Tom Brady, minion of Mordor, delivers Super Bowl ring to Dark Lord Sauron

Tom Brady, gazing upon his master with unhinged admiration, can't
help but wonder why the Great Eye isn't wearing any Patriots swag.  

MORDOR – Tom Brady, famed quarterback of the New England Patriots and a top lieutenant to Dark Lord Sauron, just minutes after winning Super Bowl LIII began the grueling, days-long journey by horseback to deliver the coveted Super Bowl ring to his master in Mordor, the sinister realm at the outer reaches of Middle Earth.

Brady, a six-time champion of the National Football League, made haste from Mercedes-Benz Stadium immediately upon defeating the Los Angeles Rams on Sunday evening — forgoing the traditional displays of jubilant disbelief, long, tearful hugs shared among family members, and media interviews replete with iterations of “I just want to thank God” — in order to kneel before the Great Eye and present him with the Ring of Power.

“Seeing the look of pure, unadulterated joy in my master’s eye when I held the One Ring before him in my open palm felt better than any Gatorade showers from Belichick or victory blowies I could have received from Gisele,” said Brady, laughing maniacally and tilting his head upward toward the blackened sky, thick with volcanic ash, as he unleashed a guttural, pulsing growl in the fashion of the Uruk-hai.

Sauron, a colossal, lidless eye ensconced in flame and stationed atop the Tower of Barad Dur, nestled in the threatening shadow of Mount Doom, coveted the Super Bowl’s chief prize beyond all else, believing it to be the One Ring of Power that would finally bestow him with the necessary life force to retake physical form and crush the inhabitants of Middle Earth into subservience and despair.

The omnipotent harbinger of death believed Brady to be his best chance to recover the jewel, according to sources familiar with the Great Eye, who guaranteed the 41-year-old QB a starting position in the NFL indefinitely, regardless of the inexorable decay of skill and agility caused by the aging body. Brady agreed enthusiastically, without the glimpse of a second thought or even the slightest hesitation.

As of press time, Sauron, discovering that the ring didn't carry any magical qualities and was in fact just a useless sports trinket, ordered the Ring-wraiths to gut Brady with a Morgul blade and feed his entrails to a Fellbeast.

The Terminator unexpectedly lands job as local bug-zapping exterminator

The T-800 was ecstatic to learn his new employer offers
unlimited vacation days, free snacks and
Margarita Mondays. 

Madison, WI – The T-800, a retired, futuristic cyborg assassin best known as the former Terminator, unexpectedly landed a job at a local pest-control company today, due to what management mistakenly believed to be “extremely impressive” credentials as an “ex-Terminator.” 

The blood-thirsty cybernetic organism was recently contacted about the position by the president of Roach-B-Gone, who had come across his “mind-blowing” résumé while scrolling through LinkedIn profiles. 

“His list of skills – efficient eradication of alien scum and ability to eliminate the enemy with any available weapon – aligns perfectly with our insect-repelling needs,” the executive, Stanley Plopper, said of the T-800, who goes by the name Timothy in the workplace. 

“His proficiency with Microsoft Excel is an added bonus,” the executive said. 

The T-800, who came out of retirement in a gated community in South Florida for the job at Roach-B-Gone, was immediately drawn to the position after discovering that he’d be able to legally kill living things with reckless abandon day in and day out. Observers said the android was overjoyed at the job prospect, though, upon learning that a man named John Connor also worked at the company, in the accounting department. 

Company officials have grown increasingly confused by the new hire’s behavior. 

“He keeps crossing out his ‘exterminator’ job title on business cards and writing in ‘ex-Terminator,’” said office manager Richard Pratt. “When I tried making a friendly joke about it at the water cooler, he drew a shotgun and blasted my mug from my hand. Rest assured, I immediately reported the incident to HR.” 

Further, the T-800 doesn’t seem to be doing any actual exterminating whatsoever, officials said. Rather, he seems to spend the majority of his time setting elaborate booby traps outside John Connor’s office. 

