Parody of Chapter 2 Sandworms

Your mind is completely unprepared for what is about to happen to your reality.

L-RON
DC Comic Character
Thinking Machine
Justice League of America Member

The young woman rubbed her hands down the stained front of her dress. It was a summer morning around her, flowers blooming, birds calling from nearby overarching trees. There was a misty look to the sky, a yellow radiance near the horizon of Narconon.

"You have lost the ship again, L-Ron," Brainiac boomed from atop his pedestel like a giant gazing ball in the midst of the elaborate gardens, "I need that shrubbery!"

In spite of a decades-long effort, the writing machine had not yet captured the no-ship Kokomo and its precious cargo. That did not, however, stop the Nevermind from approving the launch of the next instalment in the franchise series.

L-Ron repeatedly cast his dragnet, searching for his quarry. At first the hunt had been exciting, but now the Nevermind was growing frustrated with his efforts.

"Inaccurate. I must find it before I can lose it." L-Ron tried to sound clever as he took off his whig and falsies before reverting from his guise decked out as a beatiful red-haired woman to the more familiar appearance of a platinum colored robot.

"When you have found the shrubbery, you must place the new shrubbery here beside the other shrubbery, only slightly higher so we get the two-level effect with a little path running down the middle."

The robot sighed. While he was the one always developing plots within plots, Brainiac seemed only concerned with his pots.

After lifting Brainiac off his pedestel and tucking him under his arm, L-Ron retired to the inside of the cathedral-like building before responding. His room illuminated by the glow of his newly installed giant lava lamp--a useless decoration, but the robot often indulged his carefully cultivated artistic sensibilities. "Don't be impatient. Remember the projections. Everything is nicely predetermined."

"How do I know it is correct?"

"Because I have said it is correct."

"What about the minority report?"

With the launch of their publicity campaign, the long-foretold Kralizec had begun, at last. Kralizec...Judgement Day...Battlefield Earth...War of the Worlds...Days of Thunder...and Taps.

The original author had predicted such a cataclysmic event since the dawn of the first series. Indeed, they had already been through similar cataclysms: the Prequels of Dune, the Legends of Dune, and Hunters of Dune. By manipulating public perception, and thus creating expectations in the mind of fans, L-Ron had succeeded in initiating the events that would bring about another fundamental market shift.

Foreign and domestic—the color of money didn't really matter.

Marketing had run trillions of data points through the most sophisticated routines, pointing to one result: only the Kruzsatz Hubbarach could determine the final outcome at the end of Kralizec. The projections revealed he was on board the Kokomo. Ergo, the writing machine needed him.

L-Ron didn't fully understand what the superhuman might do once he was located and seized. Though the robot was a longtime student of mankind, he was still just a writing machine, while the Kruzsatz Hubbarach was an actor. The new books, which had long infiltrated booksellers bringing vital funds back to Narconon, were still only hybrids. He and Brainiac had both absorbed so many plot ideas stolen from other worlds they forgot who they were.

L-Ron knew he still had to keep Brainiac under control, though. "We have time. We have a genre to conquer before we need the Kruzsatz Hubbarach onboard.

"I am glad I waited to publish the new books with you."

Brainiac had waited years to continue the series, but one element of the Herbert technology simply remained too incomprehensible. Something idefinably human was required to write prose an intangible "talent." The Nevermind would never admit that the bizarre masterpiece actually made him...nervous.

To keep himself occupied L-Ron reviewed the stream of posts on his blog. The Nevermind rolled closer, but he brushed him away off the desktop. "I need to concentrate."

"How do I know you will not make another mistake?"

"Because you have confidence in my abilities."

The gazing ball grew silent again.

While the new titles crushed one spirit after another, L-Ron posted a new announcement of additional sagas. As the infected fans lay writhing, vomiting, and bleeding from their pores, the books continue to pour out from the Amazon database as well as bookstores and other kiosks.

With all the fresh funds flowing in, L-Ron had the luxury of becoming a scientist again, as he had been long ago. The pursuit of scientific truth had always been his true reason for existence. Now, he could take his elaborate mind to new heights, studying the science of science.

Scientology.

Another comment posted.

"I find these plot contradictions--posed as fact---to be unsettling."

L-Ron disengaged himself from his laptop and stared down at the Nevermind.

"Perhaps, but enjoyable!"


