One of the Fremen calls out to Paul, "Muad'dib!" The sound builds, takes on tremendous power. The weirding module shakes violently and suddenly fires. The wall explodes. Paul thinks: "My name is a killing word."

At the end of the film, Paul kills Feyd-Rautha. Still shaking with rage, he bellows at the body and the stone floor under him cracks open. The Fedaykin gasp. "Usul no longer needs the weirding module," someone says. Paul looks at the Emperor. "Now, I will tell you how it will be..."

"A storm is coming -- our storm. And when it comes it will shake the universe."

"I'd just like to say that even though I try to avoid being a 'joiner' and the whole deliberate-meme-propagation exercise tires me and (as those wacky kids are saying these days) chafes my scrote, I am entirely behind Rageboy 's ' fucknozzle' mission. The Register would rightly claim that RB is just doing some more self-promotion here, but even his blatant, throwaway self-promotion tends to be a hell of a lot of fun, so why not? At least he's back in fine form.

I am all for crude and offensive neologisms. I myself have often blurted such double-take-inducing gems of negativity as ' fucktacular', ' fucknuckle', ' fuckeriffic' and 'fucksicle ' in my always-erudite spoken discourse (to which my erstwhile workmates at OmniHyperGlobalMegaNet.com will gladly attest), and I warmly encourage creative obscenity. If you lean towards the profane anyway, why not have some fun with it, huh?"

"The inspiration of all true art is a blank screen and a bad attitude." There's a lot of attitude going around these days but not enough to change anything. Still, this fast-talking, rule-breaking, opinionated and irreverent writing has the whir and hum of the '60s. How did Christopher Locke achieve the exalted position from which he mercilessly dumps on his readers (fondly called the "Reader Abuse Programme")? "My resume looks like the routing manifest for some displaced person after WWII. I am merely a high-tech migrant worker," specializing in artificial intelligence. Which is not what he was doing at IBM, we later learn. He was, to his great embarrassment, writing P.R.: "I don't mind telling you about the acid, the drinking, the women.... But to admit that I was once in Public Relations ... well, try to imagine how painful this is for me." This is a collection of columns that ran in Locke's very own Web zine, now 6 years old, called Entropy Gradient Reversals, a title that had occurred to him 30 years ago while "deeply immersed in the study of psychotropic particle physics." The best are pure rant: against corporate America, against fascism, against stupidity. Since the present is so rotten, so corrupted, many of the essays are memories of grand old trips on Sandoz pharmaceuticals, pure lysergic acid diethylamide-25. "I woke up angry," Rageboy writes. "I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of being scared. It makes me angry."

Is Daypop blocking "fucknozzle" searches?

For a related story, see Crack P.M. "It helps addicts get 8 hours sleep -- so they stay hooked longer!"

With this seminal work, McEachern and O'Brien join the ranks of Marx, Hayeck and Joe Bob Briggs. From Adam Smith's take on politics as pig racing to the Way-New corporate role of time machines and "inner loserhood," we're finally seeing the kind of literary journalism we would have had long ago if Michael Lewis and Malcolm Gladwell hadn't been so afraid of mind-altering drugs. Ten pages in, I was already getting flashbacks. And not the good kind. You can laugh, but this is the way it really is out there.