Fitbit is a Cruel Master
Yesterday was my birthday for all of you who forgot to send me a present. (I’m looking at all of you). I did get some nice birthday messages on facebook, which were way better than the clever one I got several times “Oh, so you’re turning 29 right? It’s funny, cause we all know you’re actually way older, wink wink!” I hate these people.
Fortunately, I did receive gifts. Like the gift of way too much food making me want to throw up, a comfy pillow, breakfast in bed by Thing Two (2 burned pieces of cinnamon toast, an overflowing cup of chocolate milk, and about 10 pieces of precooked turkey bacon), and finally the gift I gave myself because yea, I am a masochist.
I got a Fitbit.
My new master, Fit Bit
What is a Fitbit? I didn’t know either until recently. I owe it all to David Sedaris, and to blogger Nicki Daniels, who posted his article on Facebook. He wrote an amusing article about this silly little device, a pedometer you wear on your wrist that measures all sorts of crap, like every step you take, every move you make, etc. And then it puts it all into this chart on your computer or phone. On this same site you can also tell it what wretched things you ate (be honest, the scale is evil, and never lies) and find out how many calories you took in and whether that will in any way be offset by the calories you burned (it won’t). On the plus side, I did figure out I burn a certain number of calories by breathing, so there’s that.
Charts! Oooh pretty! And yes, I always walk that much after consuming a few Saltine crackers.
I hesitated getting one, cause it costs 99 bucks (Thing Two saw it and promptly announced that she knew how much it cost from the Target ad. Smart little brat), but then I figured so do bracelets and this one has doohickeys on it and is totally going to make me thin and healthy and crap. Totally worth it. Also, did I mention the pretty charts and graphs? The reviews were all over the board, from this is so wonderful to I lost it the first day cause the clasp sucks. Never fear, there is an answer to this. It’s called a Bitbelt, and it’s this little plastic thingy that holds your band on. There’s nothing to it, and I guess I could have just used a crude rubber band, but this is cute and hey you are helping a business that is not the evil Empire of Amazon where I do most of my shopping, er, I mean that I protest daily.
See my tiny little Bitbelt? It holds on the expensive Fitbit. You should buy one, even if you don’t own a Fitbit. This is totally not an endorsement in hopes of getting more free stuff.
I have to admit, I’m kind of addicted. I walked like mad the first day, cause I really, really wanted it to vibrate. Get your mind out the gutter, it’s on my wrist. Anyway, it’s neat when you meet your goal cause then Fitbit likes you and gives you badges and wants to be your friend. But if you fail, it’s all like that little punk girl on Candy Crush who cries cause you didn’t meet your goal. There isn’t a little girl really, I just imagine it that way.
Alice, you have failed me.
As David points out in his article, this is the perfect device for neurotic, obsessive people who need to lose weight. Bin-go! You found a winner here! Yes, sometimes I lose my obsessions, but I’ll have you know that I still have all my yoga equipment and sometimes I still do poses. Mostly the ones lying down. In bed. But STILL.
Speaking of Yoga, just a while back the creator of YogAlign, whose product I kind of sort of poked fun at, found my blog post and offered to send me her 60 dollar book and DVD for free. WOOT. Seriously, I am most appreciative. It is a pretty impressive book, though I haven’t read it all. I linked to her website if you wanna check it out. She talks about how some of the poses you do in yoga can sort of crush your spine and I’m more than willing to redo those poses (stuff like sit down and touch your toes) cause I hated those poses anyway. Thing Two and I tried out her DVD, but I believe it is for advanced yogis, cause in one move she does this scissor thing where her foot meets her forehead and while that doesn’t compress the spine, I’m not sure how her leg failed to pop off. Thing Two kept yelling “LADY!” through most of the video. But the good news is that she is planning to offer a beginner’s version. Excellent idea.
Michelle Edwards sent this to me to enlighten me. Thanks, Michelle!