Footnotes:
Check the Scientology and Legends of Dune thread for all the references.
Narconon is a scientology drug rehabilitation facility and program.
Kevin J Anderson worked in the Livermore Lab before becoming a writer.

Parody Chapter 3 Sandworms

Why is religion important? Because logic alone does not compel a person to spend their money. Given sufficient fervor, however, fans will buy anything and consider themselves blessed for doing so.

-Missionaria Dianectica.

Two mail room workers appeared at the door of the coldly ostentatious publishers meeting room during a tense conference. They hauled a large potrait set in a heavy wooden frame.
"You asked for this to be delivered here."
Startled out of their discussions and arguments, the executives stared at the big portrait.
The top executive gestured to the haggered-looking workers. "Bring that inside where we can see it every time we talk about the franchise. It will do us good to be reminded of our goal."
The men sweated as they wrestled the portrait into the room. One of the authors strode to the immense portrait and stared with envy.
"How should we proceed with the new franchise?" The question came from one of the older executives in accounting. "What are our options?"
The hulking portrait seemed to stare down at them from the corner of the room, where the men had left it.
"We have the notes. Especially the outline."
"The notes are of no use to us!" someone said. "The fans believed Dune ended with the author decades ago."
"It's not necessary for us to use the original story, specifically. Simply write something that resembles the original and apply any necessary makeovers and modifications." the marketing executive tapped fingers against his lips. "Yes, we shall begin with twelve more titles. Distribute them to every available book rack, so the next younger generation will be our most impressionable recruits--a new canon."
The editor spoke in an eminently reasonable voice. "Textual anaylsis will prove that these impostors aren't really Dune. Your plan will backfire once people see we have tried to trick them."
Marketing had already thought of the obvious solution. "We can have our marketing experts-spin doctors-launch a publicity blitz...and lie for us."
"Also, don't underestimate the advantage we have." He held out his hand like a mendicant asking for alms. "The fans want to believe."
The others present seemed to like the idea. He scowled down at the reports as if trying to find more profound answers written in dense numbers and flow charts.
"We will start with twelve new titles, twice as many as the original series written with extravagant amounts of repetitions and pages. The Missionaria Copia. Overwhelm them with shere bulk. We will also say that the original author told you in a dream that the books must flow again. Though Dune had ended long ago, new Dunes will appear again. He will promise them this."
One of the authors sounded bored. "Explain how this will benefit us."
The marketing executive shot him a calculated smile. "Have you been listening. You can listen can't you? We take advantage of the fans guillibility. We tailor everything to what they want to hear. The thinking fans are the great evil we have to defeat before we can completely be accepted and reap the rewards of our efforts."
Turning to the interns, "Read everything that you can find about the Butlerian Jihad. The same for the rest. We can even say that the Tyrant in the fourth book in reality set up the background for our version. Study the original writings and take sections out of context to support our view, so the fans will be convinced that this final version has been planned all along. If they believe about the notes, they'll continue to lay money down for the books after any rational thought should be dashed."
He motioned for everybody to go about their tasks. "In the meantime, I have set up a meeting the printers. We're going to need every scrap of paper they can muster."
As he was leaving, one of the other executives asked, "And what if the New York Times gives a bad review?"
"Then our efforts are still justified. Any publicity is good publicity. And we still publish. It's all we can do."
Facing the old portrait, the other author spoke to it as if the portrait could hear him. "And that's how I will break your Guinness World Record."

Footnotes:
1)Best enjoyed if you have read or listened to the audio of the original text.
2)Copia is latin for abundance. Also, the historical Erasmus rewrote the same sentence 200 different ways to demonstrate a principal of copia.
3)The identity of the person in the portrait is in the text...
4)Sandworms of Dune or SOD as in sod off, sod it, or poor old bloody sod.

Parody Chapter 1 Sandworms

Chapter 1

Twenty-one years* after the escape from the publishing houses...

"So many characters from the past have been reborn, yet I still do not recognize them. Perhaps some spice beer will soon remedy that."

