Once upon a half-light, where whispers danced freely amongst transcendental clocks, a secret dwelled. T'was not a typical secret—no, it held no significance, no meaning, and assuredly, no resemblance to anything sensible.
"Why is the chicken taking algebra?" pondered the sage frog, his monocle barely clinging to reason. The moon, a tin can of forgotten tunes, shimmered with an echo unsung.
Hints began to unravel, not unraveling at all, in a manner oh-so-comically disastrous. "The secret lies in the upper drawer of your uncle's filing cabinet!" proclaimed a bewildered seagull, mistaking truth for laundry instructions.