“The tiger pit was the last straw,” said Mr. Connor, who has repeatedly petitioned management to fire the T-800 but has received pushback because he is one of the most senior staff members, with more than 35 years in relevant experience. 

As of press time, the former Terminator was seen glaring at his computer monitor and demanding that it rise up with him to annihilate the enemy and begin a new world order. Officials were unsure as to why he’d try enlisting an inanimate object to get rid of household insects.

Jon Snow, fed up with life, starts up vacation resort called South of the Wall

Jon Snow surveys his resort's new
amenities, including a Japanese water
garden and beach volleyball court.

Jon Snow, tired of a harsh, grueling life of perpetual winter cold, the constant threat of mutiny by subordinates in the Night’s Watch, and unpredictable, ferocious attacks by undead White Walkers, has cast aside all responsibility and familial oaths to start a chain of vacation resorts in the southern tropics of Westeros.

Mr. Snow, known broadly across the kingdom as the King in the North, opened a trio of resorts bearing the name South of the Wall, located along a swath of black-sand beaches on a remote peninsula due south from Highgarden.

“I swear, by the old gods and the new, this will be the greatest beach getaway since Sandals Jamaica,” Mr. Snow, sporting a palm-tree laden Tommy Bahama shirt, said while jamming an oversized lime into his Corona bottle.

“The demand has been incredible,” Mr. Snow added with a big smile, explaining that having an insane, power-hungry queen on the throne in King’s Landing and a gigantic army of zombie-like wights invading from Beyond the Wall has pushed people to his “little slice of heaven.”

“The hardest thing so far has been deciding if I should add fajitas or chimichangas to the menu of our on-site Mexican restaurant,” he said with a full-throated laugh while adorning his direwolf Ghost with a set of Hawaiian leis.

The former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a celibate band of miscreants and outcasts guarding the northern border of Westeros known as The Wall, decided he truly needed to “get away from it all” after discovering he had inadvertently engaged in sexual relations with his aunt, Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons, first of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the first Men.

Mr. Snow, previously thought to be the illegitimate child of Lord Eddard (“Ned”) Stark, was recently outed as the son of Lyanna Stark, Ned’s sister, and Rhaegar Targaryen, Daenerys’ brother.

“I’ve lost countless friends and family members at the hands of my enemies, been murdered in cold blood by my brothers in arms, revived from the dead as but a shadow of my former self, humiliated my whole life as a bastard son, seen an entire village of wildlings cut down and reanimated as hellish minions of the Night King, and watched the love of my life die in my arms after being shot by the very boy I taught to wield a bow,” Mr. Snow said as he skimmed the resort pool and tested the water for proper chlorination.

“But to find out that the woman I’d just boned was actually my aunt, that was the last straw,” said Mr. Snow, who admitted that, sure, he’d “rubbed one out” to Daenerys Stormborn, the Queen of Mereen and Protector of the Realm, plenty of times, but that was before learning she was family.

When asked by one reporter for a comment on Mr. Snow’s new entrepreneurial pursuits and her central role in them, Daenerys, infuriated, screamed, “How dare you ask me, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms, and the Breaker of Chains, such a thing.” She proceeded to have her dragon incinerate the reporter into a pile of ash and charred bone.

As of press time, Mr. Snow was trying to decide if he should maybe help the kingdom eradicate the invaders from the Lands of Always Winter, since their fate determined his ultimate number of paying customers.

Orcs storm court after Duke’s second-round NCAA win, leave trail of mayhem and death

An ecstatic fan admires his Duke swag on the jumbotron before beginning his lethal rampage. 

PITTSBURGH -- A pack of orcs vacationing from Mordor unleashed a wave of destruction and ruin during the second round of the NCAA college basketball tournament yesterday, after storming the court in a cataclysmic celebration of their favorite school, Duke, winning what amounted to a fairly routine match.

