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Goodkind XLVIII


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Ahh, the sweat, sweat sound of someone being flayed alive. I know ill sleep better.

Maybe the next portion of this thread should be ----


-Killing all peace protesters

-Feeding a man his testies

- Torture is FUN

-where else can this go?

Killing children because they are brainwashed

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I don't think I can honestly finish Wizard's First Rule. I know what bad literature is like, I've read Battlefield: Earth, I BBQ'd my copy when I was finished.

This is worse than Battlefield Earth. Battlefield Earth may be badly written, have paper-thin charecterisations and an army of cave-men able to fly 1000 year old fighter jets after a week-end of basic training. It might be written by the man who created Scientology. But dammit, he can actually write. Just very, very badly.

Richard and Klan have met Old John and this novel drags more than most things I've ever read. They have no characters, at best, Kahlan has more of a charecter because she's torn between her heart, her power and her duty. Richard alternates between being a complete jerk and a 'aw shucks' good ol' farmboy.' Well, I say alternate, he's just a jerk. How did he become such a moralising cock in so short a time?

Sigh, give me Elric any-day.

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It's funny how so much better the TV show was. I only was ever able to see like three episodes of it, but Richard and Kahlan seemed like genuinely decent people and there was actually suspense since none of the three main characters were invincible. It was still a cliche-ridden copy of Xena, but you could tell that there were competent writers involved at some stage of the creative process.

Wow...umm, no. That might have been the worst written show in a long, long time. There were some lines in that show that were absolutely hilarious.

Richard wasn't a nazi though, so that made it better than the books. It had decent fight scenes.

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Listen, I've heard you pricks bitching and moaning. You all wanna know when my epic concept non-album will be complete. You say stuff like I "owe" you an ending. Well fuck you. I will not be rushed! Prince L. Myshkin is not your bitch! It wil be done when it's done, and not a second sooner. It's done. Comrades I give you the epic conclusion to:

Dicky Truthdust and the Confessors From Mars

A Myshkin Joint

Track 8: Hang on to the Truth

"Shut your whore mouth." Dicky screamed.

Cara flinched back from his righteous rage, "But Dicky all I'm saying is that we don't even know if the Truthman exists. How are we gonna reveal him at our concert if he doesn't exist? And besides, we're not really all that good a band."

"And all I'm saying is shut your whore mouth." Dicky took a calming breath and uncoiled his rage a little, "Listen Cara, I'm gonna explain something to you. Here's the deal; we really got a good thing going. I mean people worship me. Chicks show me their boobs whenever I ask. And it's all 'cause of the Truthman. You sit here and bitch about the little details, like if he exists or not, but I'm looking at the big picture, the electric dream of a new world. The Truthman can make that dream real, all we got to do is hang on to the Truth. So we're gonna play this concert, and we're gonna blow some minds. I know you girls can't dance, but when you get on that stage I want you to move like tigers on vaseline. Play your stolen guitars, and shut the fuck up! Just hang on to the Truth."

Track 9: Dicky Truthdust

Dicky played guitar, jamming good with Cara and Berdine, and The Confessors From Mars. He played it left handed, but it wasn't very good. But then it wasn't very good when he played it right handed either.

Dicky ripped out a face melting solo, smashed his guitar, and said, "Take five babes, I gotta drop a dump off at the pool."

"He's taking this all too far." Cara said to Berdine once Dicky was gone.

"I Know, but what are we gonna do about it? He's the special man, and we're just Dicky's band. And have you seen that screwed up look in his eyes? And that weird hairdo? I'm not about to say anything to him."

"Besides," Other Chick chimed in, "I don't want to screw things up with him, he's the best lay I've ever had. He's so well hung, and that snow white tan makes my boobs tingle."

"He does have a god given ass." Cara agreed, and all the Confessors giggled at that.

"But," Cara continued, "his fans are terrible. They're all sleazy and crass, and they can't even stand up and live their own lives."

"Maybe we should crush his sweet hands," Berdine said, "That way he wouldn't be able to put on this concert, and we could nurse him back to health and stuff."

"No," Cara said, "If we did that head tear out our spines. We'd be better off just killing the man, or breaking up the band. But we won't do any off that, because we're just silly women, complaining in our womanly way. Dicky knows best. I just hope he stops fucking his ego soon, or he might just suck up into his own mind."

"What are you voodoo whores jibber-jabbering about?" Dicky asked from the door.

"Nothing." the Confessors squealed in unison.

Track 10: Suffragette City

"Who gave these bitches the right to vote?"

