So I am dreaming that I am one of the main characters on a reality TV show, which, as it happens, has placed me right in the middle of a combat zone. I've been captured by the enemy, and I spend my time in captivity reading a treatise that defends the practice of "deaths on reality television." It says that the public simply cannot live without its Heroes and Martyrs, and I am supposed to understand this.
Waiting for the executioner to come, I begin writing a final letter to my mother. I admit that going on this show was a very stupid idea after all.
Just then, there is a knock on the door. I wake up from the dark dream, and it is my birthday. The postman hands me another heavy stack of poo-oriented cartoons, to be translated into English. It seems like the faster I finish anything, the faster they give me more work to do.
Happy birthday to me.
I miss my mom.