A Throne Made of Fool's Gold...and Spikes!

I have real serious-as-shit thoughts bouncing around my temporal and frontal lobes. Some might even call these thoughts coherent and relevant, but personally I doubt it. I could always rant about the out-and-out blatant and wanton destabilization of the office of the President of the United States - (POTUS) - by the shmuck-in-chief himself.

OK, fuck the POTUS. Let’s talk Game of Thrones; GOT if you will or is it GOTR? LOTR? GOFY? A show by any other name would certainly smell as….ewwww that smell, can’t you smell that smell; the smell of death surrounds you!

When the series GOT VII is dropped upon us any day now, you think anything will have changed? You think anyone will care? Unh-uh. Oh sure, you’ll get titillated when you know one of the queen bitches fucked the foot soldier, or after the religious zealot du jour finds out and throws her off the cliff. And through all the incest, the rape, the wisecracking-flying dragons, and commoners making babies and queens eating babies, and so on and so forth, there still ain’t no one sitting in that chair. The one they keep reminding you of; the one that looks like a wooden throne with iron spikes. So, they all die in the end, so what? SPOILER ALERT!!! Oh, too late. What, you think I know what I’m talking about? But, I have no trouble tossing some trash at this aging- over-budgeted, over-bloated warthog of a series. Am I angry? Of course, I’m angry. Who wouldn’t be angry if the main star of the series, the person that brought any credibility to this stilted story was, in the first fucking season, beheaded. BEHEADED! What the fuck for? To piss me off? You may as well have ended the series with that cheap, chop-shot.

You’re either a shmuck for continuing to watch at that point or I’m a shmuck for continuing to give a shit. I say, we call it even. No doubt this show is and probably has been sailing off its original course and will continue to tack that way until the end of days. That’s right, someone finished writing the fucking book that kept this fat turd floating all these years and now they’re just making shit up. Not that flying dragons birthed by the reincarnation of twiggy didn’t seem made up, but at least it came from real written material that previously existed. Even if most of GOT rings strikingly familiar to LOTR. Doesn’t anyone give a shit about the closeness; about the sameness? OR have we just given up and we’ll all take a heaping helping of whatever pablum they’ll feed us? There’s big money riding on this pony, people.

Just as surely as this piece is written by a shmuck, the whole production of it is clearly brought about by the art of shmuckery in terms of other shmucks relying on shmucks in the audience sharing the ultimate in shmuck-experience that feels oddly familiar, comfortable, and safe. In the case of GOT, it was some fat guy who gleaned from other sources – LOTR comes to mind – and created a super-thinly-veiled version of work created by the honorable author of the originally-gleaned material.

All who are creators: ye writers, directors, actors and producers and such – all of us – create from an inspiration, often in the form of someone else’s work, and often that is the foundation for the ‘creative’ something that springs forth. That, shmucks, is the inception of the creative process. So, using the very structure and concept of an existing source and referring to it as your own spawn and kicking off the gleaning process in gargantuan proportions by handing off your mutant creature to the money gleaners who figured out the ultimate way to pump the monkey into a thousand points of sound and vision is the real shame of it. In the end, the story of fantasy is less so than the story of how the whole sorry pot of slop got to your tube in the first place. #GOFY.

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