Keep. Holy Maker, she's let herself go these last few years! When she jumped on me there the other night, I thought for a minute she'd broken my back. Maybe I should ask Irulan to recommend some sort of diet supplement?
Suddenly he noticed movement on the far horizon where the palely washed-out sky of Dune met the burning sands, movement of a creature far more terrifying than any sandworm he had ever encountered.
Just beyond the red precipice of the Shield Wall he saw the many-chinned Chani skipping toward him while singing "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts!" Using his mentat logic Paul realized that Chani had come out to the Shield Wall to bring him back to the palace for fourth breakfast, the meal he most feared. In that spice-caked meal he could sense terrible purpose. As he pulled each prescient string further inward in the attempt to create, Paul knew that he would never be able to escape the terrible purpose he first sensed when the crone Mohiam first drew his massive dong into the pain box to evaluate his "humanness."
The time was drawing ever closer when he would have to take his Chani to Denny's for fourth breakfast.
DUNE, as interpreted by a blue man with a green tushie
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert. Great gods below, that's a helluva lot of sand, he thought. He decided to go hiking and record his tales via distrans. In the future, he thought, there will be those who will twist my life for their own purposes. There should be a true record.
He unlatched the stillsuit's mouthflap, took a deep breath and said:
"I was born a poor black child. On Caladan."
It was a good day to hike over the dunes. He'd have to make it a short hike, only 10-15 miles today since he'd left his itchy stillsuit back in the palace and hadn't bothered to carry a bulky literjon of water. It would only slow him down anyway. Spice Predictions told him in his mind that he would survive, regardless of how unreliable and hazy his predictions were. He squeezed the distrans Bat twice to tell it to stop recording and fed it a raisin. Raisins were popular on Dune. Sun-dried food was very common. It was Hot. Dune was a Desert Planet. He squeezed the bat to start it recording again. Distrans Bats were made for recording messages. They were encoded into the Bat's digestive tract and when the bat flew home and made a poo-poo, specially trained Fremen Sages entered it into a computer and laser radio to send it to the city for editing. Paul disagreed with all of this rigmarole; he felt his bat's shit was better unedited. Lucklly, as Emperor of the Known Galaxy, he was sure to win all the important Literary awards. After all, he'd had all the "Critical Darlings" executed. It was good to be the king!
As he crested a particularly large dune, he was reminded of Chani, waiting for him back at the Keep. Holy Maker, she's let herself go these last few years! When she jumped on me there the other night, I thought for a minute she'd broken my back. Maybe I should ask Irulan to recommend some sort of diet supplement?
Suddenly he noticed movement on the far horizon where the palely washed-out sky of Dune met the burning sands, movement of a creature far more terrifying than any sandworm he had ever encountered.
Just beyond the red precipice of the Shield Wall he saw the many-chinned Chani skipping toward him while singing "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts!" Using his mentat logic Paul realized that Chani had come out to the Shield Wall to bring him back to the palace for fourth breakfast, the meal he most feared. In that spice-caked meal he could sense terrible purpose. As he pulled each prescient string further inward in the attempt to create, Paul knew that he would never be able to escape the terrible purpose he first sensed when the crone Mohiam first drew his massive dong into the pain box to evaluate his "humanness."
The time was drawing ever closer when he would have to take his Chani to Denny's for fourth breakfast.
He didn't want to take Chani to Denny's...no, he didn't want to go to Denny's at all. No Denny's goer was he. Just as he was about to remind himself about how he was disgusted by Denny's the largest sandstorm in all recorded history appeared on the horizon. They will say I caused this sandstorm by my dislike of Denny's this day.
"If he was here to discuss Dune, he sure as hell picked a dumb way to do it." -Omphalos
Happy Memorial Day everyone! -James C. Harwood
"Three of my videos have over 100 views."
"Over 500 views for my 'Open Question' video." -Nebiros
Paul was standing on the outcropping of rock staring into the vastness of the desert. Great gods below, that's a helluva lot of sand, he thought. He decided to go hiking and record his tales via distrans. In the future, he thought, there will be those who will twist my life for their own purposes. There should be a true record.