THIS lady did not send me her balls. Insert candy crush sad face.
But back to Fitbit. This silly little device really IS making me walk more, and I have hopes that it will help take off these extra pounds because there’s a lot of Diabetes in my family, and I hear that sucks. Also I don’t want to keep buying pants. If only all cake could disappear. I’m pretty sure cake is in cahoots with the scale as both are obviously designed by the Devil who also created Yoga.
But yesterday was my birthday. Fitbit stayed off my wrist. Bound and gagged it could not see all the food I shoveled in my mouth or the number of naps I took. Haha! I showed that tiny electronic device! But tomorrow I will strap it back on again, because I’m neurotic and obsessive and at least this will be a more positive obsession than say, dating my car or eating baby powder.
A better picture of Fitbit. See its diabolical brain highlighted.
Any of you guys have a Fitbit or similar device? What do you do to work out? Does it involve being chased by wild wolverines? Let me know in the comments below.
As the Throne Turns
Game of Thrones, yayyyyy. For the last recap, see the Game of Thrones Recap button at the top. Saying I’ve bothered to transfer them over there. Crap there’s a lot of stuff in this one. Let’s get to it.
“Jousting with the Stars” is still going on. Ned keeps poking around asking questions. More tournament blood and gore.
Meanwhile, Ned’s wife is busy endangering her entire family by dragging along poor Tyrion, who asks “What kind of imbecile would arm an assassin with his own blade?” Uh, dur-rup, Lady Stark. They get attacked by some random dudes and Tyrion protects his captor who shows her appreciation by dragging him to her sister, who Tyrion describes as unhinged (surprise!), because . . . I forget.
Imbeciles? You’re soaking in them, Tyrion.
Back at Winterfell, Bran Stark is doing homework written by George R. R. Martin. He’s learning the different houses of all these crazy characters (good luck, kid). Each house has a motto, and the Lannister’s is “Hear Me Roar”. Pfft, seriously?
I think the Lannisters ripped off their motto.
That kid who isn’t a Stark but was raised by the Starks cause he’s a prisoner of the Starks (keep up) goes on about his great bloodline to a prostitute who just sits there naked. Totally normal.
Ned is visited by this bald dude on his council who had his balls cut off. He tells him that the last Hand of the King was probably murdered by this knight that just got killed by Mountain and Ned is like, who would hire that guy to kill the Hand? Oh, gee, let me think.
Who could it be?
No-balls also warns Ned that the last Hand was killed cause he started asking questions. In other words, stfu, Ned. Gawd. Cute little Arya Stark overhears no-balls talking about Ned but has no idea what’s going on (like the rest of us) but even she figures out it’s not good. Ned pats her on the head.
Weasel Boy and No-Balls talk about how the brothel caters to everyone, even those who like little boys and dead people! Also about how No-Balls has no balls! Yay, that was so necessary to the plot, thanks so much! They gossip some more like girls in a junior high bathroom until mercifully interrupted to go to a council meeting. At the meeting, the king says they gotta kill Dany, cause that Jor-El dude told him the pregnant teen and her barbarian buds are a threat. Ned’s like, no way that’s not cool, and the king is yeah huh is so and Ned says well I quit and throws down his badge. And the king says “We are totes not buds anymore!”
Hey you wanna talk about balls?
So Weasel Boy is all hey I can give you more clues about the death of the last Hand that can totally get you killed, or, you know, you could just beat cheeks and get the hell out of here. So Ned goes with him. Of course he does.
Meanwhile, Cate Stark gets to her sister’s with Tyrion. Her wackadoodle sister is sitting there breastfeeding her son who looks like he’s about seven or eight. Turns out dear sister went batshit crazy when she didn’t make it on the cover of Time Magazine. But even she realizes that Cate is a moron for bringing Tyrion there and endangering them all. Lady Cray-Cray accuses Tyrion of murdering her husband, and Tyrion remarks that gee, he’s been pretty damn busy. He’s put in one of the “sky cells” which are rooms with a hell of a view – like thousands of feet below.
