Game of Dwarf

Game of Thrones (hereafter Game of Dwarf or just Dwarf, in honour of the only reason to see the show) is about as banal as the prose in the novels which spawned it. Though I continue to watch (for the dwarf, of course), I don't care about the vast majority of the characters, fights, or intrigues on screen. They tend to be as joyless as the sex-as-penetration-only to which we are regularly treated in Dwarf, which seems to hold a world with perhaps five people who are even aware of the possibility of foreplay.

Though much of this is likely the fault of the ham-handed George R. R. Martin, I do not blame him. What more can be expected from a formerly illiterate pirate? You may think I'm just making this up, but how else would you explain the prominent 'R's in his name; his poor understanding of strategy and better grasp of tactics; his tepid and repetitious prose juxtaposed with his crisp banter; his largely transactional (or rapey) and generally uncomprehending view of sex; his interest in a retired, repurposed pirate learning to read; or the fact that the coolest character in his series is a pirate?

Considering his past, I'd say he's done pretty well with Game of Dwarf. But surely we can do better than sticking with the writing of a once illiterate robber who knows more about knots and waves than words or women.

I envision an improved, happier show, where the whole of Westeros suddenly learns there is more to sex than simply slipping it in, and that there is more to life than unimaginative fights and plots. This would be Game of Bones, and it would be both a porno and a literary criticism of putting plot or story above technique, of placing ends (be it getting off or telling a story) above the means, and of forgetting that the little things matter.

That last bit was a pun.