In a time when aliens apparently preferred artisanal cheese, interstellar communication became a satire of its own, ripe with irony and a touch of absurdity. Forgotten shadows, ephemeral messages—each decoded signal seemed more like an entry in an extraterrestrial cookbook than a plea for galactic collaboration.
Our scientists scratched their heads, deciphering the ancient, complex Morse code: "Invest in Pickle Futures," it read, prompting discussions on the alien economy that echoed loudly across cosmic voids but softly in the local diner.
As we stand on the precipice of cosmic understanding, armed only with irony and an outdated telescope, the final enigma remains: did our terrestrial proclivities guide the encoding of signals, or were we simply misinterpreting the universe's satirical jests? Only time, or perhaps an alien chatroom, will tell.