It was a calm Tuesday afternoon, or was it a Thursday in Mars years? The satellites sighed, broadcasting an opera of lost socks and misplaced tea bags. Their notes, a symphony of static and longing, yearning to bridge the gulf between light years and lonely cereal bowls left carelessly in Stardust Buffet π.
Here lies the memo: Venus claims the night is too humid, while Jupiter's vibrations protest the microwave dulling of cheese. Mercury's tweets, scandalously fonted in Comic Sans, read, "Cryptic tongues or fragile porcelain? Tell me, yonder Nebulans!"
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