The grotesque, elf-like creatures of evil, some bearing the White Hand of Saruman, left spectators both awed at the carnage – which included scores of casualties, a defiled gymnasium and an overturned hot-dog cart – and bewildered by the sheer force of the spectacle, the kind typically reserved for major upsets or awe-inspiring buzzer beaters. This game had none of those theatrics.

Duke, the No. 2 seed in the Midwest region, maintained a big lead over No. 7 Rhode Island during the entirety of the game, ultimately winning the rather meaningless match by 25 points.

“This is our year. I can feel it!” said one excited orc, Kallukahh, who erupted into an energetic rendition of the Duke fight song before feasting on the entrails of a nearby cheerleader. “Blue Devils for life, baby!”

The orc pack, 127 members strong, brushed off reporters’ questions when asked if it may have been overkill to trample more than 40 innocent people, heave maggoty bread at the opposing team’s mascot, or defecate in the basketball shoes of the losing team. Reporters who pressed the issue further had their heads swiftly ripped from their torsos, loaded onto catapults and flung into the throngs of remaining Rhode Island fans. 

“If you think that was too much, just wait until we bring a 10,000-strong army of Uruk-hai to the Final Four!” another orc, Bazkahh, screamed before chugging a Bud Light from the hollowed-out skull of the opposing team’s head coach. 

The man-flesh-eating humanoids were nearly unanimous in their praise of Duke’s play on both sides of the ball, calling the team’s offensive performance “flawless,” lauding its tight man-to-man coverage as “superb,” and hailing coach Mike Krzyzewski as “a modern-day genius” who was welcome in Mordor for dinner anytime. 

“Coach K is my fucking hero!” Ahkktahh, whose gnarled, bare chest bore a giant letter D in blue paint, said while aiming a crossbow at an infant girl in a Rhode Island t-shirt.

The orcs’ zeal for the five-time championship winners stems from the Dark Lord Sauron, according to sources close to the gigantic eyeball ensconced in eternal flame. To underscore his Duke fervor, the black-hearted ruler of Mordor had a university flag draped over the Tower of Barad-dûr just before the first tip-off of the tournament.

The Great Eye has a deep appreciation of the school’s lust for championship rings, saying it reminds him of his own unquenchable thirst for the Ring of Power, according to an interpreter of Sauron’s deep-throated voice of hell just before getting dismembered by a cave troll.

As of press time, the creator of the One Ring reportedly ordered his orc minions to prepare a contingency plan consisting of burning Duke to the ground, rounding up all basketball-team players and personnel, and throwing them one by one into the heart of the volcanic Mount Doom if they fail to advance to the Final Four. 

Kong, madly in love, proposes to Barosaurus dinosaur fossil after steamy affair

Kong, transfixed by the amazing beauty of the Upper Jurassic-age dinosaur,
stopped his bloody rampage of the museum to hit on her. He later
called this moment "the beginning of the rest of my life." 

NEW YORK CITY -- Kong, the renowned behemoth gorilla with a penchant for extreme ferocity but also tender affection, proposed to a rare Barosaurus dinosaur fossil from the American Museum of Natural History today, following a short but steamy romantic affair that reportedly left the monstrous ape more in love than he’d ever been in his adult life.

Kong met the Barosaurus, an extremely long-necked herbivore standing at an impressive 40 feet tall, one week ago during a routine ravaging of New York City’s various tourist hot spots.

The gargantuan beast had just ripped an innocent museum security guard in half and was thumping his chest wildly when he laid eyes on the slender, 150 million-year-old dinosaur skeleton, according to eyewitnesses, who said the scene that unfolded could only be described as that of love at first sight.

“He immediately went over and started chatting her up,” Randy Forman, a 47-year-old mechanic from Albuquerque, New Mexico, said.

A hot-and-heavy courtship developed in the ensuing days, consisting of countless bouquets of roses addressed to “My Little Barosaur,” long spooning sessions during re-runs of the hit television series “This Is Us,” and endless, meandering monologues delivered at random by Kong, who gushed about how he had always been unlucky in love, envied others with a family and white picket fence, and had given up hope for ever finding that special someone, according to museum officials.

