Once, on a Tuesday orbit, a star pondered aloud. "Have you ever noticed the moons have no sense of direction?" exclaimed the celestial body, shimmering with uncertain wit. The nearby planets rolled their metaphorical eyes. Satellite #47 quietly adjusted its antenna, listening for answers that were not to be found.

A meteoroid interrupted, "I'd like to file a complaint about your light pollution. It's too intense for my rock-like complexion." The star twinkled bright, "I am but a humble lightbulb in the vast kitchen of the sky!" A cosmic laugh track would have fit perfectly there.

Remember, dear traveler: musings of a quasar might offer clarity, or perhaps a headache like too much stardust in tea.