As I write this I have been two nights lost at sea under the cold moon and over the terrifying depths. I fear I will soon perish. But this gladdens me, as to my mind there is no longer any joy left in the world since the most recent episode of Game of Thrones.

My lifeboat has sprung several leaks. They pale in comparison to the multitude of plot and character holes in this final season. My ship sank and I will die soon because the cook forgot to close the bilge hatch when he disposed of the luncheon refuse. I have forgiven him and accepted my fate, but I will never forgive the HBO writers responsible for thrusting such an unsatisfying denouement upon the formerly rich stories of Daenerys, Cersei, and Jon. My Christian soul shall find no peace unless the knowledge of my righteous anger ‘gainst these butchers of all sanctity finds the ears of my fellow men. In the wake of this affront to holiness, I have become a vessel of torment and malice. Even the creatures of the deep which will, upon my demise, nibble my bloated flesh and dispel my body back unto the land from which it formed will taste the incurable bitterness now bonded to my being from viewing the godless foolery that is Game of Thrones, season eight.

Please! Deliver to the world this message of my utter disgust. Know that as I lay burning under the noontide glare of the deadly sun, my dreams of delirium told the story of what could have been, what should have been for my once beloved Game of Thrones.

Soon will I venture into the long, warm night of death. My adored wife shall weep for her lost love. My precious children shall grow up fatherless. These will be merely the small inconveniences of life for them compared to the unyielding agony of continuing to exist in a world where Game of Thrones ended on such a disappointing note. How they shall envy me, sleeping on the floor of the sea, senseless to this new and unthinkable reality.

Oh darling family! I will build for you in Heaven a golden, perfect finale to Game of Thrones! Do not succumb to the temptation of self-end and damn yourselves to Hell (though Hell has now become a more desirable home than Earth). Persevere just a single lifetime, that you may one day join me in a just and neverending paradise where Game of Thrones ended in the perfect, tight package for which all humanity prayed.

Please dear reader, be you sailor, mermaid, peasant, or fishwife, cry my message from the towers of all cities, from the mounts of all countries, from the masts of all vessels more fortunate than mine: Game of Thrones is bad now!

Adieu.

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