So I am going to admit up front that I have not—at least yet—read the Game of Thrones series of novels. The last time I invested time (or had enough time to invest) in a Fantasy series was Lord of the Rings, decades ago. However, that said, I am HOOKED like a junkie looking for his next score of crystal methamphetamine. Seriously. I would actually rob my family of precious heirloom jewels and raid their pocketbooks and wallets if it meant paying for a constant streaming video of the HBO smash hit series.

Even my wife, who swears off the Fantasy genre with not only a wave of her hand but a look as if she’s discussing the return of the Black Plague, cannot wait until Sunday night and the next episode of GOT.

Yes, it’s that good.

My only complaint (come on, it’s me, you knew one was coming) is that here, in season four, I believe the writers blew their wad(s) too early and that the season finale suffered. Not that the final episode wasn’t par excellence; it was. For an episode. But I expected more from a finale for a show the magnitude of GOT. I admit, the writers have a lot to live up to, and (aside from knowing I ended that last phrase in a preposition, I also know they are somewhat constrained by sticking to the already-existing book series). I felt it was simply a bit “normal” for an episode of GOT, although the writers, producers, actors, and cinematographers have set the bar very high for the norm.

It was also over-hyped in my own mind. I was really expecting to be blown away (like the picture of that guy in the chair for the old stereo speakers ad). Hair blown back (okay, no balding jokes), mouth three times it’s size with lips quivering, sunglasses necessary (even indoors) to keep the eyes from watering due to the sheer brilliance searing from the widescreen, HDTV. Oh, and tie fluttering backwards, conjuring thoughts of what Superman’s tie might have resembled whilst flying, were Clark Kent ever have forgotten to rip it off.

So yeah, I might have done this a bit to myself. [BTW, how cool is the Internet that it took me exactly three seconds to “Google” (verb) that old pic and find a hundred copies?]

And speaking of par excellence, have you seen the newest HBO Louis C.K. one hour stand-up show? If not, you are missing out. No other stand-up act or comedian has ever proven more to me that laughter TRULY is the best medicine. After my wife and I paid to download the show (five bucks, and you can purchase it right here and show Louis the love; otherwise you can watch the hour show, in full, here), we laughed so hard, and so long, that I have not felt so filled with verve since my last crystal meth…I mean, Game of Thrones fix.

Seriously, Louis C.K. is currently the funniest comedian on the planet. He is Everyman. No comedian in the history of comedy who could perfect Everyman (by simply being himself) ever failed to generate an avalanche of laughter. Louis C.K. IS that comedian. And he does it better than most—if not all—before him. Don’t believe me? Check out this one:

And this one:

Everyone has both a rectum and an opinion, I know, but my opinion is that no one actually exhumes  the laughter from within you as does the inimitable Louis C.K. My only fear is that he’s middle-aged, which means old-age is not that far around a few corners, and when George Carlin (another Everyman genius and comic god) turned old, he (and his act) got mean. Now, unfortunately, my memories of him are not as much his earlier brillance in comedy (FM & AM? Class Clown?) but rather his curmudgeonly, hunched over, raging at the crowd (I know; I sat front row at Vegas a few years before he passed—I thought he was going to die of an angry aneurysm that night).

Thing is, Carlin was so good that he couldn’t completely destroy his incomparable, top-5 ever humor, even with rage and malice. I still laughed my ass off. (In between moments where everyone looked at each other and wondered if he’d finally lost his mind.)

Lastly, a quick comment:

What’s the deal with speed traps (and yes, that’s rhetorical; I’m not a moron—they are cash cows)? You know the kind I’m talking about. Six lanes plus a median and out where there is nothing to which you can do damage (or can do damage to you) but a few power poles, and the speed limit is 30-35. On a downhill. And a nice, cool shady spot 3/4 the way down where a surreptitious police officer lurks in the trees’ shadows, gunning you (and, likely, smirking like a ghoul).

I get it. The city needs money. We all do. Doesn’t the city/county/state/feds realize they are taking money from the people who generate sales taxes, fuel taxes, cigarette taxes (man, does that one have to hurt smokers—and they can’t stop in protest)?

Hey, in a school zone?

HELL YES. PLEASE!

In my neighborhood, where kids run in the streets?

DEFINITELY, but do you think I have ever, even once, seen a cop sitting in my neighborhood trying to do some actual protecting and serving by busting these chuckleheads who use our neighborhood as a speedway-shortcut to avoid the red light at the turn in to our development?

No.

Way.

Come on, officers. At least make a token appearance in the places where the citizens care about speeding; places where real lives are at stake (other than the speeder, and usually children).

That’s all.

</rant>

Sorry. I should have ended with the comedy stuff.

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The blank page is dead…long live the blank page.

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Author known to use spontaneous satire, sarcasm, and unannounced injections of pith or witticisms which may not be suitable for humorless or otherwise jest-challenged individuals. (Witticisms not guaranteed to be witty, funny, comical, hilarious, clever, scintillating, whimsical, wise, endearing, keen, savvy, sagacious, penetrating, fanciful, or otherwise enjoyable. The Surgeon General has determined through laboratory testing that sarcasm can be dangerous, even in small amounts, and should not be ingested by those who are serious, somber, pensive, weighty, funereal, unsmiling, poker-faced, sober, or pregnant.) For those who enjoy and/or revel in the utterance of profanity, the author reserves the right to substitute “fish” for “fuck” without fear of repercussion, mental reservation, or purpose of evasion.