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Editor’s Note: “The Eye of Newb” contains spoilers from the episode listed. If you have not watched the episode written about, you have been warned. But as Matt has not read the books (as of yet), you do not have to worry about future spoilers.

The Eye of Newb (Return of the Newb)
Game of Thrones Season 4, Episode 4: Oathkeeper

“The Kingslayer Brothers.  Do you like it?  I like it.”- Tyrion Lannister

So-o, Dear Readers, yer man here, one Faithful Newb, enters this evening’s viewing steeped in hope.  Hopefully there will be no more forcible rape of siblings beneath stained glass.  Hopefully there will be less Tarley and more Baelish, as well.  Lastly, and over all, I sincerely hope that some of the lovely plates arrayed around the table in last week’s episode might, just might, bear consumable fruit this week.  Oh, and less Tarley.  Not being redundant, merely emphatic.

Least the plate-harvesting (again, hopefully) commence… off we go!

• Fire!  We begin with fire.  Somewhere, Beavis is cackling.  And right and now, Grey Worm is haltingly learning a new language under the kind but insistent tutelage of Dany’s handmaiden.  No, that’s not a metaphor.  He also appears to have huge righteous indignation and manslaughter issues – woe to the Masters.
• Speaking of the lovely Dany, she arrives for a quick QC check and ominously declares it to be time.  Time for what?
• Time for nocturnal subterfuge and insurgency-feeding is what!  Well played, Danaerys.  Very well played.  Arm the slaves of Meereen, avoid losses and build buy-in for a fetching, blonde new ruler.  Most importantly, create acres of shared culpability for revolt and murder.  You’re getting very good at this game, young lady.
• Bummer of an evening to be a Master of Meereen, though.  Kinda of a dove-in-the-wedding-pie feeling, if you catch my drift.
• Yet again, our lovely Dany is worhsipped as a liberator, and by my count she hasn’t been forced into nudity to gain an advantage or prove a point once this season.  That’s progress, even for a wandering queen.
• Whoa.  Public crucifixion for the Masters, eh?  We’re going old school.  Nice.  A lingering question, for the Newb anyway, is whether this is the first flare-up of the condition known as Baratheon’s Disease… great warrior, legendary liberator, skilled leader and atrociously inept ruler.  In any case, Plate Number One is down.
• We slip away across the Narrow Sea to the One-Handed Wonder and Bronn sparring on the schtupp-me balcony once more.  Jaime seems to be improving, but still unable to spot the golden knockout punch coming.  Heh.
• A bit of steel sparring begets a bit of verbal sparring and births one major hanging question… will Jaime indeed fight for his imprisoned little brother against the wishes of his Lover-Sister?  No joy on Plate Number Two… only more questions.
• Off to the dungeons and Jaime actually visiting Tyrion.  That’s a good start.  Maybe Plate Number Two was just delayed?  Oooooh… so the incestuous nature of the deceased King Junior Sadist is now out in the open, at least among one generation of the Lannisters.  Line of the night to Tyrion.
• Dear God, Jaime, we’re all somebody important.  We’re all gentle snowflakes.  Are you really this thick?  The Imp may be a (sob) dead man without your help.  Don’t let pesky things like your title and treason stand in the way.
• And we close with a very quizzical insight from Tyrion about Sansa not being a killer – yet.  Foreshadowing?  Perhaps, but Plate Number Two remains stubbornly set.
• I guess we’ll find out about Sansa, as we shoot back waterward to that selfsame Poor, Poor, Pitiful One aboard Baelish’s ship.  Sad, dear thing – shuffled from one captivity to another.  At least Littlefinger’s plan does promise her greater safety than within a thousand yards in any direction of Cersei.
• Aha!!  Littlefinger admits his role in killing Joffrey!  My suspicions were totally wrong.  I pegged Dame Tyrell for that deed.  Something about that wedding speech was just too heavy-handed.  Alas, Plate Number Three is down,  but down the wrong tube.  I choked a bit on that one.
