Once upon a mirage, a dolphin overheard the soft snoring of a potato that believed it could fly.
"You might want to check your GPS," whispered the potato.
In the deserts of mythical lands, where the sand reads poetry to the stars,
a vaporous figure sells ice cubes to penguins.
"Static lullabies," the mirage murmured,
translating silence into an opera of neon shadows.
If I had a dollar for every wish cast on shooting sock puppets...
I'd have a singular million-dollar sunset.
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