Well, this is pretty much it. Eight seasons, 71 episodes, 37 shock character deaths, one demon birthed from a sorceress’s vagen and we are down to the last couple hours of Game Of Thrones.

Still would…

 Then, we’ll finally be on our own.

Every single franchise that we have enjoyed over the last 40 years will have been completely turned out by cowardly creatives with spreadsheets and demo analysis. 

At this point, almost every writer, producer, showrunner and director working in Hollywood today has sold their soul for social media run and woke hot takes.

These guys were going to do a series about The South winning the Civil War. Because we just don’t have enough racially divisive entertainment choices. And then they were given a SW trilogy. Makes sense.

Which brings us to the desiccated corpse of GRR Martin’s “tits and dragons” saga:

  • Who will live? 
  • Who will die?
  • How is this all going to end?
  • What new outrage will be sparked?
  • How quickly will this franchise be forgotten?
  • Is Cobra Kai the next treehouse to be invaded by geldings and toxoplasmosis sufferers?

Just some of the questions that enter my mind on this rainy evening.

One question you might want to ask yourself is:

“When was the last time an episode of Game Of Thrones sparked any joy in my life?”

It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?

Sound off below.

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