Back in those heady days of 2013 when Prince was alive, Donald Trump wasn’t president and nuclear war was just a thing that happened in films, Game Of Thrones was famous for being quite rude. If you cast your mind back to the far reaches of five years ago, back when Twitter was still funny and you could sleep at night, Game Of Thrones was so notorious for its sex scenes that Trey Parker wrote an episode of South Park called "A Song Of Ass And Fire".

Like anyone who is still inexplicably watching South Park will tell you: oh man, it was so funny. Butters went to George RR Martin’s house to ask about future plot points and all the book's creator would tell him about were stories involving characters’ penises. Then, surrounded by phallic objects including the white penis sculpture from A Clockwork Orange, George RR Martin led a male choir in the Thrones theme tune that he added some words to; words about weiners in faces, weiners beside other weiners. It was a weiner party.

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I miss that Game Of Thrones in Trey Parker’s head (the actual show was never that much about dicks, it was “boobies” says George RR Martin). I miss the Game Of Thrones that Ian McShane said was “only tits and dragons” — because there are no tits anymore, only fucking dragons.

What gives, HBO? In the very first episode you gave us two hot twins banging in a tower. That was a hell of an opener. Then we got naked Khal Drogo being told he can’t do Daenerys from behind because she wants to look at his face. We got Littlefinger and his brothel; Stannis and Melisandre on a table; Robb and Talisa on the floor with his trousers still on; characters fingering each other on horseback; Tyrion in whorehouses; Tyrion and Shae; more Tyrion in whorehouses; Theon making use of his balls while he still had them; Ygritte telling Jon Snow he knows nothing while straddling him in a cave; and — in the greatest forgotten subplot Game Of Thrones ever gave us — Podrick being told by several prostitutes not to worry about the money because they enjoyed his big dick too much.

Now there’s lots of talking on cliffs and looking out to sea, lots of “bend the knee” and lots of dragons. Cersei still bangs her brother in a tower but we don’t see it. A few episodes ago she asked her staff to change her sex sheets, but all we saw was Jaime lying among them. This is what you’ve got me rooting for, HBO: scraps of incest.

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As the characters whose names I bothered to remember die off, there is one storyline I cling to. Jorah Mormont — who is still handsome even after he had his entire epidermis lanced off with a letter opener, who has sat in a lonely cell untouched by human hands for months, who could have died a stone man, who has travelled for an indeterminate length of time because this season Game Of Thrones seems to have unlocked fast travel — has arrived to kiss the hand of his queen only for her to put him back on a boat and send him away, his boner tucked under his belt, his blue balls bluer than ever. I’m just waiting for Jorah Mormont to catch some kind of break instead of a disease. I just want to see Iain Glen semi-naked again but without that skin crust that resembled the giraffe bread you buy in Sainsbury’s. Can someone ask George RR Martin if it’s going to happen? It’s about a weiner, he’ll love it.

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