• Nice line from Baelish – almost the line of the Night, Friends: “A man with no motive is a man no one suspects.”  I suspect he has that embroidered on something dear to his heart.  Perhaps the corpse of the first small animal he killed.
• Damn!  And there it is.  The Tyrell connection.  Baelish may have killed Joffrey, but he did so for his new reasonable and predictable ‘friends’.  My suspicions were well-founded anyway, if errant.
• Yes!!  Sorry – the scene is the Ladies Tyrell chatting in the garden at King’s Landing.  The ‘Yes!!’ is because I WAS right about Dame Tyrell!  She did kill Joffrey, and in his inimitable way, Baelish enabled the crime.  And it only took 4 or 5 viewings of his death to figure it out.
• Got lost in my triumph there, Friends, the other key reveal in the senior Tyrell’s prattling is that she was an OG – Original Gold-digger – and she’s trained her daughter to be even better at it than she was.  These two are hell on wheels when it comes to poor, unsuspecting royals.  In short, her newly de-Queened daughter has a new way forward to the throne – straight through sweet little Tommen.  That boy won’t know what hit him.
• Of, course, per my prior rantings, this means I have to give big hugs to Dame Tyrell and Littlefinger.  And then check my back for daggers, and move on.  Plate Number Three well and truly down, and oh, so satisfying.  Gonna need my stretchy viewing pants in a minute here.
• A hard cut follows… back north to Castle Black and more swordplay.  Sno-Tep is in his element, training men to fight honorably and effectively against duel-wielding savages.  At least there’s minimal guttural dialogue.
• Wait a minute.  That rat-faced dude over there is Bolton’s Pet Rat, the one sent ot find and eliminate Bran, Rickon and possibly Sno-Tep himself.  Not good.
• It is nice to see that despite the shifting fates in Westeros, some things are constant.  Thorne still sports a hard-on for our beloved cardboard cutout.  Jon has grown a bit more mature, at least, as evidenced by his non-pouty stepping away from this challenge.
• As he does so, Thorne and his right-hand man plot and scheme, convincing each other that maybe Karl and the rest of the Craster Corral Mutineers might solve the Jon Snow problem for them.
• Eeesh.  It’s all 31 flavors of slimy and awful to watch Locke, Bolton’s Pet Rat, sidle up Jon like a buddy.  It makes me want to yell at the TV and I don’t even like that Nedly Bastard.
• Cut away to Cersei and her ever-present glass of Bordeaux… and her Brother-Lover-Rapist (?).  The referential titles are getting all swimmy and disorienting now.
• These two Lannister sibs sure are all formal and testy tonight, and for once I can’t quite bring myself to blame Cersei.  (Gah!  That last sub-clause seared my soul to utter, if I’m honest.)
• Yeah, that’s better.  Calling Sansa a “murdering little bitch” melts away any and all inklings of sympathy I may or may not admit to having felt for the former Queen Regent.  She sure has turned her legendary chilliness on her Sibling-With-Benefits-Perpetrator.  (Nah, that title’s even worse.)
• Switch to Tommen’s darkened bedchamber and the younger of the Tyrell OGs sneaking in to ply him with sweet nothings.  Or just talk.  In a caring and sincere way.  So, that was much less sickening than it could have been – and in the end, Tommen is completely smitten.  Yet another Plate is set.
• We cut away to Jaime and Brienne considering that infernal book with such a short entry about the Kingslayer we saw earlier in the season.  Brienne brings so much honor and gravitas to just about any scene she’s end.  Listen to the Newb, right?  I think I may the smitten one.  Whatever, I’m all in for this scene already.