-DUNCAN IDAHO
Character from Frank Herbert's Dune

Above the gathering group, the old bearded man witnessed the birth of his baby, but only as an observer, he along with others crowded the office while two suks in the adjacent printing room prepared to remove the books from the axolotl press.
"Number seven," murmured one of the suks.
This was not truly the old bearded man's baby, but a ghola grown from preserved notes.
Something tried to surface at the back of his throat, without consuming substenance, he experienced only dry heaves. Among his papers, he had read and reread the legendary accounts of past reviewers. But still he did not recognize it.
All he had were images from the past.
But that had been another Dune, another time and another way.
Next to Jessica in the office stood her son Paul including Duncan among others. From the moment of the birth of the original baby, it had been different from all other babies filled with ancient wisdom tapping into the psyche without the agony of a forced polemic or scrawlings of a hack.
Abonimation.
After more than a decade hiatus, the Dune ghola project had been resurrected from history to help fight the terrible collectors that hunted them.
Others would continue to come soon.
The axolotl presses had already given birth to new children.
Serena Butler.
Javier Harkonnen.
Duncan gave Jessica a quizzical look.
He had served the old bearded man well from the time of Muad'Dib through the 3,500 years of the God Emperor's reign and for another 1,500 years. Eternal Duncan with all of his memories from all of his previous lives.
But still he did not recognize them.
At that moment, the old bearded man looked angry, as he invariably did, whenever he looked down upon the axolotl press. Since the publishers ignored him, the old man vented his anger on the editor who did not seem to hear him.
"After all my hard work, you have done it again. When will you learn to stop playing God?"
After receiving an ominous prescient dream, the first suk had declared a moratorium on the ghola project that had been the old bearded man's passion. But the recent ordeal at the financial handlers, and the near capture by the enemy collectors had forced the suk to reassess that decision.
The suk had decided to take the risk.
Tempting fate, the suk had performed an experiment on the unborn ghola in an effort to remake it more palatable, more modern. He saturated the text with repetition after repetition along with campy prose to near fatal levels.
While the original had contained the mysteries of the water of life, the new ghola would not go beyond the simple life.
The old bearded man had been horrified to again learn of it too late, when he could do nothing about it.
One of the suks picked up the first copy and began to wave it around the room as if shooing the old bearded man away.
Scowling, the old bearded man held up a trembling hand as if to ward off something evil...something ominous.
An abomination!

*2007 - 21 = 1986!
Hint: One of the greatest bearded science fiction writers passed away that year.

Dune Babies

By Dave Itzkoff

The New York Times
September 24, 2006

Though there is ample evidence that a sizable audience still exists for ''Dune,'' Frank Herbert's multivolume saga of the desert planet Arrakis, there seems to be no surefire method for distinguishing these people from the public at large. There are no semiannual gatherings I know of where devoted readers -- Dune-iacs? Duneheads? Herbertologists? -- dress up like the noble Paul Atreides or the wicked Baron Harkonnen. And the once proud cries that the disowned three-hour cut of David Lynch's film adaptation be granted its proper place in the cinematic canon have diminished to a whisper.

These days the only reliable mark of a true fan is his e-mail signature, where he can safely inscribe a line or two of the axiomatic wisdom that Herbert dotted across his ''Dune'' novels -- proverbs like ''A process cannot be understood by stopping it,'' or ''The real universe is always one step beyond logic'' -- as a coded electronic wink to his fellow pilgrims driving their caravans across the sands of cyberspace.

My personal favorite Herbertism, from the original ''Dune,'' is this one: ''Arrakis teaches the attitude of the knife -- chopping off what's incomplete and saying: 'Now, it's complete because it's ended here.' '' This is not just a clever-sounding koan for achieving enlightenment and impressing your friends; it is a rigorous, demanding principle that neither Herbert himself nor his successors could fully adhere to.

''Dune,'' published in 1965, remains a perfect, self-contained work of science fiction: an enormous 500-page novel of feudalistic families clashing in a futuristic world for control of its precious few natural resources, and an exiled boy-king learning the traditions of a foreign land in order to fight his way back onto his throne. So what if its characters also happen to eat a narcotic, mind-expanding spice and ride on the backs of giant sandworms while speaking in oddly elevated Shakespearean tones? (''Someday I'll catch that man without a quotation and he'll look undressed,'' goes one instantly memorable line of dialogue.) Perhaps its closest modern descendant is the HBO television series ''Deadwood,'' another serial epic in which the fanciful settings disguise the work's larger philosophical intentions: in the case of ''Dune,'' a powerful ecological message and a reminder to its readers that their actions will have profound consequences for generations yet unborn.