Track 11: Truth 'n' Roll Suicide

Dicky Truthdust stood on stage in the greatest city on earth, Omaha. Literally billions of people stood in the crowd, waiting for him to play.

"And now ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice shouted over the speakers, "the man you all came here to see, the Thin White Dick himself, Dicky Truthdust!"

Dicky pierced the crowd with his raptor-like gaze and started to play:

Truth takes a cigarette, and puts it in your mouth

You pull on a booby, then another booby, then your cigarette

The Truth-to-Truth is calling, it lingers, then you forget

Oh, you're a Truth 'n' roll suicide

The crowd was behaving strangely. No one was flashing their tits or reaching for Dicky's raging thing. Instead they were muttering amongst themselves, and the mood was getting darker.

Gar wings are flapping as you stumble across the road

But the Truth breaks instead so you hurry home

Don't let your boobs hide in the shadow

Don't let my man-parts blow your mind

They're all natural - one of a kind

"Where's the Truthman you son of a bitch?" someone in the crowd suddenly screamed.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dicky screamed back, "You're ruining my song!"

But the crowd was too far gone to shut the fuck up, and Dicky's order only incensed them further. With incoherent screams of righteous rage several billion people stormed the stage armed only with their hatred for moral clarity. Dicky was pulled down by a fat chick, and he was pretty grossed out by it. But before he could lash out at the fatty a tiny booted foot flashed into his field of vision. His eyes followed the foot up the leg, past the waist, over the curiously non-existent boobies, and to the face of an 8 year old girl. A squeal of primal fear escaped his mouth, and then the world exploded. He could feel his jaw shatter like a crystal goblet on a stone floor when the girl's boot came up under it. The impact of the blow lifted Dicky in the air. His own teeth severed his tongue before they, too, were shattered. He landed on his back, a good distance away, trying to scream through the gushing blood. He looked back at the horrible child. She squeezed her eyes shut, and stuck out her tongue as far as she could. It was the last thing Dicky Truthdust would ever see.

That night a crowd of nine billion people tore the world's greatest rock star, and living sex god, limb from limb. At the sight of it the Confessors laughed, Bowie laughed, then all the guys started to laugh. Dicky Truthdust had raged bright, and burnt out quickly.



There see, that was awesome. If you wish to thank me I take cash, or checks made out to cash. I also highly recommend that you listen to the album this parody is based on. If you don't have it, buy it. If you don't want to buy it, steal it. I don't really give a shit.

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Wow...umm, no. That might have been the worst written show in a long, long time. There were some lines in that show that were absolutely hilarious.

Richard wasn't a nazi though, so that made it better than the books. It had decent fight scenes.

I don't agree. The dialogue was terrible, but I could actually follow the plot of the show and the characters were fairly consistent. It relied heavily on cliches, which is bad, but much better than coming up with something original that sucks. My standards of television are fairly low though; I remember hearing about a sitcom about Hitler living in an American suburb.

Triskele --

Honestly, did the books look like they had been read at all? Were any pages dog-eared, things like that? If the books were unknowingly brought past the threshold of the home, then their eldritch power is diminished. It's quite possible that the owner was simply browsing and just picked them up, and when s/he got home realized what they were and left them lying around. I would still recommend sanctifying that spot with a copy of a better book, like A Game of Thrones, The Lies of Locke Lamora, or even Brisingr. Okay, maybe not Locke Lamora. As long as the books weren't brought deeper into the house, their taint shouldn't be too hard to exorcise. I would recommend getting a forensic priestess to examine it.

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Did you see any Ayn Rand books? That's when the alarm bells should really go off. I know several people who still think Goodkind is supposed to be parody. It's the people who actually buy into his bullshit that are scary.

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The politics espoused in the books always struck me as more authoritarian (with shades of totalitarian) than actually libertarian. Richard Rahl's Empire is the epitome of Big Government fascism; he and Kahlan not only tell their slaves/subjects what to do but even dictate to them what they should think and feel. Rahl even has a harem women whose soul function is to worship him; classic cult of personality trappings and eerily reminiscent of Moammar Qaddafi. Under a system like that, you can make any decision you want as long as it aligns with the government's wishes. I don't know if Goodkind is personally a liberal or a libertarian, but the philosophy of his books puts his protagonists firmly in the same camp as Darken Rahl and Emperor Jagang.

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Trisky, you must outfit the room in the symbols of Communism and Catholicism. Posters of Che are a good start. A Soviet flag would be great too. I recommend a crucifix (not a cross, it has to have the little man on it), and maybe a poster of JPII. Also, you should probably take up drinking vodka and smoking Cuban cigars.

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