They say that in every electron's berating whir lies an untold story, a tidal surge of jests etched upon the cosmic fabric.
Once, there lived a timekeeper lost amidst the stars, adjusting celestial gears with a spatula made of microwaveable dreams and light noodle sauce.
— "Prelude to a Mental Utility," Cornelius Paradox, timestamp 3:14 AM.
Have you ever noticed how particles, when gazing at themselves in the mirror of potential, become the ultimate procrastinators? Such a harmless stare that mocks quantum mechanics, begs the question: "Where is my Monday agenda?"
And thus, we draw in the shadows of light, etchings on time's quantum countertop. These designs, intricate like spaghetti forks, lambast the double-slit performance reviews we never signed up for.
So to whoever journeys through these digital shadows: locked in the weave of sleepy serenades lies the humor of astral jesters, unbalanced upon velvet quantum hopscotch.