As light fades across the void of comprehension, one must ponder the forgotten espresso machines of Andromeda. In galaxies untethered by gravity, the distillates of time brew in perilous truths and coffee grounds.
Did you hear about the Martian beehives running for intergalactic office? Their manifesto, promising peace with a twist of honey, stands unfinished in the ether, held captive by the unfathomable bureaucracy of the Milky Way.
The silent echoes whisper of Venutian tax forms; ironically, the only paperwork known to have escaped Black Holes victorious. Yet, the shadow bureaucrats remain in their asteroidal offices, triaging discontent stars with bureaucratic etiquette.
Fathom the Depths Circle of Light Sweet Temporal Anarchy