by DICK CHENEY
A matinee idol can emerge from almost anywhere. His charismatic energy infiltrates every aspect of a scene; his raw sexual charisma pervades each moment. The more that he explains how it is best to take the kidney from the cow when it is very young, the more an elongated shudder of pleasure makes its way through my entire body, stopping at the tip of my penis, what the French call a pènis.
Oh Hot Pie, you returned to me you swarthy little devil, you culinary genius, you measure of a male chef!
One of writing's greatest clichés is to have people arguing over what exactly they should call each other. There was famously a Jesse Stone novel where the only dialogue consisted of people calling the main character Mr. Stone, and him correcting them and muttering, "Call me Jesse." There is really nothing in a name, unless the entire point of a name is to explain who someone is because it is too much work to create an actual character.
Often in real life things are named for other than what they are. This is appropriate unless it is done ironically, like when you call your tall, slim drug dealer Shorty. Don't do that - nickname him after a civil rights leader or a basketball player as God intended. Nicknames, actually, are just as lazy a form of nomenclature, and Thrones has given up on them almost entirely, refusing to make The Onion Knight happen, or to allow Bran to go by his soporific nickname in the novels: Jewbits.
In real life people don't say each other's names very often, except if they are having wintercourse with Jon Snow in a cave: then it's just a given.
The pace of events in the Eeyrie was accelerated by a scene that did not really seem provident for Littlefinger's plans. I don't really know why the absurdly named fellow permitted Lysa Arryn to view him pressing his lips against her alliterative niece's, but considering the Arryns tend to hang out exclusively around the Moon Door, that bit of murder probably could have been accomplished at any time.
An appropriate twist would have had one of the Targaryen dragons swooping in to save her. Daenerys and Lysa could then consummate a turgid romance based on how both of their husbands were poisoned. Twinsies.
At least everyone is Mereen is a grown-up. The Hound's pathetic whining about how sadsies his brother made him when he tossed the man into a fire really got on my last nerve, a nerve I had believed destroyed when Lynne informed me that Topanga was not, nor had ever been, a first-rate lesbian.
The Hound knows all about acting like something you are not. What kind of self-proclaimed tough guy sobs about a bite wound? Arya's transformation into a cold-blooded killer is just as unlikely. I mean, we all need to kick back, squeeze our direwolf Nymeria, and ponder why our father was such a naive idiot from time to time. Boy, the Lannisters are fucking terrible at killing Ned Stark's children, aren't they?
In King's Landing, Tyrion's sulks have finally started to get to me. This guy has more visitors than Suge Knight. The man who once had a whole city doing his bidding as Hand of the King now has to lazily ask all his friends to fight to the death for him. How about a little self-awareness, buddy? Just nominate Cersei as your champion, two birds with one stone.
Benioff & co seem to have taken some of the prudes complaining about the show's excess nudity to heart. They somehow zipped right past an important scene where a recast Daario Naharis made the Queen of Dragons feel like a vibrant young snapchattress again. The old Daario had a sort of clean-shaven creepy thing going on - he even shaved his arms and scrotum for his Queen, which struck me as a courteous touch. The new Daario looks like someone who might approach your girlfriend at a brunch in Williamsburg and tell her that he loves anything that smells like radishes and shoot her a significant look.
Since we never actually see Daario disrobe and place himself into the Queen, I guess what actually occurs is open to interpretation. I imagine the following circumstances:
Daario leaned over Daenerys. "What are your thoughts on gay marriage?" she whispered to him as her rogue scent infiltrated his nostrils.
"I don't know if I really recognize marriage as a vital concept," he whispered back, rubbing himself against her thigh with slow, meaningful scrapes. "I mean, is God married?"
"God's not like an actual person," she said. "What are you saying?" She put the tip of her pinkie finger on the space under his pènis and wiggled it back and forth, muttering, "Moonwalk," as she did so.
"I know he's not an actual person," the sellsword said. "I just mean, if marriage was so important to him, he probably would have implied it was something he had done." He put her right nipple in his mouth and blew bubbles like you would on a baby's stomach. He hummed the chorus of a Phantogram song and Daenerys groaned.
Daario repeated "Is this okay?" six or seven times while entering his Queen. Eventually she put her hand over his mouth and instructed him to rub her clit and stfu. His thrusts began to increase in intensity and depth, until he slowed for a bit and asked, "Do you want me to do to you what Brad did to Angelina?"
She looked at him a bit warily. "Go ahead," she decided.
He pulled himself out of her vagina and made a quick phone call. When he turned back to her, his pènis (PUH-NIS) was soft and dripping come. He wiped it off with an Emily Books t-shirt and said, "OK. My agent cast you in a Disney movie. You're welcome."
"Beauty Leads the Way" - Jeremy Casella (mp3)
"The City of the Lord" - Jeremy Casella (mp3