• Wow.  Just wow.  Gifting Brienne not only his Valyrian blade but a completely awesome new set of plate armor is a great start to redemption and a bigger entry in the book, in my view.  So is following both up with a quest to find and defend Poor, Poor, Pitiful Sansa – in direct contravention of the earlier order dispensed by his Familial-Snugglebunny.  (Pah!  Blech!  Spit that one out and throw it away, Friends.  The term ‘snuggle’ should, never, ever be associated with Cersei.)
• Whaaat?  One final gift, and a perfect one, at that.  Pod and Breinne will ride out together, thereby keeping Pod safe on the quest to keep Sansa safe.  Not to mention the image of supreme Loyalty and devout Honor riding side-by-side.  The final gift, courtesy of the Imp, puts a fine point on it all.
• And that backwards glance confirms that, on some level, Brienne does love Jaime.  It’s a damn shame that his sister corrupted him first.
• Ergh.  Away to… The Tarley.  Damn you, Producers.  Damn you.
• And courtesy of the Tarley and his amplified bewilderment, Locke now knows where Bran and Rickon might be – which leads him, of course, to pop up as a volunteer when Sno-Tep is oh, so generously given leave to mount a sortie to the Craster Corral.  Yet another Plate set for future consumption.
• Off to a skull, and Newman!  Sorry, no, I meant Karl!  Oh, no he didn’t.  That prick just quaffed from Lord Mormont’s dead skull.  And he’s authorized the mass rape of Craster’s remaining daughters, as well?  Needs. To. Die.  In a pool of his own intestines.
• The daughters herald the arrival and anticipated dispatch of Craster’s last son.  I have come to see that babies, in particular, have it extremely rough in this here patch of Westeros.  Poor little dude.
• Karl’s harangued henchman wanders out to abandon the bawling infant and feed the caged direwolf – I think it’s Sno-Tep’s wolf… Winter, maybe?  Don’t tease the huge canine death machine, you idiot!  No, wait – do.  Tease him until he rips your damn throat out.  Or perhaps the Walkers will get you first, given the rapidly freezing puddle and the cawing.
• Cut to Bran, Hodor and the rest of the ‘Lil Rascals gathered around yet another fire.  Lotta fires in this episode, I’m noticing.  Winter is coming, I suppose.
• Uh-oh.  That same baby’s cries reach the ‘Lil Rascals lair.  They are clearly very close to Casa de Craster.  This random and troubling stimulus lead Bran to feed his addiction and warg straight into Summer for a quick peek.  And lead the direwolf directly into a trap , but not before she spies Ghost in a cage.  Yep, these kids are danger close to Karl and Mutineers (M, u, t… T?  A drink with jam and bread… i, n, e… ‘E is a right bastard that one…e, r, s… S? Hmm, can’t quite make that work.  Worth a try, tho.)
• Bran, oh, Bran.  Why must you be damn Nedly?  You’ve led your whole merry bad into a trap.  Hodor is being stabbed like a dancing bear, and Karl is alternately fondling and slapping children.  Not at all cool.
• Of course, suffering from an advanced case of Nedliness, Bran reveals his identity to save his traveling companions.  And the main course is now well and truly set.  I wonder what accident might befall Karl when Sno-Tep gets here.  No I don’t.  Broadsword through the throat is my first guess.  The question is, after that’s done, will the dense and largely unperceptive cardboard cutout realize that his semi-sibling is still in mortal danger from the Pet Rat?
• But that’s for later.  For now, we sweep away to the snowy plains, a gruesomely undead mare, and our little lost babe-in-the-literal-woods.  He’s now wrapped in the crackly arms of a Walker (the White variety, not the flesh-frenzied zombie kind… but you knew that already).
• Wait, wait, wait just a freakin’ minute.  What is this place?  Where’s the ghost of Jor-El?  Why is Darth Maul’s uglier – and much paler – brother touching infants inappropriately and making their brown eyes blue?  I thought only Crystal Gale was capable of such dark witchcraft.  Basically, W. T. F.?!?
• I am so confused and rattled at this point, I have no choice but to hang for next week.  Thus, I remain your Faithful – and slightly fetal after that last bit – Newb.

