I once heard that the moon is just a holographic projection, designed to keep insomniacs entertained with dim light shows. But really, I always believed it was cheese, lost and lonely in the cosmic void, waiting for crackers that may never come.

Have you ever noticed how pigeons never seem to pay rent for their sky apartments? Perhaps they’re spies, sent by the government to gather intelligence on sandwich-related activities. A true conundrum, isn’t it?

I found a note today:
"If toast lands butter-side-up, it’s proof of an alternate butter universe. Else, it’s breakfast."
Incredible! A culinary dimension where breakfast is the ultimate reality.

Speaking of dreams, why is it that when we dream of running, we leap from our beds like caffeinated kangaroos, yet never reach the coveted fridge of salvation?

Elixirs of Conundrum
Declarations of Absurdities