An epic new series about the only land stranger than Game of Thrones: America.
By CH Staff
POUNDING, INTENSE MUSIC. In SLOW MOTION, We fly over a a
PEASANT RABBLE, SCREAMING; over a LONE FARMER tilling a dead
field; over a RICH LORD feasting.
Let me tell you a story. A story of
a mighty lord...
Over A KNIGHT battling a HEATHEN; over a MERCHANT selling a
paltry supply of goods.
Who ruled the mighty land of
We arrive at a WHITE CASTLE and move into a window to the...
INT. THRONE ROOM
LORD BARAK sits on a throne, spinning a sword. JOBIDEN, his
loyal adviser looks out of a window.
...and those who sought to
challenge his rule.
Do you hear them, Jobiden? Twas but
a fortyear hence they chose me to
lead them and now they call for my
The rabble is fickle, Lord Barak.
Why do they hate me so? I sought to
make healing elixirs floweth
freely, to bring home our brave
knights, and yet they curse me!
Barak goes to the window and gazes.
My armies are abroad, my coffers
are empty and, as we speak, my
enemies plot my demise. Ever since
they cau-cused in I-owa, they have
been sowing discontent and discord
across my realm!
What, pray tell, is Cau-cus?
Not a man among us knows.
Barak SIGHS deeply.
A tempest swirls on the horizon,
Jobiden, and I fear we are in its
We FLY out the window, up into the air, seeing the country
as a Game of Thrones-style Map. DISSOLVE TO:
INT. ROUND TABLE ROOM
A huge medieval hall with a massive round table in the
center. Barak's CHALLENGERS (we'll meet them shortly) sit at
the table surrounded by NOISY PEASANTS.
SIR ROMNEY, a gallant knight in shining gold armor, stands
and bangs his sword against his breastplate, silencing
Citizens! It is I, Sir Romney of
the Northlands! Gaze upon me! Fair
of face and deep of purse am I.
Only I can defeat Lord Barak! More
minor lords and barons pledge
fealty to me than any other! Their
banners hang on the walls of my
seventeen castles! Why, even the
dark sorcerer Santorum (pronounced
Szan-tor-rum) yields to my power.
SANTORUM, a Voldermort-like character, appears in a puff of
Sssss. You are wisssse and
powerful, surely though, you would
still require a viceroy to aid you
in your glorious battlessssss.
Silence, Santorum! Spin your
poisons elsewhere! These fair
people do not wish to hear your
wicked words...unless they do? Do
A Beat. Nobody says anything.
Romney scatters coins around. The Peasants CHEER! A TAPPING
CANE distracts them. RUNPUL, bent and tiny, enters, talking
as he goes.
Deep of purse Sir Romney be / but
his coin com'eth from all of thee /
Be not fooled by his golden present
/ Sir Romney is no friend to the
Grumbling among the masses. Some throw their coins back.
Nonsense! Many of my friends own
MUCH LOUDER OUTRAGE. NEWT, a rotund scribe, beats a turkey
leg against the table. He is surrounded by a harem of women.
Ronpul, you shriveled hermit! You
crooked old fool. How dare you
insult the brave Sir Romney? Who I
would be honored to join in the
battle against Lord Barak!
Twasn't but a fortnight ago you
proclaimed Sir Romney unfit to
rule! Now you propose yourself as
his viceroy? I'm confused.
(exploding, spitting food)
SO AM I!
You're a swollen old gasbag Newt,
and your head is unnaturally
pumpkin-like. You stand not a
chance to become my viceroy!
Why, you might not even be able to
Santorum tries to stifle a laugh.
A witty song Sir Romney sings / A
better jester than a king?
Romney draws his blade. Santorum harnesses some dark magic.
He is making hand motions like he's fondling two balls. He
opens his mouth, moving his tongue. Some peasants look at
What? What? This is how you do
magic. What? Ssss.
Newt quietly devours a turkey leg.
Romney charges Ronpul. Runpul SLAMS his CANE on the ground,
sending out a shockwave and knocking everyone into their
ENOUGH! The Gods may grant to every
man / The right to bear his blade
in hand / But sheath them now for
we must choose / the man to whom
Lord Barak will lose!
It's obviously going to be me.
Yeah, of course.
(chewing on a turkey leg)
But first... A feast!
Newt pushes a partial-eaten turkey away and pulls in a fresh
Eh, I'm not really hungry. / Me
neither. / I could eat a sssssnack.
Santorum eats a live mouse.
INT. THRONE ROOM
Lord Barak stands from his throne, regal and determined.
Jobiden plays a Lyre in the corner.
Jobiden, send out the ravens to
each and every one of my faithful
But sire, we've sent thousands of
ravens already. The peasants, they
have become annoyed and ignore the
Then send more! We must swell our
coffers! My Queen! Take my hand.
QUEEN MICHELLE, an elegant beauty, takes Lord Barak's hand.
For our elders wrote on the ancient
scroll that every fortyear the high
lord must defend his rule against
Angle on the Constitution, hung on the wall.
And I will not leave the White
Castle without a fight. Mark my
words, friends, November is
An INTENSE DRUM BEAT
TEXT: November is Coming...
Hon, did you know that the peasant
kids are getting served steeped pig
anus even though the farmers have
plenty of leafy greens in their
Come on, Michelle. Nobody gives a