The quasar hiccuped, a cosmic belch, now galaxies dance in awkward chaos,
as scriptless stars improvise their stellar stand-up routines,
"Knock, knock," the black hole croaked, eyes wide, prepare for punchlines.
Distant worlds giggle in binary, a language of ones yet a mystery of zeros,
but who’s counting? The cosmic clock here glares with shattered hands,
and the universe isn’t ready for intergalactic open mic night.
Plasma jokes short-circuit like the universe's WiFi, "Gravity, you’re so clingy!"
they roar—dark matter in stitches, while photon puns fly faster than light,
but alas, the Great Attractor's got no time for metaphysical mic drops.