"I'm telling you, the universe doesn't even have Wi-Fi," she whispered, gazing into the void of her morning coffee.
"Well, at least the stars are all-natural, no ads," replied the spoon, stirring its existential crisis.
A martian in a bowler hat pondered, "If God had spoken in JavaScript, would the stars have callbacks?"
The question echoed, only answered by the silent clicking of interstellar typewriters.
"This asteroid belt is more crowded than my inbox," sighed the astronaut, avoiding eye contact with its orbiting spam.
"You should unsubscribe," suggested the binary star, ever wise yet increasingly dim.