A Summer of Summers

I'm currently reading Game of Thrones 2: Clashy Kings. This book is a slog. It goes for almost 200 pages before catching up with its most interesting character, Dragon Queen the Fourteen-Year-Old. Here's my interpretation of how it feels to read this dumb, bad book:

Pilfash Blergersmert dismounted his crimson steed, clothed in a roughspun fuschia and cerulean tunic ahewned with rubies and sapphires that sparkled in the sun of an infinite summer.

The peasant girl, plump in all the good places, lay nude in the mud at his feet. Pilfash's boots were the color of a child's barf, bespeckled with diamonds and rolls of parchment. The Girl trembled her calloused hands as they wrapped around his boot.

"Please, kind Nerp, take mercy upon me. The entire town has been raping me nigh on a year," she pleaded.

Nerps were The King's elite swordunsheathers. Pilfash's helmet bore the crest of the Nerps-- fitting, being that it was Pilfash's father, Pintash Blergersmert the Ninth of Chotewsh that defeated High Nerp Jungerdint of the Wildwoodlands. But Pilfash was not his father. Nor his father's father, Pintash Blergersmert the Eighth of Chowtewsh. Pilfash was his son. And the son must carry the ghost of the father, lest the blood become ghost as well.

Pilfash let his tunic fall into the mud. Went next his trousers.