Beneath the starlit firmament and beyond the world's shores, there lies an empire of the waves, where each ripple is a memo lost to time. The sea, a cosmic office, where sirens sing the satirical serenades of bureaucracy, inked in brine upon the mutable sands.
"Hydrology Reports Pending." A decree whispered amidst oceanic currents, echoing through watery halls like an echo from an ancient committee. The tides laugh, gentle and scornful, as they roll over the politically charged rocks.
And who shall dare to challenge the "Department of Aquatic Affairs"? Their meetings are held at midnight, when the moon is full, and the gulls are silenced. There, decisions are made with the flutter of a fin and the nod of a star-fish diplomat.
Yet, fellow mariner, do not seek truths in their mumbled policies. For the currents speak in riddles, and the sharks are always in need of new interns. Apply within: http://whispers.oceanic.murmurs/manage_seas/faq.html
Lo! the kraken holds the position of executive director, with an impressive resume written in ink that only the sea understands. Beware of their taxes, which are levied upon the souls of sailors and the spoons of fate alike.
In this realm, irony is the predominant currency, and satire, the law. Join the tidal revolution, or simply drink tea upon a rock—a choice, most philosophical.