This whole “room with a view thing” is highly overrated.
But enough of that, let’s see a gay dude shaving his lover’s chest. I forget who they were.
Queen Cersei and King Robert yammer about possible invasion by barbarians and if he ever twuly luved her. He says “Hell, no.”
Ned finds one of King Robert’s baby bastards (they love that word) and her mom in Weasleboy’s brothel. Weaselboy says the last Hand was tracking down all the king’s bastards for some reason. That’s a lot of bastards. Bastards.
Ned leaves and runs into Cersei’s brother / lover (gag) Jaime and Jaime is all, where is my brother who I suddenly care about? And Ned’s like, oh shit, and says he ordered his idiot wife to capture him cause he’s noble which in this universe translates to “has no freaking common sense”. Jaime has his men kill Ned’s men, and Ned gets madfaced, and they fight until one of Jaime’s guards spear’s Ned’s leg. Ned fall down and go boom.
So, like, you had a chance to escape and you’re . . . still here.
Things are lookin’ bad! Don’t worry, it’s all downhill from here! Oh, right, a song. To Full House!
Game Full of Thrones
Whatever happened to peeps with nobility?
Like Ned Stark, and Tyrion, and that’s about it.
You miss your old happy shows
But waiting just around the bend
Everywhere you look (everywhere)
There’s a bunch (there’s a bunch)
Of crazy evil people
Everywhere you look (everywhere)
There’s a face of someone who wants to kill you
When you’re into the characters
And you hope they live
An author is waiting to kill them all off
Everyone is screwed.
Season 1: Episode 5
Death toll: Lots
Nakey toll: 3: 1 totally naked prostitute, two bare chested dudes (whose chests were not impressive, no fair)
Camp Loopy: Part Two
In case you missed part one of my voyage to Middle Earth, er, Loopy, click here.
I had this wooden bed with a comfy mattress that was “no longer bolted to the floor” as they said. But I didn’t lay there long because they called us for supper. People were already lined up, but the guy at front reading a book waved me forward. Ladies first. One of the other women bitched because she was a bloody Marine and didn’t need special treatment. Whatever. Women still aren’t paid as much as men. I take my perks when I get them.
The food was actually pretty good. I was warned against the Salisbury steak and took the Chicken Alfredo. Some of the others stared suspiciously at the noodles. And I thought I was picky. The cafeteria lady was simply charming, growling at us as we picked our food. A fellow Looney, Kleenex girl, said “Could you please smile?” Cafeteria woman glared and said “I AM smiling.” Right. Moving on.
My, what a big hairnet you have . . .
They only had diet sodas. So apparently caffeine was okay, but not caffeine and sugar. Though you could have juice, chocolate milk, and dessert. Whatever. I got all of the above. No one said what I was limited to, so I figured I’d get my money’s worth.
We only had plastic forks and spoons. No knives. Nevermind that you’d have to work pretty hard to slice yourself or anything else for that matter with a plastic knife, we didn’t get one. This was okay with the noodles, not so much with the chicken they later served. I ended up eating it medieval style, spiking it with my fork.
Once back to the room, they served dessert, but did not allow us a spoon. Some wily people had smuggled their spoons in, but the rest of were out of luck. Apparently you can shank yourself or your pal with a spoon if you break off the handle. Thank goodness for the mental hospital, or I wouldn’t know half the ways a person could kill herself.
Why a spoon? Because it will HUUUURT more.
This wouldn’t have been so bad if they had served us cake instead of ice cream and yogurt. Try eating that shit without a spoon. We did it, sure, but wtf. I mean, why give that as dessert and not allow spoons unless you’re conducting some kind of bizarre experiment? Maybe that was the idea. If so, I can tell you the results. It annoys the mentals.
