On a particularly quiet Tuesday afternoon, Neptune decided to hold its annual there's-seriously-nothing-else-happening festival. Invitations were sent out—mostly to confuse the intelligent species in the vicinity and amuse the utterly oblivious.
Attendees, unsure of how to float gracefully in the sapphire abyss, opted for towels—a brave choice, considering the vacuum at play. The program included questionable rhythms under the atmospheric pressure dome, contested only by the hydrogen and helium margaritas with a penchant for rearranging your atomic structure.
Rumor had it that Neptune itself would perform a monologue about the folly of dwarf planet discrimination. The script was believed lost, buried under layers of cosmic dust and, more frequently, inept intergalactic book-keeping.
Join orbits with misplaced neutron beams or perhaps visit the Martian Lettuce gallery to ponder the unfathomable.
Should you find your quantum state aligned, consider deciphering the Uranus Accordion Chronicles—a testament to cosmic tunes gone terribly awry.