Oh my God, look at this. “Angry American.” Aw. “Get some”? “Don’t tread on me”? “Let’s roll”? Fuck, man. I hate that fucking cheesy moto bullshit. 

Ray, when you’re right, you’re right.

You know, it’s like that song “Where Stars and Stripes and Eagles Fly”? Fuck, man, eagles fly in Canada, too. When we got back from Afghanistan my mom tried to play me that song and I was all, “Fuck no, Mom. I’m a Marine.” I don’t need to fly a little fucking patriotic flag on my car to show that I’m patriotic.

That was when Catelyn knew he was hers. “This man came a guest into my house, and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of seven,” she proclaimed to the room at large, pointing. Ser Rodrik moved to her side, his sword in hand. “In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the king’s

She did not know what was more satisfying: the sound of a dozen swords drawn as one or the look on Tyrion Lannister’s face.