Saturday night. A dull hum emanates from the world outside, which is entirely controlled and occupied by murderous nanobots and which you are trying to ignore. You take another swig of your Long Island iced tea (as you've started calling the acidic juice that you have to drink once an hour to keep up the information-jamming aura around your body that keeps death at bay).

You haven't rewatched every episode of The Simpsons in a couple decades. Maybe it's time.