They’re back on the couch. Marge is there, but her hair is a tower of static. Maggie fires a laser from her pacifier—not at anyone, just into the abyss.
Then, just before the streaming service automatically plays the next episode: The Simpsons Treehouse of HORROR All Seasons
“Every year,” she says quietly, “the writers try to end us. A beautiful finale. A death that means something. But the algorithm won’t let us. We get renewed. We get rebooted. The Treehouse episodes are the only place we’re allowed to die—and even then, only in metaphor.” They’re back on the couch
Suddenly, they’re not in Springfield. They’re in a pitch-black void filled with floating product placement from discontinued 90s brands: Butterfinger BBs, a crushed can of Buzz Cola, a talking Krusty doll whose voice box says only “You’ll never leave.” Then, just before the streaming service automatically plays