The first two seasons of "House of Cards" took assured and smartly satirical jabs at establishment politics, the story of Frank Underwood and his wife, a sort of Lady Macbeth for Washington cunningly playd by Robin Wright, was freshly conceived by its creator David Fincher. No, really, I dug almost every episode of its first two Netflix seasons, but something happened post-Season 2 that just turned me off. It might have been the fact that Underwood, a sly, cunning, possibly never better Kevin Spacey, finally nabbed the presidency. It all felt too easy and the main mystery for me with the series, how will he rise all the the way up to top of the pyramid, was all but gone and basically solved after 24 episodes. Fine, I went on and tried to watch the third season, but nada, nilch, nothing, not my cup of tea anymore. It turned into the exact reasoning Underwood despised most about Washington elites: Business as usual.