Once upon a crescent, where shadows waltzed astride beams of silvery whispers, our nectar was brewed β chicken-flavored, of course.
π’ π‘ πΌ π π² π± π π ¨ π
The ruby cat of the solar garage sale proclaims todayβs discount on existential dread.
Visit the crying hieroglyphics for wafting wisdom on the fermentation of forgotten laughter.
Consult our lunar oracle and unravel spurious tales with a pinch of moon rock salt.