With the announcement of a shorter GoT series, we say, NO. Hands off our laziness, you lazy cretins!
With the recent release of the sixth series of Game of Thrones, the hands who birthed it had some appalling news. Messrs Weiss and Benioff will be pushing for shorter seasons for the remainder.
Where the standard GoT format was ten episodes, the final two seasons will now feature seven and six respectively. And for that, we pop a middle finger Westward.
Why? We’re the ones running the risk. We risk sinking into a depressive, catatonic hole, we risk bankrupting ourselves paying for the utilities, and we run the risk of a lifetime behind bars, peddling ourselves in the yard for cigarettes to ease the pain. It’s us.
Look, I understand. I get the creative process. Filmmaking is a draining skill to master, and to continue to master. I know—I’ve failed at it. But, you cretins, this no longer belongs to you, you’re toying with the faith of fifty million people.
How dare your laziness interfere with ours.
On the surface, it’s a mere three episodes. But the real difference between seven and ten is colossal. That’s a minimum of three hours of escapism lost. And it’s not casual Saturday night pleasures-of-the-flesh escapism, nor is it talking-to-Mommy escapism. We’re emotionally involved. For that brief slice of life’s time pie, we’re no longer numb. We feel.
And hey, creator guys. In making this decision, did you spare a thought for those poor, huddled masses? Those who don a blanket for clothes, bitterly cocooned on a faux-leather sectional in the wee hours, who are fighting against sleep or responsibilities or common sense to make the selfish commitment of “one more episode?”
What of their little faces dropping when they realize there won’t be another one? That those dreams are the stuff of pipes and that rising hope is just bulldust? What then? Reality?
You didn’t, did you? Why are you cheating on us? Why not honor the commitment we made to each other when we met? We’re holding up our end of the bargain. We gave you a place to live and we paid for you to be here. You don’t have to do anything. We work, we cook, we clean. All we ask is that you ruin our lives when we ask you to—but do it properly. Oh, what? Now you’re saying you didn’t make any promises? And we never talked about how long we’d be together? We should be lucky to get what we had?!
Why are you doing this? We loved you.
And while you may not care and our complaint may be muted by the din of the registers, know that the tiny voice of doubt is absolute truth.
You’re letting us down.