If you’re lucky enough to be incredibly rich as well as mindblowingly evil, technology has provided you with the world’s most perfect tool of destruction.

A new service called spoiled.io has just been launched. For a fee, it will text anonymous Game of Thrones spoilers to your enemies the moment it finishes airing in America. Although inspired by the story of a spurned woman who ruined Game of Thrones for her cheating ex-boyfriend by bombarding him with spoilers every Monday morning, Spoiled promises to go one further – by then tweeting the outraged responses of the victims.

It’s hard to think of anything more disruptive. In this non-linear, catch-up, on-demand environment, spoilers have become a genuine currency of aggression. All week, my Twitter feed has been full of people raging with indignation because someone told them what happens at the end of Orange is the New Black before they had a chance to watch it. If you really want to wreck someone’s day, you only have to tell them what happened in the thing you just saw.

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But Game of Thrones takes this to a brand new level. People are genuinely invested. People have spent months of their lives poring over books and looking for clues and piecing together all sorts of elaborate fan theories, purely for the satisfaction of seeing all the narrative threads pay off onscreen in a sumptuous and satisfying manner.

And when someone yanks the rug out from beneath them, with tweets or GIFs or news stories, it’s like their world has collapsed. It doesn’t even have to be a direct, recent spoiler either; when I once made the mistake of obliquely referencing the colour of a character’s face, three years after the episode’s broadcast, the fury I drew from fans who hadn’t got around to watching it was so pronounced that I fleetingly considered a legal change of identity.

With tensions this high, of course a service like Spoiler is going to come along. By getting your knickers in this much of a twist whenever you can’t enjoy a television programme in the exact way you want, you’re making yourself even more vulnerable to attack. If you could learn to live with spoilers – or at least not act like a dummy-spitting toddler whenever you hear that [REDACTED] killed [REDACTED] with his own [REDACTED] – then nobody would get a kick out of posting spoilers any more. Revenge is only funny when it lands. Stop rising to the bait.

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With this in mind, it might be worth reevaluating what constitutes good television these days. And there really is going to be a spoiler now, so stop reading if you haven’t seen any of this year’s Game of Thrones yet.

The fifth episode of this series, entitled The Door, climaxed with Hodor’s death. A spoiler might have blunted the effect of the episode a little, but it would in no way ruin it. A spoiler wouldn’t come close to matching the sheer technical mastery of the sequence where he dies – the tension of the build-up, the swelling of the music, the deliberate succession of shots that were designed for maximum emotional impact. You might have known that Hodor died, but you wouldn’t really know how he died unless you actually watched the thing. If your enjoyment of a TV programme solely lies in the basics of its plot twists – and not its artistry as a whole – then you shouldn’t be watching in the first place. A weekly set of bulletpoints is all you need.

But it’s OK. You’re cool with spoilers anyway. Everyone who isn’t stopped reading two paragraphs ago. God, those people are awful. Let’s all sign up to Spoiler just to annoy them.