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An Open Letter To The Unsullied

By Lord Castleton | Game of Thrones | June 12, 2015 |






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(I'm not a book-reader, so the following observations are garnered from the Game of Thrones small screen visual experience.)

Dear "The Unsullied,"

How's it hanging? Don't answer that. I just watched the most recent episode of Game of Thrones and I wanted to reach out and see if you guys were okay. I mean, you're kind of taking a beating out there, y'know? When Daenerys initially freed all you guys I was like whoa! You were the slave jewel of Astapor. Astapor. Just the name sounds like the kind of whispered old-timey swear a racist grandmother would use.

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MAN: Nana! This is my date, Bethany Hendricks. We both fold shirts at The Gap!

BETHANY: It's TOTALLY GREAT to finally meet you Mrs. Karabedggian!

NANA: Asssssstapor!

MAN: Ah shoot. Nana? Nana? Aaaand she's gone.

BETHANY: What did she say? Ask a whore?

MAN: Nothing, nothing. I think it means 'good tidings' in her native language.

BETHANY: What'd you say her native language is again?

MAN: We're not sure. It all kind of sounds like that. It's like half angry witch doctor half parseltongue.

So that's where you hail from. Astapor. Land of a thousand whispered curses. And the big reveal with you guys is that you all are eunuchs, which means you all had your junk removed.

Honestly, that really sucks. Eunuchs are not really part of my general consciousness. In fact, the only time I even remember hearing about them was from this scene from Mel Brooks' History of the World:Part I that toes the type of everyday racism you just don't get to see today.

Even with that solid vote for no-penis, I don't really know what a eunuch is per se. I mean, I know George R. R. Martin has a thing for lopping dudes weeners off, but I was like, is a eunuch no dick or no ball-yones or nothing at all? God, whatever it is, it's fucking depressing.

My first thought was "I don't actually know what that is on a physiological level. I thought castration was removal of the testicles and becoming a eunuch was removal of everything, but I'm not 100% sure."

My second thought was "I will never ever google this because I'm not burning six pages of mutilated dongs into my subconscious."

So, I decided to imagine it in my own way, regardless of what the actual truth is. Ever see the docked tail of a Doberman?

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It's like a little nub. And when they're happy it wags just like any other dog. So that's how I decided to imagine you guys, The Unsullied. Just miserable angry dudes who feel no pain and have little unhappy nubs.

Then when Daenerys freed you guys I imagined all of you standing there at parade rest in your regimental cohorts and underneath that shitty inflexible plate leather tunic you wear, all of your nubs were just wagging away for the first time ever. That's why this is her full name:

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen

Trueborn Queen of the Andals and the First Men

Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea

Breaker of Chains

The Unburnt

Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms

Protector of the Realm

Queen of Meereen

First of Her Name

Mother of Dragons

Nubshaker

Note: 'Nubshaker' can be seamlessly substituted for 'Hotstepper' to maximize your experience of this article.

And this is the crazy part about your genital Houdini act: I imagined that there was a logical reason behind this. Like once upon a time some hateful sadistic maester figured out that junkless men make for better fighters. That's what I was thinking. That all of you were as intense as Grey Worm and had cool accents and were just praying praying for battle so you could absolutely fuck shit up. You were like the John Wick of the pre-gunpowder world. I thought, "oh man, with this force of killers behind her it won't be long at all until the Nubshaker sits upon the Iron Throne of Westeros.

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I mean, the math is sound, obviously. But the real reason I thought that was because of the Spider, who is also without a penis where penises usually are. Or gonads. I mean, I've readily admitted I don't really know what a eunuch is but Varys definitely doesn't have a nub. I imagine he's just bare down there. Like nothing. Like a Ken doll. If you could photoshop his forehead between his legs, that's what he looks like down there, except with an almost undetectable little pee hole like the straw hole in the middle of a Mcdonalds medium soda lid. That's it. And how did that affect him? Well, it made him a cauldron of spiteful rage, enough to hunt down the sorcerer that did it to him, sew his mouth closed and fedex him across two continents in a wormwood crate. I'd say that's pretty rage-y.

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But let's get serious, when Lord Varys isn't plotting the salvation of the Seven Kingdoms or absconding with BDSM necromancers, this is a man who clearly spends every day looking down the business end of a toaster strudel. You guys are The Unsullied. You were slaves! You were probably fed like horsemeat and scraps of chicken fried shite. That's why all of you all have these lithe kickass Kate Moss bodies. Like if we tried to fit an average American child into an Unsullied outfit of flared-shoulder plate leather we'd be in elementary schools. Your average American high schooler couldn't fit into that cowhide body glove you guys wear! You're fit! You're limber! I'm not putting any money down but I'll bet you dimes to dollars that Grey Worm has the exact same dimensions as Ally McBeal era Calista Flockhart.

So sue me if I expected just a weeeee bit more. You're The Unsullied. That means you literally have no Sully.

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No, that doesn't seem right. Hmmmm. Maybe it means you haven't been 'sullied' by things like 'awkward giggling handjobs' and 'joy.'

Listen, in the interest of true friendship, I'm just going to come right out and say it: so far you guys are the single worst fighting force in all of the Known World.

I'm not kidding. You're the worst. I imagine bad guys cheer when they have to fight you because it's a victory every single time. Unsullied? More like unskillied. You took a collection of Studio 54 cage dancers called the 'Sons of the Harpy'- which is a name only the lamest mouthbreathing prepubescent dungeon master would come up with, and turned them into delta force commandos. This is a collection of untrained nobodies with hubcaps on their faces and you seem fucking blown away by them every time. Like shocked.

