Just a heads up: I’ve been amped up all week about watching this Game of Thrones, so let’s keep the chatter down, okay, guys? Just this once, let’s not talk over the entire episode.
Got that, Steve?
Personally, I don’t think showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss wrote this dialogue-heavy, thematically dense episode of golden-era dramatic fantasy television as a companion piece to your small talk about Steve’s pending divorce. No, they wrote it intending for us, the audience, to hang on an fully absorb every softly spoken, mildly accented word. So, how about we try to watch the way it’s intended to be watched?
I understand it’s a complex show filled with a rotating cast of characters and locations, but let’s not just blurt out questions, guys. If you don’t know a minor detail, it won’t ruin the show. “What’s that bald eunuch’s name again?” “Where is Arya’s current plotline happening?” “Steve, where have you been staying since Brenda asked for time apart?” These are minor details, unessential to understanding the story. Also, before you ask again: Varys, Braavos and Steve pays off the cleaning staff so he can sleep on the couch in his break room after everyone leaves for the night.
Know that if you ask, “Wait, what’d Littlefinger just say?” because you were too busy chit-chatting about how Steve and Brenda’s staycation in Pompano Beach only further strained their relationship, know the answer will be, “Sounds like he said ‘Shut the fuck up, Steve, obviously she didn’t want to stay at the Doubletree.’”
Honestly, if I had my way, Steve, you wouldn’t even be allowed to watch with this show with us anymore. Go ahead and yammer through The Leftovers, I can’t understand that metaphorical bullshit. But when I’m in the Game of Thrones zone, I want to stay there for one full, uninterrupted hour. You’re only here because Christine feels bad for you.
This is all I have, Steve. I don’t come to your divorce proceedings and yammer about the Red Wedding. I don’t sit in your living room while you explain, “how things are changing” to your children and try to divert everyone’s attention to my Jon Snow theories. No. I don’t, because I’m a civilized human being.
George R.R. Martin didn’t create a complex fantasy universe filled with betrayal, scandal, war and love just for you to sob through. How about you save your divorce court stories for brunch, like a normal person, Steve?
Look, I guess what I’m saying is it didn’t take a Walder Frey-esque miscreant to trick you into foregoing that prenuptial agreement, you loud piece of shit. Fuck.
Okay, glad I got that out. We good to start now?
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