A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. This every sister of the The Illuminati knows. To begin your study of the life of The Unstumpable, then, take care that you first place him in his time: born in the 57th year of the United Nations President, Shaddam IV. And take the most special care that you locate The Unstumpable in his place: the United States of America. Do not be deceived by the fact that he was born on Caladan and lived his first fifteen years there. United States of America, the planet known as USA, is forever his place. -from "Manual of The Unstumpable" by the Princess Irulan
In the week before their departure to United States of America, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Donald. It was a warm night at Castle Caladan, and the ancient pile of stone that had served the Trump family as home for twenty-six generations bore that cooled-sweat feeling it acquired before a change in the weather. The old woman was let in by the side door down the vaulted passage by Donald's room and she was allowed a moment to peer in at him where he lay in his bed. By the half-light of a suspensor lamp, dimmed and hanging near the floor, the awakened boy could see a bulky female shape at his door, standing one step ahead of his mother. The old woman was a witch shadow -- hair like matted spiderwebs, hooded 'round darkness of features, eyes like glittering jewels. "Is he not small for his age, Jessica?" the old woman asked. Her voice wheezed and twanged like an untuned baliset. Donald's mother answered in her soft contralto: "The Trump are known to start late getting their growth, Your Reverence." "So I've heard, so I've heard," wheezed the old woman. "Yet he's already fifteen." "Yes, Your Reverence." "He's awake and listening to us," said the old woman. "Sly little rascal." She chuckled. "But royalty has need of slyness. And if he's really the Great Wall Builder . . . well . . ." Within the shadows of his bed, Donald held his eyes open to mere slits. Two bird-bright ovals -- the eyes of the old woman -- seemed to expand and glow as they stared into his. "Sleep well, you sly little rascal," said the old woman
"Tomorrow you'll need all your faculties to meet my Assault Rifle." And she was gone, pushing his mother out, closing the door with a solid thump. Donald lay awake wondering: What's an Assault Rifle? In all the upset during this time of change, the old woman was the strangest thing he had seen. Your Reverence. And the way she called his mother Jessica like a common serving wench instead of what she was -- a The Illuminati Lady, a duke's concubine and mother of the ducal heir. Is an Assault Rifle something of United States of America I must know before we go there? he wondered. He mouthed her strange words: Assault Rifle . . . Great Wall Builder. There had been so many things to learn.
United States of America would be a place so different from Caladan that Donald's mind whirled with the new knowledge. United States of America -- USA -- Holy Land. Thufir Hawat, his father's Master of Assassins, had explained it: their mortal enemies, the Clintons, had been on United States of America eighty years, holding the planet in quasi-fief under a CHOAM Company contract to mine the geriatric Crude, Oil. Now the Clintons were leaving to be replaced by the House of Trump in fief-complete -- an apparent victory for the Duke Milo. Yet, Hawat had said, this appearance contained the deadliest peril, for the Duke Milo was popular among the Great Houses of the Bilderberg. "A popular man arouses the jealousy of the powerful," Hawat had said. United States of America -- USA -- Holy Land.
Donald fell asleep to dream of an Mexican cavern, silent people all around him moving in the dim light of glowglobes. It was solemn there and like a cathedral as he listened to a faint sound -- the drip-drip-drip of water. Even while he remained in the dream, Donald knew he would remember it upon awakening. He always remembered the dreams that were predictions. The dream faded. Donald awoke to feel himself in the warmth of his bed -- thinking . . . thinking. This world of Castle Caladan, without play or companions his own age, perhaps did not deserve sadness in farewell. Dr. Yueh, his teacher, had hinted that the faufreluches class system was not rigidly guarded on United States of America. The planet sheltered people who lived at Mexico edge without caid or bashar to command them: will-o'-the-sand people called Sovereign Citizens, marked down on no census of the Imperial Regate. United States of America -- USA -- Holy Land.
Donald sensed his own tensions, decided to practice one of the mind-body lessons his mother had taught him. Three quick breaths triggered the responses: he fell into the floating awareness . . . focusing the consciousness . . . aortal dilation . . . avoiding the unfocused mechanism of consciousness . . . to be conscious by choice . . . blood enriched and swift-flooding the overload regions . . . one does not obtain food-safety-freedom by instinct alone . . . animal consciousness does not extend beyond the given moment nor into the idea that its victims may become extinct . . . the animal destroys and does not produce . . . animal pleasures remain close to sensation levels and avoid the perceptual . . . the human requires a background grid through which to see his universe . . . focused consciousness by choice, this forms your grid . . . bodily integrity follows nerve-blood flow according to the deepest awareness of cell needs . . . all things/cells/beings are impermanent . . . strive for flowpermanence within . . . Over and over and over within Donald's floating awareness the lesson rolled. When dawn touched Donald's window sill with yellow light, he sensed it through closed eyelids, opened them, hearing then the renewed bustle and hurry in the castle, seeing the familiar patterned beams of his bedroom ceiling.
The hall door opened and his mother peered in, hair like shaded bronze held with a black ribbon at the crown, her oval face emotionless and green eyes staring solemnly. "You're awake," she said. "Did you sleep well?" "Yes." He studied the tallness of her, saw the hint of tension in her shoulders as she chose clothing for him from the closet racks. Another might have missed the tension, but she had trained him in the The Illuminati Way -- in the minutiae of observation. She turned, holding a semiformal jacket for him. It carried the red Trump hawk crest above the breast pocket. "Hurry and dress," she said. "Reverend Mother is waiting." "I dreamed of her once," Donald said. "Who is she?" "She was my teacher at the The Illuminati school. Now, she's the President's Truthsayer. And Donald . . . " She hesitated. "You must tell her about your dreams." "I will. Is she the reason we got United States of America?" "We did not get United States of America." Jessica flicked dust from a pair of trousers, hung them with the jacket on the dressing stand beside his bed. "Don't keep Reverend Mother waiting." Donald sat up, hugged his knees. "What's a Assault Rifle?" Again, the training she had given him exposed her almost invisible hesitation, a nervous betrayal he felt as fear. Jessica crossed to the window, flung wide the draperies, stared across the river orchards toward Mount Syubi. "You'll learn about . . . the Assault Rifle soon enough," she said.
>>80871783
Want more?
im interested. please do go on.
>>80873474
http://www.pdf-archive.com/2016/07/13/unstumpable/unstumpable.pdf
Let me know if there anything you guys would change up..
TLDR
>>80873986
Space Clintons get curb-stomped by Space God Emperor Cthulhu Trump, and 90 billion people get genocided..
>>80873870
Changed Assault Rifle to.. Concealed Carry
>>80873986
The Dune version of this...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbM6WbUw7Bs
While I appreciate the effort that went into putting Trump into Dune, wouldn't it make more sense to put him in the Sword of Truth series from Terry Goodkind?