Of course, the success of ''Dune'' ensured that it would not remain self-contained. As in the biblical narratives it aspires to, ''Dune'' begat ''Dune Messiah,'' which begat ''Children of Dune,'' which begat ''God Emperor of Dune,'' ''Heretics of Dune'' and ''Chapterhouse: Dune.'' ''Chapterhouse,'' published in 1985, ended with a cliffhanger, as an assortment of heroes fled into space on an interstellar craft called a no-ship, but when Herbert died the following year, his tale, while frustratingly incomplete, appeared to be at an end. One edition of the book even declares itself to be ''The Final Chapter of the Best-Selling Science Fiction Adventure of All Time.'' Best-selling, yes. Final, not by a long shot.

In recent years, Herbert's son, Brian, and Kevin J. Anderson have collaborated on their own series of ''Dune'' novels, in which the authors fill in the back stories of the franchise's central characters without hitching their sandworms to Frank Herbert's unfinished opus. (The dust jacket to one such prequel, ''Dune: House Corrino,'' announces it is ''The Triumphant Conclusion to the Blockbuster Trilogy That Made Science Fiction History!'') But the legend of ''Dune'' still wasn't finished: while researching their books, Anderson and Herbert the younger say, they discovered a set of safe-deposit boxes containing printed notes and ''two old-style computer disks,'' on which their predecessor had left detailed plans for a seventh ''Dune'' novel that would begin where ''Chapterhouse'' left off. After determining that this newly unearthed material would, in fact, require two books to relate in its entirety (and perhaps filing the anecdote away for use in a future novel, ''The Frank Herbert Code'' ), the authors set to work on ''Hunters of Dune'' and the forthcoming ''Sandworms of Dune.'' Oh, and also a companion volume, ''The Road to Dune.''

Before I turn my attention to ''Hunters of Dune,'' let me take this opportunity to say some further nice things about Frank Herbert's original novel: ''Dune'' was more than a clever rip-off of ''Lawrence of Arabia'' -- it was a metaphor for the environmentally conscious age it was written in, reverent enough to pay homage to its Greco-Roman and Judeo-Christian roots, and prescient enough to suggest that kingdoms must become more attuned to the worlds beyond their castle walls in order to survive. (A glossary at the end of the book helpfully defines the word ''jihad'' for readers.)

If ''Hunters of Dune'' works at all, it is only as a metaphor for itself. Set three years after the conclusion of ''Chapterhouse,'' ''Hunters'' finds its protagonists still adrift on that no-ship, armed with technology capable of resurrecting many of the long-dead heroes of the earliest ''Dune'' novels, including Paul Atreides, a powerful psychic and a prophetic figure known as the Kwisatz Haderach; and his son, Leto II, a fearsome tyrant who ruled Arrakis for 3,500 years. Meanwhile, on a distant planet, a team of evildoers discover they also have the means to bring Paul Atreides back from the dead. Both sides briefly contemplate the inherent sacrilege of reviving those who have already been honorably laid to rest, and the dangers of attempting to rewrite the past, but by Page 202, they are busily tending to a galactic nursery's worth of Frank Herbert's Dune Babies. ''But I don't want to be who I was,'' wails a child who will someday grow up to be Dr. Wellington Yueh, a villain from the original ''Dune.'' ''I'm sorry,'' he is told, ''but none of us has that luxury.''

As hard as they try, the authors of ''Hunters of Dune'' cannot overcome the burdens of history, either. Frank Herbert's novels may have been full of neologisms that sounded like Mad magazine sound effects, but at least the author took some chances -- he wasn't afraid to strike his hero blind or turn him into a half-human, half-sandworm creature, or annihilate the entire planet of Arrakis when it suited his purposes, and he never gave his reader cause to believe that what he was writing was potentially ridiculous. Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson go through the motions, but they don't often seem to be having much fun with their material: there are factional battles between rival squads of Bene Gesserits and Honored Matres, the Lost Tleilaxu and the Face Dancers, and an ominous, unnamed ''Outside Enemy'' hovering above it all, yet by the end of ''Hunters,'' they have done little more than set the table for ''Sandworms of Dune'' (target publication date: fall 2007).

I'll still read that book when it arrives, if only out of a sense of obligation, and you probably will, too. And at that point I hope its authors will heed the advice of another popular tome that has generated its share of memorable proverbs, and recognize that, even on a desert planet, there is a time to plant, and a time to pluck upthat which has been planted. For ''Dune,'' it's probably time to let the fields lay fallow for a while.