What’s it all about?

After watching the final episodes of “Game of Thrones,” I have done some deep thinking about the whole darn thing. Several questions come to mind. Just what the heck was all that precious time devoted to? Would it have been more suited to watching “Seinfeld” episodes for the one-hundred-and-tenth time? Was that eighth season as bad as some fans say? Was it as much a disappointment as, say, the final episode of “How I Met Your Mother”?

Last things first. It was not as disappointing as the “How I Met Your Mother” fiasco. We can all rejoice that Cersei got her just desserts. Poor Jaime, he deserved better. Unfortunately he couldn’t resist drooling every time Cersei walked into the room. But I got to say that she wasn’t that bad with her clothes off. And I’ve seen her with her clothes. In fact, there weren’t any of the main characters I didn’t see naked.

And I came up with a good answer to the question, “What was it all about, Alfie?” It was about furniture. One particular piece of furniture. A chair. The iron throne. Was all the killing and sexing and hanging out with dragons worth it? After all, who would want to sit on the darn thing?

There’s a rumor going around the television channel that gave us “The Sopranos” that everybody who sat on the darn thing was given combat pay. After all, Joffrey could not sit down for a month after a couple of hours sitting his tush on it. Only Cersei could take the difficulty. That’s because everybody in the kingdom called her “Queen Iron Butt”.

As I considered the “Game of Thrones” dilemma of what was it all about, I came to some other conclusions. One of them being that the thing most super villains pine for is jewelry. Just look at the list. Sauron wanted a ring. Sure it wasn’t just any ring. But still it was jewelry. And Thanos, what did he want? Gems. Which is another word for jewelry. What did Lex Luthor want? Kryptonite. Which was just some green jewelry. Maybe he should have gotten in touch with Green Lantern.

Then there are the fairy tales. Just think Cinderella. All she wanted was a new pair of shoes. She ended up with a prince with a foot fetish. And talking about shoes. If Dorothy had surrendered those ruby reds, she would have avoided beaucoup amounts of trouble.

The Big Bad Wolf was a real estate developer trying to evict the Three Little Piggies. And Little Red was out for Granny’s real estate as well. But Big Bad got there first.

And what can you expect when you ask a Mirror who’s the fairest in the land? Fake news. The fairest may not have been the Queen. But neither was Snow White. That honor went to Sleeping Beauty. After all, she had Hollywood’s Best doing makeup when she won Miss Fairy Tale 2018.

As you can see, our heroes, our villains and our fairy tale folk are all after the same thing we ordinary mortals want. Furniture, clothes, real estate and beauty pageants. Why else do we play the lottery?


Near 500 words: TW and the K’lggsh

Episode 23 of The Writer.

TW (aka The Writer) nodded his head. He would leave Dr. Baxter’s office. He held up the card once more, staring at it, trying to force the text back under Sylvia’s signature. The light through the window lit on the postcard in a certain way. TW saw the script.

“Dr. Baxter,” he said. “You have to look at the card again. The text is back.”

“I really don’t have time for this. Leave please.”

TW realized he had to do something. Otherwise he would be the laughing stock of the campus and lose what chance he had to get help. Right then and there, he decided he did not want to be seen for a fool. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He walked past the professor, turned, took her wrist, and spun her around, her back facing him. Then he held her with one arm, while his other hand placed the card at an angle in front of her face. The light shone through it, and the text appeared.

“What,” Dr. Baxter said, her body stopping its resistance. She took the card from him and stared at it. “This is K’lggsh. Oh, my God, this is K’lggsh. I don’t believe–this is K’lggsh.”

TW let go of her and she dropped into a chair staring at the card. The script disappeared.

Two security guards grabbed TW from behind. TW resisted, then realized it was no use. They had him pinned.

“You’re coming with us,” one of the guards said. “We’re turning you over to the cops.”

Dr. Baxter woke from what seemed like a hypnotized state. She stood up. “No, no. It wasn’t him.”

“What?” the guard asked.

“Yes, he stopped the intruder. The intruder ran down the hall and out the back stairs.”

The two security guards turned and ran down the hall, chasing a phantom.

Dr. Baxter raised the card to let the light hit it. The script returned. Then she laughed. “This is K’lggsh. Amazing.”


“Yes. Let me show you.”

She went over to the bookcase and pull down a large book, her hands shaking. She dropped it twice before she was able to set it on her desk. Then she rifled through the pages until she found what she wanted. She pointed to a picture of a fragment. “Here. Read this.”

She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a magnifying glass and passed it over to TW.

TW looked through the glass. He saw a fragment of a brown scroll of script. On the scroll were a partial group of words. What might have been incomplete sentences. Some of the few words half erased.

“K’lggsh,” Dr. Baxter said, her voice overjoyed.

TW stared at the photograph, then looked back at Dr. Baxter, then back at the fragment. The script looked similar to the script on the postcard. Not the same but similar.

TW sat down on a chair at the side of the office, shaking his head. He recognized one of the words in the fragment. It was one of the scripts on the card. “What does this mean?”

“That fragment in the book,” Dr. Baxter said. “That’s the only thing we have of the K’lggsh language. And now this.” She signified the postcard.

She turned the card over and saw the woman dress. “No. It can’t be….This is–“

A mismatched couple

To all the mismatched couples out there.

Those shoes she bought me
They squeezed my feet
That hat she gave me
Didn’t look so neat
Those pants she brought me
They’re way too tight
The shirt she sewed me
It’s much too bright

We’re a mismatched couple
She and I
Yet our romance
We can’t deny

That car I bought her
Broke down in a week
That candy I sent her
Was much too sweet
The rose I brought her
It made her sneeze
The book I read her
A “No thank you please”

We’re a mismatched couple
She and I
Yet our romance
We can’t deny

The house we bought
Fell down on our heads
The garden we planted
Weeds pronounced it dead
The fights we’ve had
Win, draw or loose
But here we are
We’re the one we choose

We’re a mismatched couple
She and I
Yet our romance
We can’t deny