There was one big screen TV, but a lot of us, so you had to stay with whatever the person holding the remote picked. That turned out to be American Idol. I was just thankful it wasn’t Fox News, or I might have had to steal a spoon and shank someone. The Meatloaf dude won over the Katy Perry look-a-like. Yay.
We were given our pills in an orderly fashion. This is the point where they doubled my anxiety meds without informing me they were doing so. I wouldn’t figure this out for a while yet. They doled what were little more than hand towels for our showers. The Hitchhiker’s guide is right. Wherever you go, bring a decent towel. I didn’t have a towel, or any clothes at all to change into because I was waiting on my husband to come by with them. This had not happened. No big deal except that I really needed new underwear. There’s another lesson. Don’t just wear clean undies, carry another pair. I mean, you never know.
Oh, man, I forgot my extra pair of underwear again.
They had nothing in the bathroom, not even soap which seemed kind of unsanitary seeing as how you do have to pee and all. I got hospital versions of all the toiletries and took a shower. Normally I hate showers because mine has not been cleaned since Obama’s first term. But this one was nice except that it turned off multiple times and you had to keep smacking the button to get more water. But it was all mine and I didn’t have to clean it. Score.
Earlier I talked about how they made rounds every 15 minutes – and how the doors had to remain at least partially open. This is not so bad during the day, but kind of sucks at night. Especially if your tech has bronchitis and thinks she must yank your door open all the freaking way every time she stops by while coughing her head off. Twit.
The lights outside the room never go off, and the TV didn’t go off until 11 pm. Thank goodness for knock-out meds or I don’t know how anyone would get sleep. I did wake up the night twit tech went by and couldn’t fall back asleep so I cried. A really nice nurse stopped by and talked with me a little bit. “What can you do about it now?” she asked. Nothing. Good advice. I’m trying to remember it still.
There was very little individual counseling here. Almost everything was group. I think you’ll find that at many mental health places, because it’s cheaper for them. It sucks for the patients, though, because frack if you’re going to get some one on one anywhere, shouldn’t it be at the hospital? The shrink does stop by on certain days, but most of them have social disorders and don’t talk. I got sneaky though. Cornering nurses, getting counselors by themselves and at last resort, calling the Chaplain. We had fun dissing the Church of Christ together. I liked him.
Okay so I didn’t get to Nurse Ratched – yet! Stay tuned.
Camp Loopy: Part One
Earlier I said I would tell more about my inpatient stay, and I do want to do that in case someone else is scared to go to the hospital like I was. Every hospital is different, but if you are desperate enough, any hospital beats suicide, so please go.
When I finally decided to go (and undecided about 20 times while on the way there and in the waiting room) I was so terrified I was scaling my husband like a cat climbing a tree. It is safe to say that I have never been so scared in my entire life.
Okay, so that TLC show came pretty close. I wonder if he ever got his own room?
There were a lot of hoops to jump through just to get there, or rather, locked door after locked door. I went through most of these hoops with my husband and a nice young woman who was talking on her cell phone Zomg she did not have a cell phone. She was just talking to herself, like, a complete conversation. Also, she would cry for a few seconds, then laugh. I was certain they were going to put me in a room with her and then my anxiety would get so high I would literally stick to the ceiling. “Don’t worry,” my husband whispered. “You aren’t like her.” Wasn’t worried about that. I was worried that everyone was going to be just that cuckoo. And the ceiling thing.
But as it turned out, it wasn’t so bad. They put me in the Veteran’s unit, where there were mostly surly people like myself. The lady who was her own best friend went elsewhere.
All I had with me was my purse. They took it and locked it up. No cell phones here. No computers. (ZOMG the withdrawalllll) Also nothing that could ever, ever in your wildest imagination, be used to harm yourself. Like my shoe laces. I wondered exactly what you would do with shoelaces since they were too short for a decent noose then I thought well maybe someone could try to choke themselves, but that seems difficult, or cut off circulation, and then I thought, you know, I really don’t want to know. Please no one tell me. My shoes wouldn’t stay on without laces, so I had to give those to my husband. Also my hair clip. And my bra with the underwire. Thankfully not my undies.
