Shit George R. R. Martin Says: A Script We're Too Lazy to Film

George R. R. Martin sits in a filthy living room, surrounded by soda cans, hamburger wrappers, and crumpled pieces of paper. It's like he's inside a goat, pretty much. Straddling a bucket of chicken, he bellows toward the camera.

George R. R. Martin: Smallclothes!

He sticks a drumstick into his mouth.

George R. R. Martin: Boiled leather!

He flips through a thesaurus.

George R. R. Martin: Is there a synonym for 'waddle'?

He executes a Stark.

George R. R. Martin: The bear! The bear! The maiden fair!

He hears a rustling at the window.

George R. R. Martin: Black wings, black words!

A crow enters and steals a chicken wing.

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