"Klatu barada nikto," he hissed into his wrist phone. "Pruneface - Klatu brada nikto!"
"What the *(@#" muttered Paul. That's three franchises and one product placement in the space of one walk on. Who's writing this shit? What's next, the Ice Pirates taking over the spacing guild's interstellar travel? The Gnomes of Zurich taking over their banks?
"Chani," Paul yelled, his rolls of fat vibrating like a quarter-driven motel bed.
"What?" she yelled back from the kitchen.
"Bring me some Hagen-Dasz, you ungrateful whore!" Like I don't know she's been sleeping with Strange and plotting against me; a plot even my mother doesn't see. I might be fat, but I still have the sight. Dumb and Dumberer.
"Hagen-Dasz was last season, you blind Airbus. We have Ben and Jerrys."
Winded from yelling, Paul caught his breath while his mother recoiled in horror at how much weight he'd gained, even from last year. Can't even fit in the overalls any more. Just wears a tarp, like a stack of lumber sitting outside at Ace Hardware, the place with the helpful hardware man. I bet he hasn't seen his 'kangaroo mouse' in years. Gross.
Paul turned up the flow on his PurAir Oxygen to avoid passing out. Jessica thought about how his nasal plugs used to be attached to his stillsuit, not his oxygen tank. Chani cried to herself, thinking we'll always have Paris.
Paul heard her thoughts. kull wahad indeed! How did Strange get us slipping through so many alternate realities so quickly? Which one will he settle on? Which will be the one in which he finally bests me in hunger games? But, I grow weary. I must sleep, perchance to dream. Of ways to kill that meddling Strange and his mystery van!
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