Editor’s Note: “The Eye of Newb” contains spoilers from the episode listed. If you have not watched the episode written about, you have been warned. But as Matt has not read the books (as of yet), you do not have to worry about future spoilers.

The Eye of Newb (Return of the Newb)
Game of Thrones Season 4, Episode 3: Breaker of Chains

“Your father lacks an appreciation of the finer points of bad behavior.” – Ser Davos

Still reeling a bit from the bloody demise of my beloved Ros’ killer, Friends.  Hee, hee, hee… did I mention that Joffrey’s dead?  Did I mention how I laughed?

Thus, it’s fair to say that your faithful Newb may… how you say… struggle a bit to stay present and pay attention through this next installment.  But… for you, for you, Dear Readers, I will (albeit briefly) cease and desist rewinding and re-watching the President of the Westeros Junior Sadists’ League agonizingly throttle on his own sputum while mewling for his psychotic mommy.

More stuff, apparently, has happened in Westeros of late.  So-o, armed with trusty notepad and fortified with a perfectly chilled Dark Horse Special Black, I will soldier on.  And off we go!

• We return to Cersei’s rage and Tywin’s loss of certainty and control.  Yummy.  Can’t get enough.
• But are quickly whisked away to answer the riddle of where, precisely, the Human Wine Cask is spiriting Poor, Poor, Pitiful Sansa.  Up and alley, down an alley, into a dinghy and out of a dinghy, to scale the trim hulk of a ship in what I assume must be the Blackwater, hidden in swirling mists.  Aboard said vessel lurks none other than Tommy Carcetti, er, Littlefinger!
• Of course Baelish had to be here.  New rule, to swipe unceremoniously from Bill Maher… If someone, anyone, dies under mysterious circumstances anywhere in Westeros, henceforward the Newb will simply attribute some level of de facto a priori involvement and malfeasance to Littlefinger.  Period. Amen. Crack-a-dew.
• Oh, Dontos, you truly gifted fool, don’t wait for your pay!  GTFO while you still ca… never mind.  There it is.  Shot in the face for your troubles.  This is Petyr Baelish’s world my sad, sodden little  man, and you merely die in it.  Lord, how I’ve missed Littlefinger.
• The only downside i that my whole whodunnit theory just got set on fire, sunken in the swamp and otherwise obliterated.  To this point, I’d believed, after multiple viewings of the prior episode, that Dame Tyrell was the murderer.  That little speech about killing a man at a wedding was too juicy a clue.  I thought she and she alone must be the one to whom I owed the biggest ever hug to.  But now… now I am forced to revise my thinking.  Baelish, you beautiful bastard – YOU did it.  Didn’t you?
• With no clear answer either way, we’re dashing off coastward to the aforementioned Dame Tyrell and her lovely not-quite-Queen daughter conferring at some length about dead, doughy lumps and other things as well.  Prattle, prattle, prattle, and your basic reveal that these two are the living, if fictional, embodiment of “operators”.  Nice.  And thus seemed so sweetly shrewd.
• Cut to Joffrey’s body… giggle… I enjoy that particular juxtaposition of referential nouns no end.  Cersei and Tommen are brooding here.  Maybe even grieving.  At least Tommen may be capable of grief.  I doubt Cersei is capable of such a nuanced emotion in her deep, dark bag of bitchy superiority.
• Sheesh, not for nothing, but those little eye pebbles Joffrey is sporting are creepy.  Not crying, hallucinogenic fauna creepy, mind.  But still and all… creepy.
• Oh, goody, Tywin’s here, too, and he’s blowharding.  Since when does he care what makes a “good” king?  The term “good” can hardly be applied to him, or any, save one, of his progeny.  Interesting guessing game, though, and quite the tour of past crazy seated on the throne.
• Oooohh… I see where this is going now.  Tommen, dear boy, listen to me, your Hand, and your council or you’ll be just as dead as all of those other idiots.  Tywin, you may not be good, per se, but you’re good at this whole completely evil and manipulative f**ker deal.  I do love the slap at Joffrey right in front of his corpse and his mommy.  I love Cersei’s smothered outrage even more.  Lena Headey is killing it with her expressions tonight.  They run the full gamut from homicidal to outright psycho.
• The fact that Tywin starts in on the birds and the bees just as UncleDaddy Jaime wanders in is also rich.  Chuckle.
• So Cersei wants Jaime to kill Tyrion and avoid a trial altogether.  And good on Jaime, he refuses.  This new Kingslayer-with-a-conscience is appealing… but…

… What in the (bleepity bleep motherbleeping bleep in the name all that’s bleeping holy) was THAT?!  Did this just turn from sitting shiva to a ‘smack my bitch up’ video?  The Newb feels a tad violated, in all candor.  Cersei is a hateful woman, and I pity Jaime his love for her, but forcible rape on the chapel floor is more than a few steps beyond.