You know who else is more daunting than you? Those shitty slaves in the fighting pit that died in like two seconds. That's right.

And the 'Sand Snakes', a collection of mostly near-mute, boring brunettes in twelve-ply leather and one chem-happy exhibitionist with a Dorothy Hamill hairdo. They are scarier than you. Even though they're soooooo painful to watch. They have the natural fighting dexterity of a kid with ADHD trying to ball-paddle a dragonfly.

Wildlings are more daunting than you.

Slavers are more daunting than you.

Podrick is more daunting than you.

Samwell Tarly is more daunting than you. And do you know why?

Edged weapons, that's why. Everyone else in the whole world has edged weapons. I mean, I know you guys had them at one point. Remember when Grey Worm did this?

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No! You want to hold on to that! That's what an edged weapon looks like guys! Hell, even Fabio Noharis has the U.S.S.R. style sickle.

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Listen, I get it. In Astapor your slave masters lied to you. They were like "This is a spear. It's basically the top weapon in the universe and you will be feared wherever you go." They lied to you, pure and simple.

Let's go to the film of what just happened this past week.

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So you guys are all hanging out in your eunuch basin or whatever and then you realize it's time for the big day at the fighting pits. Okay. So you leave behind like 2000 of your fellow Unsullied and all nine of you go to guard duty at the big game.

And then, you see this.

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Inside, you panic. That dude has more weight on his face than you have on your whole body- he must be tough! But then your instinctive junkless slave training kicks in.

Step 1: Is anyone about to saw off your nipple? No? Darn, you're actually good at that. Go to step 2.

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Step 2: Throw up your garage-can-lid shield and sit back on your haunches with your spear extended threateningly. In your mind, you think "Come at me Bro."

Step 3: Peer over the edge of your shield like a frenzied second grader trying to see inside an ice cream truck.

Step 4: Poke as needed. Poke like the dickens, if need be.

Now I'm not going to sit here and suggest no army has ever poked their way to victory. Did you see 300? That whole movie was like a 3 hour advertisement for poking. Wink, wink.

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But those guys were in a tiny mountain pass. And they always kept their enemies in front of their spears.

See, here's the rub, fellas. I've taken the liberty of marking the danger area for your enemies in red. You'll notice that if your enemies can somehow manage to not be directly in front of those tiny red circles, they won't be injured.

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And so here's my suggestion. It's a simple five step plan to get Those Of Precious Little Sully back on track. I usually get a pretty bueno fee for this type of re-org, but consider this a goodwill gesture on behalf of those of us who just want to see you behave like professionals. For once.

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#1: Shitcan those spears. My suggestion? I'd make a life-sized edible arrangement for Drogon. I'll bet you could get like six watermelons on each spear. You owe that dragon your lives.

#2: Buy some swords. If you can't find swords, use cheese knives. Use hatchets. Use backscratchers. Go to Olive Garden and make off with their flatware. Just shorten up your working swing radius, fellas.

#3: Look behind you. Seems simple, right? I've been watching this show for five years and I've never once seen one of you guys stabbed in the front. They always get you from the back. They always wait for you to poke at some idiot and then they run behind you and slit your throat.

#4: Which leads me to the next move. Cut that idiotic faceguard off your helmet and tie it to your neck. I guarantee you'll reduce your casualties by 75%. Why do you need a facemask? Do you guys play hockey in the desert? Are you all Batman? Are you worried about someone tagging you in medieval facebook? Haven't you done a review of how your dead guys got dead?

UNSULLIED 1: Okay how did this one die?

UNSULLIED 2: Throat slit from behind.

UNSULLIED 1: Aaaand what about this one?

UNSULLIED 2: Throat slit from behind.

UNSULLIED 1: Okey doke and what about this one?

UNSULLIED 2: Stabbed in the back.

UNSULLIED 1: Righty-o and the next one?

UNSULLIED 2: Throat slit from behind.

UNSULLIED 1: Sounds good. That guy there?

UNSULLIED 2: Stabbed in the back.

UNSULLIED 1: Roger. Got it. Next one?

UNSULLIED 2: Throat slit from behind.

UNSULLIED 1: Made a note of that. What about the one over there?

UNSULLIED 2: Stabbed in the back.

UNSULLIED 1: Aaaand stabbed in back. Got it.

UNSULLIED 3: Did you guys find any pattern? Can we identify a weakness in our strategy?

UNSULLIED 1: Not that I saw.

UNSULLIED 2: Nope, just bad luck. No real patterns jumped out.

UNSULLIED 3: Okay, whew. Lets go sharpen our spear tips.

Which brings me to the final action item:

#5: Bring more dudes. I mean everywhere you go. Be like a bunch of chavs in Oban. Pretend you're the entourage of a famous rapper. Bring way way too many guys, armed to the teeth with edged weapons WHEREVER YOU GO. If you have guard duty and the roll calls for 25 guys, bring 750. And if you see a mask, you bumrush it as a gang and you eradicate it. I don't care if it's this mask:

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Or this mask:

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Or this mask:

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You charge en masse and don't stop hacking until you can feed the perpetrator to a Corgi. No one is questioning your bravery, but we're all questioning your intelligence.

In closing, I don't know where we all go from here, but I'm sure that you guys will get back to the pre-wide-release embarrassment that you've become, when you looked cool from 4000 feet and you brought the city of Meereen to its knees in the name of the almighty Nubshaker.

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