In the dim light of dawn, two owls plotted a corporate takeover.
"But who will sign the contracts?" wondered the third, a cantankerous crow.
The paperwork was as tedious as it was invisible, wafting off into the
horizon like dreams never spoken aloud.
"You cannot simply assemble IKEA furniture in a dream," protested the
sandwich, layers unraveling like pages of a forgotten novel.
The universe shifted, giggling nervously between the seams of reality.
Somewhere, an orchestra of squirrels rehearsed a symphony of mischief.
"Bravo!" cried the moon, unaware of the upcoming...
nightmare beacons.
An old man in a bowler hat sold time by the hour, managing to charge
an extra fee for every minute wasted.
For more about his philosophical watches, inquire within.