• Thankfully, we fade to Arya (yes, Arya!!) and the Hound under a bridge.  Sandor Clegane calmly contemplates a future as a sell-sword across the narrow sea.  Seems logical.  But then, what ho…
• Along comes Dennis the Farmer – help, help, he’s probably been repressed – and Arya covers their presence on Dennis’ land with a rapid lie and a wonderful guess as to loyalties.  This girl is quick-witted, Friends.  Full stop.  And that’s not even in the top three things I most admire about her.
• Thanks to the successful guesswork, we cut to a most unappetizing scene of prayer and stew-guzzling.  Dennis the Formerly Repressed Farmer and the Hound reach a quizzical agreement.  I’ve never pictured any Clegane as a farmhand.  But I also understand that there is no good reason for a man not keep at least a dram of ale in his house.  None at all.
• The next morning, we awake with Arya to cries of alarm, and find that Clegane the Farmhand was never to be.  Also, apparently that whole “Hound with a Code” only applies to people that the Hound believes will live long enough to miss the items stolen.  Dammit!  (Brief aside, Friends… as a big guy myself, with some hand-to-hand combat skills, courtesy of kind senseis and a bit of a checkered career path, this turn of events really irks me.  I was coming around to truly liking this new Hound, but now I’m, well… what was that word my dear mother used to wield like a rapier?  Ah, yes.  Disappointed.  Very disappointed.)
• He does raise a valid point, though, even in the midst of disappointing me.  Arya has to come to terms with the rules of engagement of the sh*theap in which she lives, before it costs her her own head.
• Cut to the Wall – Castle Black to be precise – and, aw God, no.  The Tarley.  Time to get another beer.  This storyline is just… So. Damn. Tiresome.  Someone wake me when this slubbering, whiny blob figure life out.  I do feel sorry for Gilly, though.  While The Tarley did save her and her baby’s lives, caring for someone as clueless as Blob Boy here has got to be frustrating as hell.
• Snip to the Chamber of the Wacked-out Baratheon Table.  Stannis is somehow convinced that leeches led to Joffrey’s death.  Poor, dense bastard.  It pains me to watch The Onion try to reason with the Emotionless One about the efficacy of infantry over flame-broiled annelids.  Davos is clearly feeling some pressure to solve the problem of troops, and by extension gold.
• This pressure does not prevent him from attending a reading lesson with the daughter Baratheon, who thankfully survived last week’s encounter with Melisandre.  And this scene produces both the line of the night, as well as the runner-up.  “If you see the word ‘knight’ and say ‘ker-nig-it’…”  Hahahahahaaa!  Somewhere Graham Chapman is laughing just as hard as I am.  I’d swear it.
• Aaaand, the encounter produces a spark of illumination for Davos, as well.  Something to do with the Iron Bank of Bravos.  I’m sure there’ll be more on this later.
• Oh, crap.  Cut to The Tarley again.  Gilly, dear girl.  Listen to my words, please?  Find someone new.  This boy is a round mound of confounded.  By literally everything.  Yawn.

So-o, Producers?  Yeah, you clowns.  Lean in close, please, so’s I can yell a bit in your ear.  It was someone’s high artistic concept to jump me, your trusting viewer, from The Tarley to an orgy?!  Seriously?  Very, extremely not cool.  It’s gonna take several rounds of high-test, some therapy and possibly a sweat lodge or two to wash that off my synapses.  Don’t.  Ever again.  Just don’t.

• Moving on.  Oberyn and his dusky companion are, um, sampling the wares a bit, it seems.  I wonder how much Baelish is clearing on this binge.  Hey, who’s the busty redhead with the sweet caboose… oh, sorry.  Got distracted.  I miss Ros.  I really do.
• Tywin joins the party, at least metaphorically, as in Tywin walks into the room where the party is occurring.  And he has accusations a-brimming.  Very interesting reveal about Oberyn’s expertise in poison, as well.  As such, he is invited by the senior Lannister to join Tyrion’s trial jury.  Even offered a Small Council seat.  Because…?  Newb is confused.
• Aha!  Tywin is playing the long game here.  I did not know that Dorne successfully resisted the Targaryens and their aerial, flame-spewing iguanas.  Besides, that verbal sparring was easily the strongest scene of the night, so far.
• And off to the dungeons again.  That means Impness!  Yay!  Pod pays a visit, and Tyrion pays tribute and farewell to Pod very fittingly.  A thing of immense beauty and vulnerability.  Tyrion, you Are. Not.  Allowed.  To  Die.  Got it?  Good.
• Pod provides a single juicy clue – Joffrey (allegedly) was killed by a poison named “the strangler”.  Seems an apt description, given Joffrey’s denouement.
• Condemned, imprisoned and all, The Imp still asks for his big brother Jaime.  Huh.
• Cut to a brook and a village and some blokes discussing potatoes.  See, these, here, are the Newb’s people.  And they’re getting killed.  Stupid freakin’ monosyllabic cannibals.  And Ygritte, too.  They send one newly-minted orphan off the warn the Crows, at…
• Castle Black it is.  And Bubba Sno-Tep, the walking cardboard cutout, holding court.  At least he displays common sense in this instance.  It appears (shudder) that Jon Snow may know more than nothing after all.  Both not chasing the cannibals and marching of to kill the mutinous Crows keep are good, sound strategic calls.  Someone does need to kill Karl dead.  Hopped up little sh*t.  He never should have killed Mormont.
• Sharp swing to across the narrow sea and Sweet Dany outside the walls of Mereen.  And, oh joy… Novartis.  At least the dull prettyboy can hurl a knife.  I do love the catapulted slave chains – nice move, Danaerys.  Plus, this means more blood and violence.

