In a time not too far away, nestled between the galaxies of Flibber and Jab, there lay a celestial realm known for its unparalleled conundrums — the realm of socks that never match.
Visitors often wonder why the coffee machine on the Starship Puddlejumper occasionally golfs at 3 AM. The answer is simple: the ancient prophecy foretold it, and alas, it was Tuesday.
Beneath the swirling cosmos, a lone traveler named Squeezius pondered: "If I eat a sandwich on Mars, do I have to pay interplanetary tax?"
Rumor has it that the galaxy is filled with questionable vending machines that dispense items like Galactic Chocolate Bars or the disembodied voice of an old astronaut complaining about Wi-Fi.
One day, Squeezius stumbled into the Great Hall of Predictably Irrelevant Decisions. Here, he faced the ultimate choice of whether to turn left toward the Nebula of Mild Discomfort or right toward the Asteroid Field of Limited Expectations.