Greetings! Tis I, the original Night King, only dragon glass cannot harm me, my friends, oh no. Only the rejection from the one I love can defeat me, and sadly, that seems to be happening as I type this miserable column.  Look how much Euron had to go through just to smash an already pregnant, on-the-way-out Queen. May the Seven have mercy, holy mother of Albright! I suppose I can’t criticize the situation too harshly, for I find myself in a similar predicament at the time of this writing; sending poetry, gifts, showing public displays of affection via instagram, seemingly all for naught. Euron really went full on Fred Durst and did it all for the Nookie, for he must know Cersei’s chances of keeping control of the iron throne are about as slim as George R.R. Martin finishing the Winds of Winter before ole boy kicks the bucket. You’ve got to be realistic about these things. Shoot, and his manipulation even paid off, whereas my situation is true love and I just don’t have what it takes to win her over. Maybe I lost my touch, or maybe I need to go back to the old me. Either way, Euron opened my eyes like I was the Three-Eyed Raven on molly this Sunday eve, and I sense some changes in my life will occur by the time your Sunday Funday given bloodshot eyes read this.

Below, I’ll touch on parts of the season premiere that stood out to me and also talk some of what we’ve seen so far in the first couple weeks of fantasy baseball. Both happen to be some of my absolute favorite things and I believe I was the FIRST fantasy writer to ever combine the two subjects, but who’s really keeping track……..I hate everyone. Let’s do this!

Please, blog, may I have some more?

keep-calm-winter-is-here-3

All hail his grace, Tehol of House Beddict and House Razzball, first of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of Fantasy Baseball, and Protector of the Realm.

Come, sit with me at the fire pit while we witness Grey, Lord of Light, burn another traitor at the stake. Ahhhh, I love a good BBQ, don’t you? Rudy Gamble, Warden of the Norh, is here, rambling on and on about how statistics show that gelded men are superior warriors. Oh Sky, I’m truly sorry. The theory HAD to be tested. Sending the High Sparrow, Jay Wrong, to bring you up on false charges, imprison you for 2 and ½ months, feeding you gruel, and b*tch slapping you with the ladel every time you got mouthy was a tad over the top, but hey, I’m a King, and am extremely busy. Kind of forgot you were in there. J-FOH, bring me another glass of red wine with a wildfire floater, would you? And no lip this time. I don’t want to have to feed your spleen to the direwolves. Really, J-FOH, you can be quite mouthy. RAAAAAAAAAALPH, by “the 7”, you are a right lackadaisical bastard. Were you touched by a stone man recently, or were you just sucking the pipe with Ser Smokey again? I REQUESTED my armor  removed over 20 minutes ago. Oh, imagined I’d enjoy roasting by the fire, sweating my kingly balls off, did you? Don’t make your King command Grand Maester Mike to lace your milk of the poppy with donkey urine again. That brings to mind the time my Dragon, Dom Brown, the Dread, almost choked to death on the last assassin who dared make an attempt on my life. [As always, Game of Thrones spoilers ahead!]

Please, blog, may I have some more?

All hail his grace, Tehol of House Beddict and House Razzball, first of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of Fantasy Baseball, and Protector of the Realm.

Greetings! I come to you flaccid and weary after a five day boar hunting/brothel hopping excursion. A nice treat from my loyal subjects, celebrating the fact that Peter King, the first King of the Andals, wrote a blurb on how much he adores Razzball.com. Now, I’m guessing he’s never read Beddict scripture, but who am I to turn down an opportunity to take down the same breed of beast that brought a heartbreaking end to my very dear friend, Robert Baratheon, not to mention unsheathing my long sword a time or two, all while being rip-roaringingly tanked? After Maester Sky closely inspected my unmentionables, giving me what looks like a years supply of penicillin and three anti-itch creams, I remembered I still had work to do! There were many disgraceful performances over this past week or two, the kind of disgraces that make Jorah Mormont’s traitorous ways seem almost acceptable, and if you believe a few “possible” STDs are going to stop me from taking quill to parchment, then good ser’s (and madam’s), you are sadly mistaken. Let us not forget those who shined like a young Rhaegar Targaryen on the battlefield, and may their songs be hummed by children in the Godswood for hundreds of years… If you’ve visited me here before, you know how I do it… every two weeks I’ll be mixing baseball and Game of Thrones. (Jay and I also dedicate a segment to the show on the Fantasy Football Podcast!) Interesting concept, eh? No? You must like the taste of ice cold Valaryian steel, sir! And as always, spoilers ahead!

Please, blog, may I have some more?