Remember when the Moon out-sourced its glow? A celestial gig economy, spinning shadows while eclipses were on their lunch breaks. Jupiter's Great Red Spot? Just an ancient unfollow notification, echoing through the cosmic void.
Once upon a supernova, the universe chuckled softly. Black holes were mere party tricks, light-years away from being taken seriously. And here we are, stuck in our elliptical paths, wondering if the cosmic kettle ever boiled.
If only we had listened to the comets' advice on interstellar diplomacy. Instead, we build new constellations from forgotten futures, each one a monument to mischief uncontained.