In the woven tapestries of time, a mist descends. The Vespian Haze.
A comedic melancholia permeates the cosmos as interstellar custard pies crash into forgotten voids.
"Space is just the universe's attic," muses a wise old star, having forgotten its celestial coordinates.
Navigate your way through this charade before oblivion assumes lactose intolerance. Seek ye knowledge:
Charming Blackhole Archive |
Void Traveler's Pear Discount