Hmmm… a full hour of irksome things, loathsome things and table-setting.  At least I had the afterglow of Joffrey’s strangled demise to ride it out with.  ‘Til next time, Friends, I remain your faithful, if deadline-challenged, Newb.

Editor’s Note: “The Eye of Newb” contains spoilers from the episode listed. If you have not watched the episode written about, you have been warned. But as Matt has not read the books (as of yet), you do not have to worry about future spoilers

The Eye of Newb (Return of the Newb)
Game of Thrones Season 4, Episode 2: “The Lion and The Rose”

“Now go drink until it feels like you did the right thing.” – Bronn

You thought it, didn’t you?  Come onnnnnn…. you know you did.  Admit it.  You thought something along these lines: ‘That bastard!  He went and ran out on us again. He’s somewhere near a drink right now, giggling, as we quietly resent his cruel Newb-ish ass.’

Not so fast, Dear Readers!  Newb ain’t going anywhere – yet.  Suffice it to say that I have an interesting relationship with time.  I’m generally aware of it, and yet in no way constrained by it.  If that frustrates you, Friends, you must talk to the lovely Mrs. Newb.  She’s got you beat on the old frustrat-o-meter, of that I am dead certain.

Thus, I would encourage each and all (3 or so, by my reckoning) of you to think of this column as definitionally ‘episodic’ more like ‘he’ll get around to it in between his recurring episodes’ and less like ‘there’ll be a new post after every episode of Game of Thrones’.  It’s a character flaw which I have simply come to accept.  It makes the coping so much easier.  Besides there’s been the waves of giddy joy to contend with (more on that toward the end).

In any case, off we go!

