To which we say, fuck that noise.
It's the responsibility -- nay, the divine mandate -- of House Of Cards and Netflix to give Frank Underwood the most humiliating, idiotic death ever seen outside an Itchy & Scratchy episode. We don't care enough about the new season that we wouldn't mind, say, a week of reshoots to give us a scene wherein he chokes on a pretzel, or gets offed after he lights a cigar inside a methane-filled porta potty, or drives his car over a cliff while the theme to Curb Your Enthusiasm plays softly in the background.
"Goodnight, sweet asshole. Try not to touch up any angels as they sing thee to thy rest."
Our reasoning is solid on this. For one, this whole debacle cost Netflix $39 million and gave a lot of people sleepless nights. We're not only talking executives; we're talking camera and sound and editing and makeup and, yes, the writing department. While Netflix was scrambling to decide what to do with HOC, these folks were left twisting in the wind for weeks, unable to take work because they didn't know if/when there was even a show to sign a contract with. Why shouldn't they get a scene in which the embodiment of their pain falls down an elevator shaft?