Typical mental patients. Wait, those are models. Same difference.
Then a guy asked me to rate my depression and anxiety on a scale from one to ten. This would be the first of MANY times this question was asked. When I said ten (or really 20) on both, he said “If it’s because you’re here, don’t worry. It’s not One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. They’re putting you in the Veteran’s unit. They’re pretty laid back over there.” You know, for mental patients. I was not convinced. They then separated me from my husband and my terror notched up higher still. They took me through more locked doors (up to the dungeon!) and into the unit. One guy was sitting out reading a book. Other than that, it was nurses. I sat and waited for them to take vitals while they pretty much ignored me. After a while, I started near hyperventilating with my crybabies, but most people in Camp Loopy didn’t seem to notice. I guess they see it enough.
Finally after checking me out for scars and bruises (I had a few but I explained that I honestly, for reals, just walked into walls on a regular basis), they left me in my room – one bed, some shelves, and best of all, no roomie. I think I was the only one who didn’t have a roommate. I’m not sure if it was because I was the only one paying with private insurance or I was just a speshul snowflake, but I didn’t care cause MINE. There was also a tiny bathroom with this tiny shower. It had a curtain in front of it, which was good, cause that was pretty much your only privacy. You had to leave the door at least partially open all the time. Rounds were every 15 minutes. These guys were really concerned about us. Also their jobs.
There were two types of employee there most of the time. The nurses and the techs. You could tell them apart by scrub color. The nurses gave you your meds. The techs . . . couldn’t give you meds. They could unlock the laundry room door. Cause of course the laundry room was locked. Nobody taking rides in the dryer here!
We had frequent “group time”, kind of like circle time in kindergarten. These were on the schedule which was mostly followed. I got to know the other inmates, er, patients. One of them pointed a Kleenex box at me and said I was making excuses. At that point, I just got upset. By the end of my visit, had she done the same thing, I might have tried to shove it up her nose. But she wasn’t all bad – really none of them were.
A few of them I almost never saw because they slept most of the time, in spite of the techs shouting at them to go to group, supper, etc. A few were just really quiet. The women were quite outnumbered – only four of us compared to probably thirteen, fourteen men. Hard to say since a few didn’t leave their rooms. Each day someone would leave, or a few someones, and someone else would come in.
I was there from Tuesday evening until Friday afternoon. Each day had different employees, different patients, and different rules. But there was still routine and best of all, no decisions to make. They told you when to eat, when to shower, when to go to group, when to take your meds, etc. For the first time in my life I did not feel responsible for anybody else but me.
. . . stay tuned for Nurse Ratched!
Group Work
I always hated group work in school. It sucked. Then you grow up and go a little off the deep end and bam, they make you do group work all over again.
Currently, I’m in an outpatient program that involves a lot of group “therapy”. First we have to fill out a form called a, not kidding, “happy sheet” with numbers rating how we are feeling on certain days. Like Angry, Sad, Anxious, Hopeless, Bored as Shit, etc. I added the last one, but it should be on there. You also have to say how well you slept. Well, fuck, I don’t know, I was sleeping. I know I need help because I can’t even fill out the happy sheet correctly because I forget whether 10 is the best or the worst, so sometimes I just randomly circle 5.
Wait, so ten means I’m great or awful or . . . screw this.
The therapist looks at your sheet and then asks you how you’ve been. Turns out most of us have not been well. Which is why we’re there. While each person gets a turn at whining, the rest of us either try to look concerned or just say fuck it and nap. We’re all either sleep deprived from insomnia or just stoned on various pharmaceuticals so it’s generally accepted. Better than work meetings where this is usually frowned upon.