• We open in the woods with bows and arrows… Hunger Games much?  I bet Ramsay would kill it in the Arena, frankly.  And who is this poor slip of a lass being hunted like prey?  Does it matter?  More importantly, with Little Red Shooting Hood, Ramsay’s heartless but skilled co-huntress?  Never mind.  All of those questions pale at the sight of Theon/Reek’s while the hounds tear the wounded quarry apart.  If that was the whole message of this scene, I think I, for one, get that he’s a broken wretch already.  Certainly hope that it meant something more to you Overachieving Book-Readers out there among you.
• Cut to King’s Landing…  Clever segue from Greyjoy to a big, fat sausage – nyuk, nyuk,  Jaime and Tyrion having lunch.  Witty repartee, spilt wine, and a hired swordplay trainer for the one-handed Wonderboy.  Hmmm.  Jaime’s ego and self-pity meet Bronn’s legendary low BS tolerance.  This oughta be interesting.
• Add one scream-drowning oceanside balcony, a brace of sparring swords and it is!  Smack him around, Bronn – just for the hell of it.  That one-armed sympathy junkie could use it – for his own good.
• Off to a gray highway, some horsemen (with a flag!  Where’s Eddie Izzard when the joke is just laying there, helpless?), and a castle.  What ho?  I keep waiting to hear “it’s only a model.”
• Ah, I see.  Roose Bolton returns home to his bastard.  I bet that smarts if you’re the new Senior Flaying Minister of the Junior Sadists’ League who only wants to just like daddy.  Roose wants naught to do with this wild-eyed whackjob, and I can’t say I blame him, especially after the girl-meets-dog action at the open. Also, apparently bringing forth Reek from Theon complicated life for Roose with the Ironborn. Bad move, Ramsay (a.k.a. Captain Freakshow) Snow.
• Egads, the lathering and the shaving and the twitching and the grimacing.  Once, Friends, I wished to see the Egoholic Airhead, Mr. Theon Greyjoy, brought low.  But this?  Painful to watch, even though I do love the twist of the knife from Ramsay regarding the death of Robb Snow.  Sick bastard.  The conversation does serve to let us know that the Bolton clan (there are too many Snows in Westeros to reasonably track them all)  now knows of the continued breathing status of two Stark males, namely Bran and Rickon.  So, Roose sends his “pet rat” after the Stark boys and shoves captain Freakshow off the a run-in with the Ironborn – one which I sincerely believe he hopes will be Ramsay’s last.
• Back to King’s Landing we go, and thankfully to the Imp and the Spider.  There hasn’t been enough Varys so far this season, in my view.  The Imp learns that Shae’s presence and significance are now known by Cersei, thus will be known shortly by a vengeful Tywin, and that he cannot rely on his usual coterie of friends with his father in the game.
• We slide from the Spider and the Imp to the President and Premier of the Junior Sadists’ League himself – One Joffrey Baratheon.  It seems that, as he is soon to wed, Joffrey is receiving gifts from special subjects.  In doing so, he is surprisingly gracious to his diminutive uncle, despite his obvious disdain for the book Tyrion has given.  This graciousness will never do in this particular relationship.  Never.
• Aaannd, there it is.  Joffrey, enamored of his new Valyrian steel sword (thanks, Ned!), chops his uncle’s book asunder with glee.  Asshat.
• Oh, noes!  Shae and Tyrion.  This must be the big and horrible goodbye.  Wow, it is, and can the Imp ever be a total prick when he wants to be.  It doesn’t suit him, even if it is pretense out of concern for Shae’s life.  Nonetheless, I can’t help but think that the “woman scorned” angle may come back to haunt the Imp.
• Cut to a dark, dank, firelit beach at midnight… ah, scenic Greenland.  No, wait, it’s only Melisandre torching some nobodies for science, er, sorry, The Lord of Light or something.  This sorceress beeyotch can die any time now.  How about a date in a delightful sylvan glen with Ramsay and his pooches?  At least Ser Davos brighten the scene a bit.  The Onion has grown into one of my favorite characters.
• Jeebus, but dinner conversations in the Baratheon household are about as lively as a deceased flounder on a county highway… flat, weird and gravelly.  Although, Stannis the Emotionless does, it seems, have a weak spot – his daughter.  So, of course, Melisandre must go and see her.  Crap.  This show is murder on sweet, intelligent kids.  The conversation does reveal that Melisandre believes that she is living in hell already.  Thta explains her taste in clothes, at least.
• Whoosh!  Hard cut to snowy woods.  Must be the North.  In a dream.  With a wolf.  Yoiks!  HoDeer was a horror show, Dear Readers.  Less of that, please?  Or at least warn a brother that he needs a stiffer drink first.
• So, Bran is now a wolf-dream and HoDeer junkie.  Better than heroin, I guess.  And another thing… why is everyone so bloody serious in the North?  Somebody get these fur-clad downers a snowmobile, for chrissakes.
• Oh, dammit, no!!  Not another one of those creepy weeping trees.  I AM going to need stronger drink for this episode, Friends.  Hopefully it’ll improve my writing.  Probably not.  Expectation management, Friends, is an under-appreciated art form.
