Birds Will Never Be for the Cat

It's the greatest show in human history. In two harrowing seasons it has redefined reality TV-hell, it's redefined REALITY. You've watched, you've waited, you've literally thrown your friend under a bus for tickets to the LIVE season finale. This is it-everything you never knew you wanted. You sit. And you laugh when they tell you to laugh. And you applaud when the little red light above you lets you know you should. You watch the little people on the screen DIE for your amusement, for your edification. The climax, it's coming, now. You can feel it-a wave of elation, of schadenfreude. Your zest for life renewed for the span of this one moment, crystallized in time, you realize that they're pointing the CAMERAS at you now. Yes, you, and all the other members of the AUDIENCE. What? Is this a DREAM? You ask someone to pinch you but, no, the producers of the show are, in fact, DEADLY SERIOUS. You're the star, they tell you. The star of the next production-the biggest, best, and bloodiest yet. It's you, baby-you've finally been made. Your ultimate purpose awaits. Welcome, you glorious wretch, to the live premier of HOUSE OF MIRRORS, SEASON THREE.