He unlatched the stillsuit's mouthflap, took a deep breath and said:
"I was born a poor black child. On Caladan."
It was a good day to hike over the dunes. He'd have to make it a short hike, only 10-15 miles today since he'd left his itchy stillsuit back in the palace and hadn't bothered to carry a bulky literjon of water. It would only slow him down anyway. Spice Predictions told him in his mind that he would survive, regardless of how unreliable and hazy his predictions were. He squeezed the distrans Bat twice to tell it to stop recording and fed it a raisin. Raisins were popular on Dune. Sun-dried food was very common. It was Hot. Dune was a Desert Planet. He squeezed the bat to start it recording again. Distrans Bats were made for recording messages. They were encoded into the Bat's digestive tract and when the bat flew home and made a poo-poo, specially trained Fremen Sages entered it into a computer and laser radio to send it to the city for editing. Paul disagreed with all of this rigmarole; he felt his bat's shit was better unedited. Lucklly, as Emperor of the Known Galaxy, he was sure to win all the important Literary awards. After all, he'd had all the "Critical Darlings" executed. It was good to be the king!
As he crested a particularly large dune, he was reminded of Chani, waiting for him back at the Keep. Holy Maker, she's let herself go these last few years! When she jumped on me there the other night, I thought for a minute she'd broken my back. Maybe I should ask Irulan to recommend some sort of diet supplement?
Suddenly he noticed movement on the far horizon where the palely washed-out sky of Dune met the burning sands, movement of a creature far more terrifying than any sandworm he had ever encountered.
Just beyond the red precipice of the Shield Wall he saw the many-chinned Chani skipping toward him while singing "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts!" Using his mentat logic Paul realized that Chani had come out to the Shield Wall to bring him back to the palace for fourth breakfast, the meal he most feared. In that spice-caked meal he could sense terrible purpose. As he pulled each prescient string further inward in the attempt to create, Paul knew that he would never be able to escape the terrible purpose he first sensed when the crone Mohiam first drew his massive dong into the pain box to evaluate his "humanness."
The time was drawing ever closer when he would have to take his Chani to Denny's for fourth breakfast.
He didn't want to take Chani to Denny's...no, he didn't want to go to Denny's at all. No Denny's goer was he. Just as he was about to remind himself about how he was disgusted by Denny's the largest sandstorm in all recorded history appeared on the horizon. They will say I caused this sandstorm by my dislike of Denny's this day.
Chani skipped up to Paul, chin dripping with Spice-Sauce. She was about to offer him a grab from her Bucket of KJA-wings, when she noticed his intense gaze staring at the storm. His brow furrowed, much in the same way as when, late at night, he pounded furiously and quickly into what he had termed Chani's "Gom Jabbar". She munched on another wing as she looked at the approaching storm.
Paul was now sure that this was no ordinary storm, caused by shifting weather. It was moving fast, and it seemed more like a dustcloud created by a low-flying vehicle. Sure enough, at the center, his Hawk-like eyes noticed a glint of metal, moving towards them. "HUNTER-SEEKER!" He yelled, jumping on Chani and tumbling with her down the side of the dune. "Yippee!" Chani cried, as she assumed he was initiating love-play. She shoved her greasy hand down the front of his pants, looking for his "little maker"
Paul heard the screeching noise of a suspensor field as the vehicle came to a halt at the top of the Dune. The vehicle was of an odd design, but searching through OM Paul recognized it from old earth history. The door popped open and a man jumped out, wild white hair flying and his white lab coat getting briefly hung in the door. He tugged it free and ran over to Paul to help him up. Paul instantly started his belt sheild, as he wasn't sure about the man's intentions. The wild-haired scientist grabbed Paul by the shoulders. "Quick Mahdi! You have to come with me! Bring Chani, it concerns her too. Its your kids Mahdi! Something has to be done about your kids!"
Love it. 
