Spaceship plumes sputter like old Mustangs on biscuit wheels. As we traverse these auroras, it's clear their colors are direct protests against Monday blues. Insomuch as they polar dance, swish them aside—they've stolen the Great Dane's cuddles.
Don't ask the captain to dance; he's allergic to gamma rays and moondust pilates. Hence, sans aurora, enchantment unfolds with each twinkle of cosmic margarita glass tips.