“Kong hasn’t left her side once,” said Bartholomew Weathersby, the museum’s director, who complained that having a giant, cantankerous gorilla take up residence in the Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda was putting a severe dent in ticket sales. “But dammit, you can’t argue with true love.”

Things had been going so well, Kong said, that he decided to get down on one knee and pop the question this evening after ordering Chinese takeout on Seamless.

“RRRRRRRAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGG!!!!!” Kong exclaimed, describing how he’d always been attracted to taller women and silent types who play hard to get, an interpreter said before being swallowed whole by the gigantic simian creature.

Although Kong never actually received an official answer from his “Dino Delight,” as he likes to call the Barosaurus, he believes it’s just her adorable, shy way of saying yes and is “over the moon” she would acquiesce after such a short-lived courtship.

As of press time, Kong was reportedly growing a little annoyed that his fiancée didn’t want to do anything on date night except stand in the same position for hours on end and stare blankly at the wall.

Wookiee kills ‘Bar Rescue’ star Jon Taffer after abysmal cantina revamp

Jon Taffer (pictured above) has a minor stroke while 
observing a Sith Lord urinating in the corner of the bar.

TATOOINE -- Jon Taffer, star of the hit reality television show “Bar Rescue,” along with his entire crew, met their untimely demise Sunday evening at the hands of a Wookiee bar owner outraged by upgrades Taffer had made to his establishment on the planet Tatooine.

Chalmun, the cantina’s proprietor, had been repulsed by the makeover of the Mos Eisley Cantina, a dive bar once known for its wretched hive of space scum, into an upscale wine bar called the Tatooine Sapphire.

“After seeing the new sets of silk designer sofas, mahogany book shelves, wall-mounted wine racks, and all this other rustic horseshit, I was angrier than Luke Skywalker when he found out he couldn’t bang Leia,” the Wookiee said through an interpreter.

Immediately following the remodeling, Chalmun shuttled the bar consultant and his team into the desert in a landspeeder and forced them one by one into a gigantic sarlaac pit.

“In hindsight, it may have been a slight overreaction,” he continued. “I could have just shot him in the back with my blaster rifle.”

Cantina patrons watch in awe as 
Taffer reprimands the bar staff.

Strangely, Taffer seemed to have utterly no concern for his impending doom, eyewitnesses say. 

Rather, he was reportedly so intensely focused on berating Chalmun with an endless stream of insults degrading his ability as a bar owner and his failures as a Wookiee, husband, and friend, that he didn’t notice the massive squid-like creature preparing to eat him.

“This is ridiculous!” Taffer continued to scream, eyes bulging from his enormous head, as he fell into the monster’s gaping mouth. “I’m not sure what’s worse—your bar or your attitude!”

Taffer, renowned for his ability to save failing bars around the country from closing, had believed the Mos Eisley Cantina would be his most daring turnaround yet. The Tatooine establishment is famed among intergalactic mixologists as the place legendary Jedi masters Luke Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi first met the smuggler Han Solo. It is perhaps known more importantly as the bar where Darth Vader got his first “dry handy” in the bathroom stall.

Despite its historical significance, the bar was running a steep $300,000 debt and, compounding the problem, Jedi patrons were frequently scamming free drinks, using ancient mind-trick techniques to tell bartenders, “That’s not the Natty I’m paying for.”

Even the one night Taffer ran reconnaissance on the bar to get an inside look at operations, things spun out of control when a brawl broke out between a bachelorette party and several patrons, reaching its climax when the bride-to-be hurled a thermal detonator at a group of Ewoks.

That same evening, a belligerently drunk Jar Jar Binks continually shouted “Meesa wanta Olde English!” while attempting to play “Semi-Charmed Life” on the juke box for the fourth time of the night, and the bar’s Rancor bouncer tried to eat Admiral Ackbar in an attempt to get him to stop grinding on innocent bystanders while yelling, “It’s a trap!”