I have not been declared ready for work yet (sarcastic sadface) because I still have meltdowns. Wednesday was because this lady tried to talk about time management and lists and all I could see was this endless stream of shit I hadn’t done yet and I had to leave so I could freak out and the nurse seemed concerned with this. Thursday was music therapy and the lady brought fucking drums and we all had to play in a circle and make up our own rhythms which I ain’t got and it just kept going and going and we were supposed to remember our turns and think while there was banging and I wanted to hit the therapist with the drum repeatedly. I would have tried to play a creative rhythm while I did.
I fucking hate drums.
Friday we talked about what made us Angry, Sad, Scared, etc. I said drums for every one, among other things. But then someone started talking about traffic and the conversation steered off into an actual car wreck as people talked about all the accidents they had been in and how dangerous it was to drive when I was going to have to drive in the next fifteen minutes or so and I was like “subject change” and they said sure and then went back to traffic and I left and the nurse called my husband and said I really shouldn’t drive home cause for some reason I am having problems. She thinks I want to kill myself. That’s not true. I want to kill everyone else.
Part of the problem is that I happen to like stuff like routine and we’ve had absolutely none of that. The regular therapist was gone last week, so we got therapist of the day. It’s always reassuring when your therapist asks “Am I supposed to be here?” when she first shows up. Then you get to tell your problems over and over again which is super fun, especially for the ones who have irritating and possibly made-up problems. Like this one chick who couldn’t seem to gain weight and constantly talked about how people were so hot for her and her stepfather was stalking her and every time someone made a suggestion for help she said no because he was in the police’s pocket you see, and I don’t care.
Group is FUN.
We also have different psychiatrists prescribing the drugs. So far I’ve seen three – one in inpatient and two more in outpatient. I’ve been in outpatient 7 days by the way. The first shrink put me on lithium and the third one took me off. It hasn’t seemed to make much of a difference on my anxiety. I’m normal for a while, then I want to climb a tree until I take my pills and then I just want to be unconscious. I thought if I told my parents about my therapy – who were sure to disapprove because I was missing WORK and should suck it up – I would feel better. I brought my husband. So my parents screwed with me and were like, nice, and offered me money, which was my other worry. So parents and part of the finance worries down, and supposedly job covered by FMLA. No problems!
Except yeah there are because I’m still fucking anxious for some reason. Also there is this anger that kind of takes off into near shouted expletives I normally save for my family blog here. One group member, a guy in the military, said “Holy crap, and she’s the librarian!” Yes, buddy, librarians have RAGE too. And I’m not sure if there is a pill for that. I’m not sure about anything. Except I’ll be a group again, same time, same place this week. I only hope the girl is there who wants to stab people in the eye with a pen. I like her.
The Throne and the Brainless
It’s been a while since I’ve written a Game of Thrones recap. If you need to catch up on earlier recaps, you can find them under the tab that um, says “Game of Thrones Recaps”.
Anyhoo, there are a lot of sayings that are bandied about on Game of Thrones. One is “Winter is coming”. Another is “A Lannister always pays his debts.” But the most important saying of all is missing. I quote from the great movie “Spaceballs” . . .
“. . . Evil will always triumph because Good is DUMB.” – Lord Helmet
Listen to Helmet, guys.
Okay, on with the review. Woot.
First off, Tyrion stops off at Winterfell and is totes awesome, as usual. Really, they should just give this guy the whole damn show. Robb Stark (High Babysitter of Winterfell) is a snotty twit to him, cause he’s a Stark kid. Tyrion schools him on common courtesy, then presents a saddle design that will allow Bran Stark to ride horses again, saying he has “a weakness for cripples, bastards, and broken things.” Yeah, you’re pretty much surrounded by them, Tyrion.
Tyrion leaves and sees this kid named Theon Greyjoy (no really), who is like a prisoner of the Starks but raised by them because I don’t know, but Tyrion insults the crap out of him, which was funny.
