Beefeater Venus scoffs: "And here I thought the cosmic lining was made of velvet, but it seems all we've got is this polyester blandness."
Ω Jupiter sighs, "I've expanded twice since Tuesday and still can't fit in." Ω
Meanwhile, on the outskirts, ☂ Comet Bob shouts from his ethereal block party, "How do I even *orbit* without *interactive spatial habits*?!" ☂
Saturn spins an overdue remarks letter, clad in rings: "Limited rotation time? Mockery, I say!"
And thus, the stars wink, hiding more secrets than tax forms left open on a Solstice Eve.