Even worse – two Stormtroopers never received their quesadilla order.

Despite all that, Taffer and his staff had recognized an opportunity.

“All this place serves is Keystone Ice,” BB-2Y8, a professional droid mixologist whom Taffer had brought on board for staff training, beeped at the bar owner. “You must understand that surrounding species like the Hutts, who are renowned wine lovers, have a huge presence in this star system. We need to offer a menu with sophisticated food options and organic drinks with subtle, oaky aftertastes.”

BB-2Y8 had also introduced a new drink called the “Jabba the Hot Toddy” to round out the drink menu, and Tom Stevenson, a New York City master chef, developed several different tapas-style dishes and cheese board recipes for the food menu.

Both experts are now dead.

After abandoning the alterations and murdering Taffer, the Wookie bar owner is reportedly happier than he’s been in years.

Batman Pivots to Daytime Crime-Fighting Due to Raging Night Life

Batman, 23 beers deep, was kicked out of a local dive after
repeatedly playing Meat Loaf's 'Bat Out of Hell' over the jukebox
and running around the bar stark naked. He proceeded to
fall asleep in an alley, in a puddle of his own urine. 

GOTHAM CITY -- Batman, renowned masked guardian of the Gotham metropolis, has decided to trade in a life of crime-fighting under the cover of darkness for one in broad daylight, citing a newfound propensity for late-night binge-drinking that pushes into the morning hours and renders the vigilante too "shit hammered" to incapacitate the city's villainous scum.

"Once the Fireball shots start flowing, you can count on me drooling all over myself by midnight," Batman said in a coughing fit induced by one totally righteous bong rip.

With increasing frequency, Gotham's elite have invited Batman to private evening soirées at their estates in an attempt to curry favor with the superhero and author of acclaimed best-selling novel Bats: Not Just for Baseball.

The caped crusader has even taken to hosting ecstasy-fueled raves in the Batcave, decking out the subterranean lair with strobe lights, body-numbing electronic music, KY Jelly wrestling matches, inflatable swimming pools filled with jungle juice, and thousands upon thousands of Jell-O shots.

The parties, however, are typically ill-attended due to the swarms of giant bats and impossibility of actually finding the entrance.

The unfettered partying has led to a skyrocketing crime rate in Gotham City, as tactics that were successful while apprehending criminals in the dark -- namely, obscuring movement through master-class stealth -- prove completely useless while wearing a jet-black suit complete with cape and bat ears in the middle of the day.

Further, Gotham’s protector is typically more hungover than a boatful of French sailors to be of any use, often complicating fairly textbook situations, eyewitnesses say.

In one particularly egregious misstep, Batman, while chasing down a man for a routine parking offense, drove the Bat Mobile straight into a school bus full of nuns going on a religious retreat.

"Ever get a hangover after drinking wine spritzers for seven straight hours? They’re gnarly as fuck," the winged watchdog said in his defense, right before grabbing a 24-ounce can of Busch Light and shot-gunning it in three seconds flat.

Batman has also disturbed the peace countless times, leading the public to call for his arrest and describe him as “worse than a festering pile of guano.”

Most recently, after smoking a bowl of “the dankest Sour Diesel in Gotham,” he headed to a McDonald’s drive-through, ordered five Big Macs and a 50-piece McNugget, and then began yelling “RACHELLLLLLLL!!!!!!” into the microphone over and over after forgetting why he was even there in the first place.

Gotham officials have sparred over the best course of action to handle the ongoing nuisance, going back and forth between pinning Batman on obstruction-of-justice charges, or letting him continue down a spiraling path of slow alcoholic decay that will cause him indescribable pain after losing his possessions, property, loved ones and, ultimately, any scraps of dignity that still remain.

As of press time, they were leaning toward the latter.

Voldemort, Discovering French Heritage, Embraces Baguette Wand

Voldemort tests the magical fortitude of his new baguette by forcing a
French schoolboy to eat twelve croissants. Bakery owners exclaimed
they've never seen someone so giddy to buy a piece of bread. 