Just give Tyrion the throne and be done with it.
Next we’re back at THE WALL with Pouty McPouterson, er, Jon Snow, who in case you forgot, is Ned Stark’s bastard. I know Jon doesn’t forget since he’s reminded of it in every damn episode. They get a new chubby kid, who the others name “Piggy” and oh oh, I remember another fat kid called Piggy and he didn’t meet a good end. Sure enough, they try to beat the crap out of the kid until Jon stops him. Playground politics at its finest, folks.
Everybody calls me bastard and it really sucks!
Back to Dany and the Barbarians. They reach the capital of Horse Land and Rat Nose (Dany’s brother, keep up) acts like a total asshat again. Surprise. That other white dude (Jor-El?) says the Dorkraki, fierce warriors, won’t go to Knot’s er King’s Landing cause they can’t cross the Narrow Sea because they are afraid of . . . salt water. Maybe Rat Nose should have looked this up before hiring them as an army.
Rat Nose takes a bath with this naked girl who taught Dany how to do the Lambada with Beefcake – no wait, that was another girl. Maybe.
Water scary. Washes off makeup!
Ned Stark, the King’s new right “Hand” gets stuck in another meeting with the Dream Team council, and finds out that the Tournament he didn’t want is causing all kinds of bloodshed, but hey the whores are walkin’ all bowlegged cause sex! So you know, business as usual.
Ned starts snoopin’ around to find out who killed the last King’s Hand. Um, Ned, this is how people in horror movies die. Just sayin’.
Crap, my new job sucks.
Arya, spunky younger Stark daughter, is balancing on one foot cause she’s gonna be the next Karate Kid. Dad says “One day you’ll get to be a nobleman’s wife! Fun!” She thinks that would suck. Smart kid.
Weasel Boy yammers about his spies and crap to poor Ned and says not to trust anybody. Well, duh.
Admit it, ya’ll are all hot for me, right?
More Ned snooping.
Jaime (half of the twincest) Lannister yammering to – someone. They might have said something important.
Dany gives Rat Nose a gift and he smacks her for it. But she hits him back saying that the next time he raises a hand to her he won’t have hands. Do it, do it, do it!
I think Rat Nose wet ’em.
Back at THE WALL, Jon protects Piggy, er Sam, and they get kitchen duty. Jon says he’s a virgin cause he doesn’t want to make more bastards. Hundreds of fan girls offer to marry him and help him out with that virgin thing.
Dany starts to realize that maybe Ratnose won’t make a good leader. Duh.
Two dudes fight in a tournament. The huge one called Mountain kills the other one. Mountain is the big brother of the Hound. They have another brother named Flower they never talk about.
Mountain’s hobbies are burning his little brother, hitting people with sticks, and basket weaving.
Queen Cersei and Ned playfully threaten each other.
Tyrion shows up at an inn where Ned’s wife is staying. She accuses him of trying to murder her son, and orders the men there to arrest him. Cause it’s always a good idea to publicly accuse a rich, powerful man of a crime when your husband has to work with this rich, powerful man’s sociopathic family. Ned’s wife is an idiot.
“Hey, who wrote me a letter telling me to shut up already? Alice!”
Oh, yeah a song – crap it’s gonna be hard to keep this up. Gilligan’s Island everyone!
Game of Thrones Island
Sit right back and you’ll hear a tale
A tale of an idiot
Her name was Catelyn Stark
and she is such a stupid twit
She’s married to a guy named Ned
And that dude’s stupid too
He’s being all noble and soon
He’s gonna be all dead.
With Jon Snow, and the dwarf too
King Robert and his pycho wife
The Barbarian
Buncha prostitutes and the demon seed
Here on Game of Thrones!
Season 1, Episode 4
Death Toll: 1, Some knight dude
Nakey Toll: 2, Dany’s handmaiden and, unfortunately, Rat Nose’s concave chest.
aliceatwonderland 