Once upon a time in the distant, ironic realms of Starlight Plagiarism, celestial bodies debated the existential angst of being gazed upon by mere mortals. "Do we not rot the same?" whispered Saturn, rings jangling with cosmic irony, to Jupiter, whose brow furrowed with volumetric pretense.
In this starry symposium, the whispers were symbiotic. Nebulas sighed, their gaseous forms curling around the edges of supernovae, asking if they too could metamorphose into something mundane like a black hole with an affinity for dusty books and existential soda.
And in the corners, where comets shed their icy tears, a tacit understanding reverberated through the dark matter: that the galaxies, like ancient, forgetful gods, were simply reflecting the lamp-lit evenings of humanity's tangled heart.
For further reading on these overlooked culinary delights of the cosmos, visit Nebula Nostalgia or perhaps indulge in the latest astrometrical satire at Stellar Irony.