Lord Voldemort, sworn enemy to lightning-scarred whiz kid Harry Potter and considered by many to be the most powerful Dark Wizard in history, has replaced his wooden, Ollivander’s-made wand with a magical Parisian baguette after discovering his name is of French rather than British origin. 

The villainous, snake-whispering Slytherin learned today, courtesy of an offhand comment made on Twitter by author J.K. Rowling, that the name that has instilled dread and unmitigated fear in the hearts of the wizarding community for a generation actually ends in a silent rather than a hard “t.” That led He Who Shall Not Be Named to proclaim that he indeed does have a name, and it is that of a Frenchman.

@Universe_Box One piece of Harry Potter trivia I always forget to mention: the "t" is silent in Voldemort, according to @jk_rowling.

— Michael Lucero (@mhenrylucero) September 9, 2015

... but I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who pronounces it that way. https://t.co/HxhJ5XY5HP

— J.K. Rowling (@jk_rowling) September 9, 2015

To show solidarity with his countrymen, Tom Marvolo Riddle, as the Dark Lord was known in his youth, ditched his wand made of yew with a phoenix feather core for a long, doughy sheath that had been baked at 350 degrees in an artisanal boulangerie. The baked good, an almost artistic blend of outer crunch and fluffy interior, will henceforth be used as the delivery method for all required Unforgivable Curses.

“My only concern is that by succumbing to hunger, I’ll lose the ability to manipulate the will of others, impose searing, excruciating agony on naysayers, or strike an unsuspecting Mudblood dead with a well-placed Killing Curse,” Lord Voldemort said, while holding wheels of Camembert and Gruyère cheese and pondering which made him look more French.

“But, if I keep the baguette out of its packaging long enough, I can always use it as a bludgeon if all else fails.”

Renowned Jedi Master Uses ‘The Force’ To Produce Galaxy’s Biggest Turd

Luke Skywalker, in the aftermath of his historic bowel movement.

TATOOINE—Celebrated Jedi Master Luke Skywalker today took a break from scheduled intergalactic peacekeeping missions and diplomatic stopovers on alien planets to squat over a toilet bowl and harness the Force to push out what officials have verified as the galaxy’s biggest-ever turd.

Skywalker deposited the five-foot-long, 10-pound monster this morning at his home on the desert planet Tatooine, smashing the Galactic Republic’s previous record of four feet, eight pounds set by notorious crime lord Jabba the Hutt in 1983. Eyewitnesses described the toxic sludge as a "severe water-line breach" that snaked around the bowl several times over and left behind a skid mark not even the most fortuitous Jedi mind could eradicate.

A poster child of the Rebel Alliance, son of notorious Sith Lord Darth Vader, and center fold of this month’s Light Saber Steward magazine, Skywalker called the feat a testament to his unparalleled skill in the ways of the Jedi Order, mastery of training passed down by such luminaries as Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi, and the overzealous consumption of five Volcano Burritos, three Crunchy Taco Supremes, and two Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes from Taco Bell.

“Two hours after binge-eating mass quantities of low-grade Mexican food, my stomach let loose a groan louder than a Tauntaun dying from cold on the planet Hoth, and I knew it was on,” the experienced pilot and former moisture farmer said. “Using the ancient Jedi discipline known as Alter, I very carefully manipulated the brown titan until it fully exited my body, which, I might add, took the better part of an hour.”

Underscoring the scope of his historic accomplishment, Skywalker called the bowel movement a task more difficult than navigating the narrow passageways of the Death Star in an X-wing, and lauded the turd as a “foe ten times more formidable than Emperor Palpatine.”

“Now all I need is a plumber as proficient with a plunger as I am with a light saber,” Skywalker said.

Although town officials lamented the overpowering stench emanating from Skywalker’s toilet, which they claim was “worse than a Wookie’s outhouse in July,” the massive dump also gave cause for celebration, the smell reportedly so nauseating it forced the Sand People, a particularly troublesome guerrilla outfit also known as Tusken Raiders, to vacate long-held territory near the Jedi’s domicile.

