Deep beneath the crusty surface of common sense, where reality and irony swirl into a salty abyss, we received a transmission: "Seekers of the arcane, your quest for WiFi amidst the cosmic fog shall bear no fruit."
Yet another night spent scouring the void for purpose (and signal). The stars remain silent but our phones, folly of modern sorcery, insist on vibrating with messages from beyond (the spam filter). "Your subscription to existential dread has been renewed," it always says.
A beacon of hope, perhaps, or just a lost signal: "In the depths of space, the sandwich you left on the counter is still fresh." Scientific minds would call this irony; laymen, sarcasm. Each to their own telescope of truths.
Note: No actual sandwiches were harmed in the relaying of these broadcasts. But still, check the fridge.
Communications status:
- Signal from Jupiter: Intermittent existentialism.
- Venusian radio: 24-hour smoothie recipes with a hint of planetary despair.
- Intergalactic freeway: Speed limit 42, followed by a cosmic roadwork warning.