• Okay, what the hell was all of that tree-touching Oliver Stone weirdness?!  And why no naked Indian?  Seriously.  That little sequence was probably all 31 flavors of red meat for the Book-Reading Overachievers out there, but it’s an overly-large slice of deep fried WTF to the Newb.  A crazy dream sequence just to tell our stone-faced little band of wanderers to keep going the same direction that they were already headed?  It’s like the hideous love child of GPS and LSD.  GPLSD.  Heh, that could be fun.  Until it recalculated.  Where was this metaphor going, anyway?  Oh, right… South.
• To King’s Landing and a royal wedding already in progress.  I don’t even like these damn things in England.  Why would I care about one in this place?  Blah, blah, dearly beloved… blah, blah, pledge this and that.  Where’s Peter Cook when you really, really need him?  “Wu-uv.  Twoo wuv.”  Now that was a wedding.
• Cut to outside, and Tywin and the Grand Dame Tyrell on their way to the wedding feast.  Just a quick, walking reminder that the gold-sh*tting Ones require the funding of the rosy Ones awhile longer.
• And lots of jump-cutting, this time to Tyrion and the Imp entering the wedding feast itself.  Bronn confirms that Shae reached her boat and any followers which he may or may not have had in the process almost certainly did not exist or least have ceased to by now.  Well. there goes my “woman scorned” theory.  Heh. And Bronn gets the line of the night.
• Also, I cannot be the only one who lapped up Pod’s backward glance at the… ahem… acrobat.
• Ah, Dame Tyrell.  Interesting speech within earshot of the King and the Hand.  Foreshadowing?  Someone is going to die at the wedding feast?  All the jumping about is certainly ratcheting up the tension.  Intrigued is the Newb.
• Freakin’ bards, man.  I gave my love a cherry and suchlike… Now you know by now, Friends, that I am not in the Joffrey fan club, but he did play that little bit perfectly.  Take your filthy lucre and get the hell gone, bard.”
• Aaand, Loras seems to… ahem… ‘know’ Oberyn.  OMG, OMG, OMG… Shocker!
• Wow, lots of blend cuts to other conversation around where the Director really wants us to look.  Jaime and Loras.  Threats.  Jealous much, O Brother-Lover of the Queen Regent?  Jaime is an honest jealous lover, though.  Cersei WOULD murder Loras in his sleep without batting a lash.
• Yep, definitely escalating now.  Brienne’s congratulation and blessing is the punctuation.  That much good, honorable and right can only signal the nascency of something truly horrible.
• No, wait, it’s only Cersei (again!) Brienne’s time and stories with Jaime seem to have stoked her jealousy.  Bad for Jaime.  Good for me, though. I enjoy watching Cersei rage and squirm.
• Predictably, another blend cut, wherein, also predictably, Cersei takes out her inner turmoil on Pycelle and the poor.
• Jump to Ser Dontos, who wasn’t kidding about being a literal fool.  He takes some target practice from the wrong end, and then we shift to…
• Oberyn.  Will he be the author of tonight’s badness?  No, but he does get full credit for shutting up smug Cersei with exactly the right riposte regarding her daughter’s safety.
• Cut to Joffrey being his usual pompous, whiny self.  A special amusement?  No!  He isn’t really going to bring out Robb’s cooked head for Sansa’s humiliation, is he?  (Quick soliloquy, Friends… It may just be all the rapid cuts and suspense-building talking, but I’m actually feeling a bit of tension and anticipation tonight)
• Worse.  It’s dwarf-tossing and a joust AND a huge, tasteless swipe at pretty much everyone present.  This new “King” is a, well, there are special words, terrifically inappropriate words, reserved specifically for him.  Even Tywin and Cersei are not amused, and poor, poor pitiful Sansa must relive her personal horrors again.
• Oh, Joffrey, you complete ass.  Calling out the Imp in public again.  This will not end well.  Look, Producers, I don’t care how this ends, but know that if you take Tyrion from me, I will never watch your show again.  I will rent and buy DVDs just to set them ablaze and dance around them.  I will extinguish their guttering flames with a stream of my own urine.  Just so we’re clear on this.
• Ah, the old wine-on-the-head gag.  This is truly escalating quickly now, and Cersei’s smirk is icily priceless.  The new Queen tries to reel in the crazy, yet again, to some avail.  Tyrion is demoted to cup-bearer, and Joffrey just can’t stop himself.  Good for the Imp!  Refusing to kneel.  Please, Producers… understand that… oh, look – pie!!
• Damn.  It truly sucks to be a dove in a pie when there’s Valyrian steel flying about.
• And, Joffrey fires up the crazy again, calling Tyrion back despite the latter’s wine-saturated state.  Once more with the cup.  This is getting to be a bit of a let-down.  We all know Joffrey’s an ass and that he hates his uncle.  So what?
• Wait, wait… whaaaaaaat?!  No!  Can it be?!  Oh, bliss.  Oh, rapture.  Oh, sweetness and light!!  Joffrey’s dying slowly and in agony.  How I laugh!!
• But, no… Sansa’s disappearing with Dontos, and the Imp just drew the short, sharp end of Cersei’s “momma-bear in torment” wrath.
• Crap.  But also, Woo-hoo!!  And crap.  All over, again.

No matter, Joffrey has shuffled off the mortal coil in a painful and bloody fashion.  Now the Newb just has to watch it about six more time until I figure out whodunnit.  Until next week – or some future point in time chosen totally at random – I remain your faithful Newb.