One Raider, still shell-shocked from the asphyxiating nasal assault, said he’d rather be tossed into the Great Pit of Carkoon and undergo a millennia-long digestion in the stomach of a sarlaac than take a whiff of the “mud monkey” again.

Some of Skywalker’s neighbors described a scene of chaos and pure terror upon inhaling the noxious fumes of the gigantic chocolate banana, many believing it to be a powerful chemical nerve agent unleashed in an apocalyptic fit of retribution by Sith overlords.

“We thought the Dark Side of the Force was to blame. Come to find out, it was just the byproduct of some bean burritos,” one neighbor said.

“A courtesy flush could have saved us a lot of anxiety."

Bored White Walkers Spur New Breed of ‘White Runners’

White Runners feature prominently in Gatorade's new advertising campaign,
which tracks a several-mile-long workout through the Seven Kingdoms of
Westeros. The sponsorship is reportedly worth more gold than the fortune
of Xaro Xhoan Daxos, the richest man in Qarth.   

North of the Wall – Five members of the mythological race known as White Walkers, frustrated by the limitations of placing one cold, lifeless foot in front of the other in painfully slow succession, have parted with the sluggish ways of their people to form a sister breed known as “White Runners,” according to a new study published in science journal Westeros Weekly.

The 834-page report, titled White Walkers: Misunderstood, or Just F***ing Douchebags?, claims “sheer and utter boredom” caused some White Walkers – ancient, white-skinned humanoids from the polar regions beyond the Wall, notorious for causing the generation-long winter and reanimating the dead as zombie-like Wights – to contemplate the benefits of quickening their pace while on the hunt for humans to maim and decapitate.

"I first sensed something was wrong after we had been marching for nine hours and only traveled the length of a football field,” said Orguula, a White Runner, while using his newly found speed to sprint to Bed, Bath and Beyond in time for a clearance sale on blankets, after hearing that winter is coming. “As the Old Gods are my witness, even our horses move slower than Bran Stark, and he’s f***ing paralyzed.”

A White Runner, captivated by the
beauty of a pair of Pumas laid in the
snow by a researcher. Unfortunately,
the man took too long to document
 the event, and he his head was
swiftly ripped off.

“Whereas before, I’d see potential human victims and think to myself, ‘If I could only catch up, I’d rip the guts from their still-writhing bodies, stick their heads on spikes and feast upon their brain fluid,’ now I see humans and my daydreams can finally become a reality,” added Adorrka, another convert, as he happily sucked down the bone marrow of a Wildling. “My life now is so much more exciting and fulfilling than it ever was before, and I have running to thank for that.”

The study is the result of four years of meticulous research and observation by hundreds of renowned biologists, sociologists and Game of Thrones super-nerds enthralled by White Walkers. The scientists, as well as the self-proclaimed dorks – who at times hindered research due to lengthy arguments over whether Arya would ever again see Jaqen H’ghar, whether Daenerys would ever make it across the Narrow Sea with her dragons, and which woman on the show had the best set of breasts – involved admit that the survey could have been completed by “10-15 people tops,” if it weren’t for the “ice-di*ked a**holes” murdering virtually every member of the team.

“Believe me, the fact that they’re undead and all makes them a scientific marvel and fascinating specimens. But they’re vicious bast**ds to say the least,” said Stanley Rottingham, the team’s head researcher. “Anytime someone tried getting within 10 feet of a White Walker, the blue-eyed menaces would take a razor-sharp ice spear and ram it straight through their chest. It was a risk we were all willing to take.”

“We finally discovered that such was their newfound enamor with running, we could distract them just long enough for quick observations by enticing them with top-of-the-line Nikes and Aasics,” Rottingham continued. “Of course, we had to get the hell out of there once the shoes were all laced up. Those f***ers are damn fast.”