There are only three people in the entire world who are surprised that Jonni Snowbreasts is alive: himself, Ser Davos, and that hormonal teenager who finally “cooled down” by “hanging” with the wrong crowd. Like seriously, Kit Harrington and Davos were like, “Did you see this coming?” “No man, this was a HUGE twist” (winks towards the audience) “Who could have possibly thought about this outcome?”
LITERALLY EVERYONE THE MOMENT JONNIBOY SNOWTITS HIT THE FREAKING GROUND.
Kit and Davos are like two anthropology majors freaking out about an antique spoon:
“Absolutely fascinating dear chap, look at the artistry.”
“Quite right my dear sir, the metalworking is simply exquisite.”
“I’m utterly baffled by the longevity.”
Meanwhile the rest of humanity sees a spoon, calls it a “spoon”, and, if available, uses it to chow down on some chunky soup. This isn’t a perfect metaphor, but I just really don’t get anthropology majors.
At this point, ripping the clothes off Daenarys is no longer a common occurrence. It is a THEME. If I were to write a five paragraph essay on the dichotomies of Game of Thrones, my body paragraphs would be on good vs. evil, darkness vs. light, and Daenerys’s left breast vs. right boobie. And there is, by far, the most supporting evidence for the last paragraph.
Sam has a baby boy named little Sam, which could easily be the name of his “pecker”. Imagine how many children have been named after the family jewels. Richard, Willie, Johnson, Harry. Weird Al. I’m not sure what’s in store for Sam, little Sam, and little Sam and I’m not sure I care.
There were many “oh shit” moments in this episode. Varys’ little birds ended up being candy-loving munchkins now under the control of Cersei, and fun-loving Ramsay has his hands on yet another Stark. Ned Stark lied about defeating the Sword of the Morning. Who knows what else he lied about? Besides Daily Beast, Vox, Heavy.com, Huffpost, Popsugar, Bustle, idigitaltimes, and pretty much every other bullshit peddler on the internet? No one.
Jon Snow promised to clean up the shit, embarking on a Herculean task to clean the Augean stables (big building, filled with horse poop over decades, learn your mythology plebs) with naught but a heavy righteous heart, deep brooding eyes, and a major role in the plot. Can he unite the gods of old and new, save his brothers and sisters, and defend Westeros from fire and ice, or will the stinky poop overwhelm his heroic soul?