House Rules For Our ‘Game of Thrones’ Party, by David Henne
Take everything you think you know about fantasy-themed house parties and push it out the window. This is our annual Game of Thrones premiere extravaganza. A night when loyalties are tested. Scandal conspires with intrigue. Deceptions reign. And this year, brace yourselves, because Dana is coming. With Mike and them.
All that said, we do ask that guests review a few basic house rules — for the den is small, and full of collectibles.
Arrive in costume.
To avoid another year of multiple Ser Gerris Drinkwaters, we’ll be creating our own original GoT characters and costumes. If you haven’t personalized your sigil, there’s a super simple formula: take the street you grew up on, your favorite mythological color, and the first pet you nurtured to adolescence before it was brutally cut down in front of you.
Stay in your designated area.
Those yet to complete all five novels and three companion novellas will screen the premiere in a separate room. We apologize if this is an inconvenience for some couples, it’s just, seven hells, we can’t pause the episode every two seconds to explain what’s being foreshadowed by this incestuous tower groping or that incestuous horseback groping.
Respect the Iron Throne.
Please remember that the Iron Throne is to be used exclusively for making water. All regicides must be committed in the downstairs bathroom, which is adjacent to the viewing area of the unread. And yes, like most basements, ventilation is pretty poor down there.
Do not attempt to fix the downstairs thermostat.
Our central heater’s pilot light has become dangerously erratic. As a result, the unread viewing area gets extremely hot. Good news is that legend tells of one touched by fire who will go on to wield the flame and unite the realm. If you witness this happening, contact an upstairs adult.
The Wall of Brie is not for consumption.
Unless you’re in the highborn viewing area. We’ll be eating The Wall in a style that references a forthcoming conflict; to partake without context would spoil the entire season. This also applies to the wildling fritters, direwolves in a blanket, and quiche lorraine. But what are you unread guests whining about? You’ve got your gelatin horse hearts.
Help Ryan unload his car.
A single honk of the horn means Ryan’s returned from his flagon run. Two honks means he was followed by crazy Catherine. Three honks is the most ominous, and heralds the all-horn bass riff to “Louie, Louie.”
Each unread guest must enter the lists.
The party culminates when a pairing of unread guests is selected to joust for our affections. The danger is artificial—the tourney lances dulled—but that doesn’t mean we won’t be deep in our cups and expecting a spirited contest.
Do not run downstairs, use the pilot light to ignite your lances and lay siege to the realm in blind fulfillment of the prophecy.
Ridiculous that we should have to state this: do not attempt to take what you believe is rightfully yours with fire and blood. Both of those things WILL stain.
Speak the common tongue.
OK nobody at the party is going to be fluent in Braavosi, High Valyrian, or any of the old tongues, but if you’re going to brandish a flaming lance and ululate, we insist that you at least use the proper Dothraki inflections.
Stop rebelling and come to your senses.
If you lay waste to our premiere extravaganza, where will you go? Brian’s? He hasn’t the coin for an HBO subscription. Enjoy huddling around his pirated stream the day after airing. And don’t even suggest Danny. The rumors of his possessing the last living dragon are obviously false. It’s his penis, you guys.
Stay for Girls?
In loyal fashion, our GoT party will descend into a full-scale melee and die way earlier than any of us anticipated. But why not stick around for Girls? Both seasons are up on demand and we’ll already be screaming in our small clothes.
David Henne is a writer on Long Island, New York, whose work has appeared in McSweeney’s, The Big Jewel, Johnny America, and Yankee Pot Roast. You can follow him on Twitter.
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